Digging for Gold

“I hope you’ll do that,” said Mrs. Crambo. “I have got used to having you here, and should be sorry to have you go. If you should find yourself short at any time, just put off paying your board. I am not afraid to trust you.”

“You are very kind,” said Tom warmly; “but we had a little money with us when we came, and we are doing enough to make it pretty certain that we can pay our board.”

“You wouldn’t if you didn’t work harder than my husband.”

“My dear,” interposed Mr. Crambo, shrugging his shoulders, “I work as hard as I can. I wasn’t made for hard work.”

“I don’t believe you were,” said his wife. “You never have made a success yet.”

“Except in marrying you,” responded Paul.

Mrs. Crambo smiled.

“It may have been good luck for you,” she replied, “but I am afraid that in becoming Mrs. Crambo I made a serious mistake.”

“I suppose you regret not marrying Silverthorn,” said Paul.

“Silverthorn!” exclaimed Grant and Tom Cooper in unison.

“Yes; his name was Dionysius Silverthorn, and he looked like a preacher. Do you know him?”

“We have met him.”

“He taught a dancing school in Wisconsin – that’s where my wife and I came from – and was rather sweet on her. I think she gave him some encouragement.”

“You know I never did, Paul.”

“I sometimes think you hanker after him yet, Rebecca.”

“Well, between you and him I am not sure that there is much choice,” retorted Mrs. Crambo.

“I can assure you there is,” said Grant. “Silverthorn is the worst fraud I ever came across.”

“I say the same,” chimed in Tom.

“What do you know of him? My wife will be interested to hear,” said Mr. Crambo.

Upon this the two partners gave an account of their personal experience with Silverthorn, and what they had learned of him through Nahum Stockton.

“Paul,” said Mrs. Crambo, “that settles it. You needn’t be jealous of Mr. Silverthorn. I wouldn’t marry him if I were left a widow to-morrow. For the first time I begin to see that I might have done worse. By the way,” resumed Mrs. Crambo, “I have had an application for board from another party.”

“A gentleman?”

“Humph! I can’t say as to that. It’s a man, at any rate.”

“What did you say?” asked Tom, a little uneasy. The presence of another boarder would render the discovery of their secret more likely.

“I said I would take him for a few days on trial,” answered Mrs. Crambo.

“Is he in any business?”

“He says he is prospecting.”

“What is his name?”

“I can’t remember. However, we shall soon know, for he is to come this evening.”

In fact, just at this moment, there was a knock at the door, and Mr. Crambo, answering it, ushered in a person familiar to Grant, at least.

“Albert Benton!” he exclaimed.

“What, Grant, you here?” exclaimed Benton, in surprise.

“Why, are you gentlemen acquainted?” asked Mrs. Crambo.

“Yes,” answered Grant briefly; “we knew each other in Sacramento.”

Grant was by no means pleased to see his old associate in the restaurant.

“And what are you doing here, Grant?” asked Benton curiously.

“Mr. Cooper and I are working a claim,” answered Grant unwillingly.

“Is it rich? Don’t you want a partner?” inquired Benton briskly.

“No; we can do all the work that is required. But what are you doing?”

“Oh, I’ve been drifting around,” said Benton evasively. “I was digging for gold a part of the time.”

“Did you meet with any success?”

“Not much. I tell you, Grant, this mining business is played out. I don’t know what I shall take up next. If I had capital, I would set up a restaurant of my own.”

“You may be right about mining,” said Grant. “We made very little at Howe’s Gulch.”

“I suppose you are doing better here?”

“We are not ready to retire yet.”

“I am glad I happened to come here. It will be pleasant to be in the same house with an old friend.”

Grant was truthful, and did not respond to the compliment.

About eight o’clock he and his partner went up to their chamber, where, as the nights were growing cool, they were accustomed to sit before a fire and chat of their prospects. Now their privacy seemed likely to be broken in upon, for Benton invited himself to go up with them.

“Come, now, this is what I call comfort,” he said, and he leaned back in his chair and puffed at a cigar. “Reminds me of old times. I say, what a queer chap Crambo is!”

“He is rather peculiar, but a good-natured, pleasant man.”