Now it had assumed an uncomfortably practical aspect.
"You will make good," said Ruth.
"I'll do my best," said Kirk. But even as he spoke his mind was
pondering on the proposition which Hank had made.
Hank, always flitting from New York into the unknown and back again,
had called at the studio one evening, after a long absence, looking
sick and tired. He was one of those lean, wiry men whom it is unusual
to see in this condition, and Kirk was sympathetic and inquisitive.
Hank needed no pressing. He was full of his story.
"I've been in Colombia," he said. "I got back on a fruit-steamer this
morning. Do you know anything of Colombia?"
Kirk reflected.
"Only that there's generally a revolution there," he said.
"There wasn't anything of that kind this trip, except in my interior."
Hank pulled thoughtfully at his pipe. The odour of his remarkable brand
of tobacco filled the studio. "I've had a Hades of a time," he said
simply.
Kirk looked at him curiously. Hank was in a singularly chastened mood
to-night.
"What took you there?"
"Gold."
"Gold? Mining?"
Hank nodded.
"I didn't know there were gold-mines in that part of the world," said
Kirk.
"There are. The gold that filled the holds of Spanish galleons in the
sixteenth century came from Colombia. The place is simply stiff with
old Spanish relics.
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