Rupert's Ambition

Rupert found that in this new life he always had a good appetite for breakfast—more, even, than for their other meals. He had never had so good an appetite at the Somerset House, though the cook at that establishment was probably superior to Ben Boone in his chosen line.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

BEN BOONE'S TEMPTATION

The reader may naturally expect to hear something of Rupert's experience as a hunter. But so far as this story is concerned, this is not called for. He had other experiences which will speedily be set forth.

For, after all, it was not so much the hunting that Rupert cared about. He thoroughly enjoyed his opportunity to travel through the wild scenery of Middle Colorado. It was camping out in a much more interesting way than when, as a boy, he went but a little way from home, and knew that only a few miles intervened between him and his ordinary life.

Then he was interested in his guide. At the East he had never met such a man as Ben Boone. He seemed a product of the country. As for Ben, he carried out his contract, and served as a guide, philosopher and—I was about to say friend, but on the whole we'll substitute companion.

Though Ben was a skillful hunter and mountaineer he did not particularly enjoy his work. He was a thoroughly lazy man, and would prefer to have remained at home in the rude cabin which passed for such, and, lying on his back with a pipe in his mouth, have drowsed and dreamed away his time. He did not understand, for his part, why city people who could live comfortably should want to rough it, incurring the fatigue of hunting just for the sake of amusement.

"I am tired," he said, on the night after Rupert's adventure with the snake.

"Yes," said Rupert, "I am tired, too. We have come a good many miles."

"Do you like it?"

"Oh, yes," said Rupert enthusiastically; "it is grand."

"I don't see what good it is," rejoined Ben, lying back with a sense of exquisite enjoyment in his chance to rest. "You are not making any money."

"No," replied Rupert, laughing, "but I enjoy the wild mountain scenery; don't you?"

"No; a mountain isn't much to see."

"Then there are the valleys, the woods and the waterfalls."

"Oh, I've seen plenty of them. I don't care for them."

"I suppose that is why you don't care for them. You are too familiar with them."

"I reckon so," drawled Ben.

"Don't you enjoy seeing anything? Is there anything you would rather see than this wild and romantic scenery?"

"Yes. I would rather see cities. Where do you live when you are at home?"

"In New York."

"That is a wonderful city, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"I expect it is a great deal larger than Denver?"

"Yes; forty or fifty times as large."

At this time Denver probably had a population of less than thirty thousand.

Ben Boone's eyes opened.

"And I suppose there are some grand buildings?" he said, inquiringly.

"Yes," and Rupert told his guide something about the great city, of the horse-car lines, the elevated trains running thirty feet above the ground, the big hotels, the Brooklyn bridge, and other marvels, to which Ben Boone listened with rapt attention.

"I should like to see New York before I die," he said.

"Have you ever been there?"

"No."

"But you have probably seen other cities—St. Louis, or Chicago?"

"No; I have only seen Denver. Well, yes, I saw St. Louis when I was a boy. It seemed a large city to me then, but I reckon New York is much bigger."

"Yes, it is a great deal larger—several times as large as St. Louis was when you saw it."

"Does it cost a great deal of money to go to New York?"

"I think one might go there for fifty dollars, ten less by second class."

"Second class is good enough for me."

"Yes, you would be a good deal more comfortable traveling second class than we are on our hunting trip."

"Then I should be satisfied. I ain't used to living first class."

"I should think you would like to go to New York. Is there any reason why you should not go?"

"There's the money."

"But, as I told you, it doesn't cost a very large sum."

"Fifty dollars is a good deal to me. I never had so much money in my life."

"Because you don't save up your money."

"I don't know how to save money," said Ben Boone in a listless manner.

"But you could. Now how much money is Mr. Packard paying you for going with me?"

"Three dollars a day."

"Now suppose we are out ten days—that will make thirty dollars, won't it?"

"Yes; but I had to leave some money with my wife."