Digging for Gold

“I have eaten nothing for forty-eight hours,” said the other, in a hopeless tone. “I am without money and without hope.”

“Will you allow me to help you?” repeated Grant.

“You have spoken the first kind words I have listened to for weeks,” said the other. “I should enjoy a cup of coffee and a plate of meat.”

“Come with me, then,” said Grant.

He led the way to a restaurant near by, and ordered a plain but substantial meal. The young man’s face brightened, as a plate of beef-steak and a cup of coffee were placed before him. He ate with avidity and evident appetite.

When the meal was finished, he said: “You seem to be only a boy. What brought you to this city?”

“I was poor and wanted to earn a living.”

“Have you prospects?”

“Beyond my expectations.”

“I, too, came here to earn a living. I had some money with me when I arrived, but it is all gone now. Nothing that I took hold of prospered. When you spoke to me I was in despair. I was making up my mind to commit suicide.”

“That would be very foolish – and wicked.”

“Perhaps so, but consider my situation. I had no prospects and no money. I have none now, but somehow when a man has filled his stomach he feels less despondent.”

“I may be able to put something in your way. I came here a poor boy, but I am not poor now.”

“And I – would you be surprised to hear that I am the son of a rich man and the heir of a large estate?”

“Yes,” answered Grant, “I am surprised. You don’t look much like it. In that case I don’t understand why you should be in this condition.”

“I can explain easily. I have been a prodigal son. I have wasted money in folly and dissipation, and alienated my father’s affections.”

“Have you seen or heard from him lately?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know that he is estranged?”

“It can hardly be otherwise. He is an honorable man, and my conduct has shamed and humiliated him.”

“It is not too late to repent and turn over a new leaf.”

“I fear it is. At any rate, I never expect to be reinstated in my father’s favor.”

“You can at any rate work for an honest living.”

“Yes, I am ready to do that, if the chance is offered me.”

“I am quite sure that you will have the chance. I could give it to you myself, but I have a friend here who is much better able than I.”

“You give me new hope. What is your friend’s name?”

“Giles Crosmont.”

The young man started as if he had been shot. He showed signs of excitement.

“What name did you say?” he asked. “Repeat it.”

“Giles Crosmont.”

“Is he an Englishman?”

“Yes; he has a large estate in Devonshire.”

“Great Heavens!” exclaimed the young man; “Giles Crosmont is my father.”

“Your father? Come, then, let me lead you to him at once.”

“No, no,” said the young man, hanging back. “He would not receive me.”

“Would not receive you? He is in California for the express purpose of hunting you up.”

“Are you sure of that?” asked the young man eagerly.

“Yes; he told me so himself.”

“That is the best news I have heard for many a day. Take me to him, then, at once.”

The surprise and deep thankfulness of Mr. Crosmont when Grant arrived with his son may be imagined. He held out his arms without a word, and folded the young man in his embrace.

“I am ashamed to come back to you, father,” said young Crosmont, “after the way I have behaved.”

“Let us forget the past, my son,” responded the father. “Let us look forward to a bright future!” Then, turning to Grant, he said: “In restoring my son to me, Grant, you have fully paid me for all I have done for you. You have placed me under the deepest obligations.”

“And I, too, look upon you as my guardian angel,” added young Crosmont, as he grasped the boy’s hand in his.

“It was a mere chance,” said Grant modestly.

“Say, rather, it was a providence,” corrected Giles Crosmont reverently.

CHAPTER XXXIX

GRANT HEARS FROM HOME

Tom Cooper reached San Francisco two weeks after his letter. “I stopped at Sacramento to see father,” he said. “I found the old gentleman doing well, and fully persuaded that I had made a mistake in not staying with him. He offered me four dollars a day to work in the shop. When I told him that I owned ten lots in San Francisco, was entitled to two thousand five hundred dollars for my share of the claim, and had considerable loose money besides, you ought to have seen him open his eyes. He was speechless for a minute; then he said: ‘You’re smarter than I thought, Tom. I guess you’d better go your own way, and I will look after the shop. I’m too old to dig for gold, but I am making a good living at my trade.’”

Tom cashed a check for five thousand dollars, and made over half to Grant.

“There’s some more money due you, Grant,” he said, “from the gold-dust I have brought with me.”