Digging for Gold

“How do you happen to be off work at this hour?” asked Mr. Cooper.

“I’m a gentleman of leisure, Mr. Cooper.”

“How is that, Grant? You haven’t been discharged, have you?”

“Well, I’ve lost my place. Mr. Smithson has sold out his restaurant, and the new man has a friend of his whom he is going to put in my place.”

“I’m sorry, Grant,” said the blacksmith in a tone of concern. “It doesn’t seem hardly fair.”

“Oh, it’s all right, Mr. Cooper. I am going out to the mines, as I always intended to do. I shall start to-morrow morning.”

“I wish you luck. I don’t know how Tom is getting along.”

“Then I can tell you, for I’ve had a letter from him. He writes that he is doing fairly well.”

Jerry Cooper shook his head.

“I guess he ain’t doing as well as he did on the old farm at home,” he said.

“He writes very cheerfully and wants me to come out.”

“He’s too proud to own up that he’s disappointed. Just tell him that if he wants to come back to Sacramento and help me in the shop, I can give him two dollars a day and his living.”

“I’ll tell him, sir. I hope you are doing well.”

“I never did so well in my life,” answered the blacksmith complacently. “Why, Grant, I’ve averaged ten dollars a day over and above all expenses ever since I took the shop. How is that for high?”

“Why, father, I never knew you to use slang before,” said Mrs. Cooper reprovingly.

“Can’t help it, old lady. It’s my good luck that makes me a bit frisky. If we were only to home, I’d give you money to buy a new bonnet and a silk dress.”

“Thank you, father, but they wouldn’t do me any good here. Just fancy me walking through the town dressed up in that style. How folks would stare! When I get home I won’t mind accepting your offer.”

“Well, folks don’t dress much here, that’s a fact. Why, they don’t dress as much as they did in Crestville. I never looked so shabby there, but nobody takes any notice of it. There’s one comfort, if I don’t wear fine clothes it isn’t because I can’t afford it.”

“If you’re going away to-morrow, Grant,” said Mrs. Cooper hospitably, “you must come and take supper with us to-night. I don’t know as I can give you any brown bread, but I’ll give you some baked beans, in Eastern style.”

“I shall be glad to get them, Mrs. Cooper. I haven’t tasted any since I left home.”

“I wish I could send some to Tom,” said his mother. “Poor fellow, I don’t suppose he gets many of the comforts of home where he is.”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t carry the beans very conveniently,” said Grant, with a laugh.

On his way back to the restaurant, to make some preparations for his coming departure, he was accosted by a tall, thin man, who looked like a lay preacher.

“My young friend,” he said, with an apologetic cough, “excuse me for addressing you, but I am in great need of assistance. I – Why, it’s Grant!” he exclaimed in amazement.

“Mr. Silverthorn!”

“Yes, my young friend, it is your old friend Silverthorn, who counts himself fortunate in meeting you once more,” and he grasped Grant’s reluctant hand and shook it vigorously.

“You may be my old friend, Mr. Silverthorn,” returned Grant, “but it strikes me you didn’t treat me as such when you took the money from my pocket.”

“I acknowledge it, Grant, I acknowledge it,” said Silverthorn, as he took the same old red silk handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes, “but I was driven to it by want and dire necessity.”

“Well, let it pass! When did you reach Sacramento?”

“Only yesterday. Ah, Grant, I have had sad vicissitudes! I wandered in the wilderness, nearly starving, till I came across a party of Pennsylvania Quakers, who aided me and brought me with them to this place.”

“I hope you did not repay their hospitality as you did ours.”

“No, no. I obeyed the promptings of my better nature. And now, how have you prospered? Have you been to the mines?”

“No, I have been employed in a restaurant.”

“In a restaurant! Oh, how the word moves me! Ah, Grant, I have not tasted food for twenty-four hours.”

“Come with me, then, and I will see that you have a dinner.”

He took Silverthorn to the restaurant and authorized him to order what he liked. Mr. Silverthorn was by no means backward in accepting the invitation, and Grant had a dollar to pay.

“I feel better!” sighed Silverthorn. “Do you think I could get employment here?”

“No; my place is taken.”

“And how are my old friends, the Coopers?”

“Mr. Cooper is running a blacksmith shop, and Tom is at Howe’s Gulch, where I am going.”

“Could you – you are so kind – pay my expenses to the mines? I should so like to see my friend Tom.”

“No, I couldn’t,” answered Grant bluntly.

“I thought I would ask,” said Silverthorn, by no means abashed. “Tell Mr. Cooper that I will soon call at his shop.”

“I don’t think he will care to see you,” thought Grant.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE FIRST DAY AT THE MINES

About three o’clock in the afternoon the stage from Sacramento arrived at Howe’s Gulch.

Among the other passengers Grant descended, his limbs sore from rattling over the roughest kind of roads, and stretching himself, he looked around him.

The stage had drawn up in front of the hotel, but it was not such a hotel as the reader is accustomed to see. It was a long, low frame building, with what might be called an attic overhead, which was used as a general dormitory, with loose beds of straw spread over the floor. Here twenty-five persons slept in a single room. Down below rude meals were supplied for those who could afford to pay the price.

But Grant felt little interest in the hotel. He expected to meet Tom Cooper, and looked out for him.