To the white men I'm a crank, to the Indians something of a magician; but my search for the oil has gone on; and now, while I already know where boring would be commercially profitable, I'm on the brink of tapping a remarkable flow." "What will you do if it comes up to your expectations ?" Challoner asked, for he had grown interested in spite of his disbelief in the man.
"Turn it over to a company strong enough to exact good terms from the American producers or, failing that, to work the wells.

Then I'd go back to London, where, with money and the standing it would buy me, I'd take up my old profession.

I believe I've kept abreast of medical progress and could still make my mark and reinstate myself.

It has been my steadfast object ever since I became an outcast; I've schemed and cheated to gain it, besides risking my life often in desolate muskegs and the arctic frost.

Now, I ask you to make it possible--and you cannot refuse." Challoner was silent for a minute or two, while Clarke smoked impassively.