Digging for Gold 30

Digging for Gold 30

“We shan’t object,” said Tom. “Grant and I are friends and partners, and

are not likely to quarrel.”

 

“Crambo and I never quarrel,” she said, with a significant laugh. “He

knows better.”

 

“Yes my dear,” said Paul meekly.

 

“We’re in luck, Grant,” said Tom. “For the first time in months we shall

live like Christians.”

 

“I hope you won’t be offended, Tom, but I like Mrs. Crambo’s cooking

better than yours.”

 

“That’s where you show your good taste. I wasn’t intended by nature for

a cook, and I can say the same for you.”

 

The next morning the two friends set out after breakfast for the

deserted claim. They opened it up, and soon found traces of past

workings.

 

They had been there for about a couple of hours when Paul Crambo came

along.

 

“What’s up?” he asked, in surprise.

 

“We’ve gone to work,” answered Tom.

 

“That must be the claim the old man used to run.”

 

“Very likely. I thought some one must have been at work here before.”

 

“Likely you’ll get discouraged and go off, as he did.”

 

“We’ll try to make enough to pay our board. That’ll keep us here, even

if we don’t succeed very well.”

 

“I never like digging for gold,” said Crambo. “It made my back ache.”

 

“Grant and I will try it awhile.”

 

Mr. Crambo looked on awhile and then sauntered away. It made him

uncomfortable to see others work hard. He became fatigued himself out of

sympathy.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE BEGINNING OF SUCCESS.

 

 

Tom and Grant met with little success during the first two days, and

were correspondingly disappointed. After all the high hopes with which

they had entered upon this new enterprise, it was certainly discouraging

to realize scarcely more than at Howe’s Gulch. But on the third day they

struck a “pocket,” and in the next two days took out five hundred

dollars.

 

“That’s the way to do it, Grant,” said Tom, his face fairly radiant. “It

pays to dig for gold at this rate.”

 

“So it does, Tom. I felt sure the old gentleman wouldn’t deceive us.”

 

“If it will only last, we shall make our fortunes.”

 

“This pocket won’t last, of course, but we may strike another. You know

Mr. Gibbon told us he took out ten thousand dollars in six months.”

 

“That is true, so we may hope for a good streak of luck.”

 

“There is one thing I have been thinking of, Tom. Where shall we keep

our gold-dust?”

 

Tom looked doubtful.

 

“If we could send it away,” he said, “it would be better. Of course, if

we keep it under our own charge we may be robbed.”

 

“To begin with, we must not let any one know how well we are doing.”

 

“That is important. The news would attract adventurers and thieves.”

 

Finally it was decided to keep the dust for the present in a box at

their boarding-place. In the room the two partners found a sailor’s

chest which had been left by a former boarder, who had left the house in

arrears. Grant bought it of Mr. Crambo for a couple of dollars, and Paul

seemed glad to get rid of it at that price. There was a good lock upon

it, and into this chest their daily findings were put, till at the end

of a fortnight, they had, according to Tom Cooper’s estimate, about one

thousand dollars.

 

Of their good luck neither Mr. nor Mrs. Crambo had the slightest idea.

 

“How are you making out at the mines, Mr. Cooper?” asked Mrs. Crambo one

evening.

 

“So, so!” answered Tom indifferently.

 

“You’ll never make your fortune at that there mine,” said Paul.

 

“Oh, well, we are not ambitious,” rejoined Grant. “If we make enough to

pay our board and a little more, we shall not complain.”

 

“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.