Digging for Gold

“It is a fair watch,” said Grant, examining it.

“I should say it was! It cost sixty dollars.”

“Suppose you look at mine;” and Grant produced his. Rodney had not noticed that he had one.

Rodney looked paralyzed, for he saw that it was a much finer one than his.

“Is it oroide?” he gasped.

Grant laughed.

“It was bought at Tiffany’s, and Tiffany doesn’t sell oroide watches.”

“How much did it cost?”

“A hundred and twenty-five dollars.”

“I don’t believe it!” said Rodney sharply.

“I can show you Tiffany’s receipt,” he said, and he drew a paper from his pocket.

“And you spent all your money for that watch?” ejaculated Rodney.

“No; I have more left.”

Rodney walked away abruptly. All his pride in his watch had gone. He hurried back to the farm, and told his mother the astounding news.

“Ma,” he said, “you must buy me a nicer watch. I don’t want that farm boy to beat me.”

Mrs. Bartlett would not at first believe that Rodney’s story was correct. When convinced, she would not accede to her son s request.

“A sixty-dollar watch is good enough for a boy of your age,” she said. “Grant Colburn will come to the poorhouse if he spends money like that. If pa were living he could claim the guardianship of the boy and take care of his money. Do you know how much he has got?”

“He didn’t tell me.”

“It isn’t likely he has as much as you. I hear his mother is going to be housekeeper for Mr. Wilkins.”

But later in the day Mrs. Bartlett learned that this was a mistake. She was very much worried about Grant’s plans, and anxious to learn how much money he had.

Meanwhile Grant called on the proprietor of their old home and bought it for eighteen hundred dollars, only paying five hundred down, for he could get much better interest for his money in San Francisco, and could well afford to pay six per cent, interest on the balance. He bought the house just as it stood – furniture and all – as his mother had originally sold it. If the price of the property seems small, it must be remembered that Woodburn was a country village.

There was another surprise in store for the Bartletts.

On the day when the mortgage on the Jones place came due, Mrs. Bartlett, accompanied by her lawyer, called at the farm.

“Mr. Jones,” she said, “I have come to foreclose the mortgage on your place.”

“You can’t do it, Mrs. Bartlett,” replied the farmer.

Mrs. Bartlett closed her thin lips firmly, and her cold gray eyes rested on the farmer’s face.

“Why can’t I do it, Mr. Jones?” she asked, in an acid tone.

“Because I am going to pay it.”

“But you can’t do it!” she exclaimed, in dismay.

“Here is the money, ma’am. You’ll find it correct. Now, I’ll thank you to cancel the mortgage, Mr. Lawyer.”

“Have I got to take the money?” asked Sophia Bartlett.

“Certainly,” said the lawyer.

“Where did you get it? I didn’t know you had any,” she asked sharply.

“I am not obliged to tell; but I will do so to satisfy you. The money is kindly advanced by Grant Colburn.”

“That boy!” ejaculated Mrs. Bartlett furiously.

“Yes; he has been to me a friend in need.”

If evil wishes could have blighted him, Grant would have stood in great danger, for he had disappointed Sophia Bartlett in her cherished desire.

“It beats all how that boy has got on!” she muttered. “I wish he had never been to California.”

Prosperity makes friends. Though Rodney liked Grant no better he made friendly overtures to him now that he looked upon him as rich, but Grant, though polite, was cold. He understood the value of such friendship.

Now for a few concluding words. Grant returned to California. Eventually he intends to take his mother out there, for his business interests are growing more extensive, and in five years he will be a rich man. Mrs. Bartlett has sold her farm and gone to Chicago, but her pecuniary ventures have not been successful, and Rodney is by no means a dutiful son. He is growing extravagant, and is always calling upon his mother for money, while he shows no willingness to work. The whole family is likely to end in poverty.

Giles Crosmont has returned to England with his son, leaving his California property in charge of Grant. He has invited Grant and his mother to visit him at his home in Devonshire, and, some summer, the invitation will probably be accepted. Tom Cooper has established himself in San Francisco, but his father and mother have returned with a competence to their home in Iowa.

“It was a lucky day, mother,” said Grant one day, “when I came to California to dig for gold.”

“Many came out here and failed,” returned his mother; “but you had good habits and the qualities that insure success.”

THE END