"Shall be glad to hear it again, though, and to see you," said the man. "My name is Blenkinsop."
Again it was all that Joseph could do to restrain his astonishment.
"I suppose you are the President of the Chowder?" he ventured to say.
"Yes," Mr. Blenkinsop answered, "since it's a company. It was all mine at the start, but I wanted capital, and I had to work 'em."
"What other important companies are there near you?"
"None of any account, except the Fluke and the Depravity. They flow tolerable now, after torpedoing. To be sure, there are kites and catches with all sorts o' names,—the Pennyroyal, the Buby, the Wallholler (whatever that is), and the Amaranth,—ha, ha!"
"I think I have heard of the Amaranth," Joseph mildly remarked.
"Lord! are you bit already?" Mr. Blenkinsop exclaimed, fixing his small, sharp eyes on Joseph's face.
"I—I really don't know what you mean."
"No offence: I thought it likely, that's all. The Amaranth is Kanuck's last dodge. He keeps mighty close, but if he don't feather his nest in a hurry, at somebody's expense, I ain't no judge o' men!"
Joseph did not dare to mention the Amaranth again. He parted with Mr. Blenkinsop at Tarr Farm, and went on to Oil City, where he spent a day in unprofitable wanderings, and then set out up the river, first to seek the Chowder wells, and afterwards to ascertain whether there was any perennial beauty in the Amaranth.
The first thing which he remarked was the peculiar topography of the region. The Chowder property was a sloping
