Digging for Gold

“You wrote me to get a watch that would, beat Rodney’s. Here it is!”

“What a beauty! What did you pay for it?”

“I bought it at Tiffany’s for one hundred and twenty-five dollars.”

Tom opened wide his eyes in amazement.

“A hundred and twenty-five dollars!” he ejaculated. “Then you must be rich!”

“I’ve got a little money.”

“As much as a thousand dollars?”

“A good deal more.”

“Then you’ve beaten Rodney both in money and a watch. I am awfully glad.”

“What news is there, Tom?”

“Some bad news. You know, I told you about Abner Jones and the mortgage on his farm. It comes due in three days, and Mrs. Bartlett is going to foreclose and take possession of the farm.”

“What’s the amount of the mortgage?”

“A thousand dollars.”

“Then she won’t do it! I’ll advance the money and assume the mortgage myself.”

“Bully for you, Grant! Here’s Mr. Jones himself coming. Tell him, and put him out of his anxiety.”

Abner Jones approached with downcast eyes and sad face. He saw no way of saving the farm, and it would doubtless be sold far below its value. When he saw Grant his face brightened, for he had always liked the boy.

“Welcome home, Grant!” he said heartily. “When did you come?”

“I have just arrived.”

“Did you do well?”

“Finely. How is it with you?”

“I am about to lose my home, Grant,” he said sadly. “There’s a mortgage on it, held by Mrs. Bartlett, that I can’t pay.”

“And won’t she extend it?”

“No; she wants to get possession of it.”

“Can’t you get anybody to advance the money?”

“No; we have no capitalist in Woodburn that can command that sum in ready money.”

“You forget me, Mr. Jones.”

“What do you mean, Grant?” asked the farmer quickly.

“I mean that I will advance the money, Mr. Jones.”

“It isn’t possible that you’ve got so much as that, Grant?”

“I assure you that it is.”

“But you’ll straiten yourself.”

“No; I have brought double that sum with me, and have more in California.”

“Then I am saved! You have made me very happy, Grant.”

“It’s all right, Mr. Jones. I am making a business investment.”

A few minutes later Grant met Rodney Bartlett walking with a slow dignified step, swinging a light bamboo cane.

“Good-morning, Rodney!” he said, touching his hat with a smile.

“What! have you come back, Grant Colburn?” cried Rodney, in surprise.

“Yes, I arrived this morning.”

“Grandpa’s dead, and ma and I have got the property.”

“So I hear.”

“I suppose you hurried home to see if you couldn’t get some of it,” sneered Rodney.

“I think my mother could get a share if she went to law.”

“That’s where you are mistaken. You have come on a fool’s errand.”

“That isn’t what brought me.”

“If you want a place, perhaps ma will have you for a farm boy.”

Grant smiled.

“As she has you, I don’t think she will need me,” he said.

“Do you think I would soil my hands by farm work? I am a gentleman.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

“What do you say to that watch?” and Rodney complacently produced his gold chronometer.