Digging for Gold 38

Digging for Gold 38

“Grant Colburn!” he cried joyfully, seizing the boy by the hand. “I am,

indeed, glad to see you. When did you arrive?”

 

“Just now, by stage from Sacramento.”

 

“And you are well? But I see you are. You don’t look prosperous; but

that doesn’t matter. With me you will want for nothing.”

 

“Mr. Crosmont,” said Grant smiling, “you shouldn’t judge a man, or boy,

by his clothes. Do you see this valise?”

 

“Well?”

 

“It contains fifteen hundred dollars’ worth of gold-dust.”

 

“Yours?”

 

“Half of it is mine. Half of it belongs to my partner. I wore old

clothes, because I did not want to be thought rich.”

 

“Was there need of all this caution?”

 

“You shall judge for yourself. Our stage was held up by Stephen Dike.”

 

“The daring road agent? I have heard of him. Did he plunder the

passengers?”

 

Grant explained the ruse by which Stephen Dike had lost his life.

 

“He was a scoundrel! I have no pity for him. And now come with me, and I

will take you to my home. I have two rooms, and I shall install you in

one of them.”

 

“How about my gold-dust?”

 

“As soon as you have washed, and are provided with a new suit, I will

take you to a banker, who will weigh and allow you the market price for

it.”

 

“But I shall have no money to pay for the suit till I have sold the

dust.”

 

Mr. Crosmont smiled.

 

“The suit will be a present from me,” he said.

 

And no small present it proved to be, for clothing was very dear in San

Francisco at that time, so that a ready-made suit, which could be bought

in any Eastern city for twenty dollars, or less, cost ninety.

 

The gold-dust brought a trifle over fifteen hundred dollars, which was

entered to Grant’s account on the books of the bank.

 

“Have you any letters for me, Mr. Crosmont?” asked Grant. “I haven’t

heard from home for a long time.”

 

“Here is a letter which arrived by the last steamer.”

 

Grant read it eagerly. It was from his mother, and contained important

news. Instead of reproducing the letter, we will go back to Grant’s Iowa

home, and let the reader know what happened there since he started for

the land of gold.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XXXVI.

THE TARBOX FAMILY.

 

 

After Grant’s departure his mother felt very lonely. She found very

little satisfaction in the company of her husband, who became more

miserly as he grew older. He began also to show signs of breaking

health, and this did not escape the vigilant eyes of his daughter, Mrs.

Sophia Bartlett, and her husband. They were not at all insensible to the

fact that their father’s property was a snug one, and that it would make

them very comfortable when added to their own.

 

Sophia Bartlett began to feel suspicious that her father’s second wife

would attempt, by undue influence, to obtain more than her share of the

estate. At least once a week she was accustomed to drive over with her

son Rodney, when her husband was occupied by business, and learn all she

could of what was going on at the Tarbox farm.

 

Rodney generally inquired after Grant, but not from friendly motives.

 

Some months after Grant’s departure one of these visits was in progress.

 

“Have you heard from Grant, Mrs. Tarbox?” he asked, for it was in this

way he always addressed his grandfather’s wife.

 

“I heard last week,” answered Grant’s mother.

 

“How is he getting along?”

 

“He had just arrived in California. The journey across the plains is a

long and tedious one.”

 

“Did he have anything to do?”

 

“He was expecting work.”

 

“Probably he won’t get any,” said Seth Tarbox. “The boy made a fool of

himself when he left home. He might have had a good livin’ here, but he

was sot on trampin’ to California.”

 

“That’s the way I feel,” said Sophia Bartlett. “Young folks don’t know

what is best for themselves. As likely as not the boy will be sending

home for money to get back.”

 

“He won’t get none from me,” muttered Mr. Tarbox emphatically, “and I

want that understood.”

 

“He isn’t very likely to send to you, Mr. Tarbox,” said his wife,

indignant at this attack upon Grant.

 

“I dunno about that. He’s a headstrong boy, and always was.”

 

“I am glad that my son Rodney is a good and dutiful boy, and is willing

to be guided by my advice and his grandfather’s.”

 

Rodney understood that it was well to keep in the good graces of his

grandfather, who might remember him handsomely in his will, and tried to

look virtuous and meek.

 

“Yes,” he said, “grandfather knows what is best for me.”

 

“Rodney’s case is very different,” Mrs. Tarbox could not help saying.

“His future is provided for, Grant had nothing to look forward to here

except the life of a farm laborer.”

 

“Is he too proud to work on a farm?” sneered Mrs. Bartlett.

 

“No more than your son Rodney,” calmly replied Mrs. Tarbox.

 

“I’ve got something better to do than to work on a farm,” said Rodney,

in a lofty tone. “Just fancy me in overalls, ma!”

 

“To be sure!” chimed in his mother.

 

“It aint no disgrace to wear overalls,” said Seth Tarbox, who did not

aspire to be thought genteel, like his daughter and Rodney.

 

“Of course not, pa!” said Mrs. Bartlett, in a conciliatory tone. “You

are a substantial farmer, and find it necessary to superintend your own

work.”

 

“I hope Rodney aint got no foolish notions about bein’ too high-toned

for honest work.”

 

“No, pa; but Rodney isn’t rugged, and his father and myself mean to make

a lawyer of him.”

 

“Humph! Some lawyers aint worth their salt.”

 

“That’s the case with some farmers, too, isn’t it?” returned his

daughter.

 

“I own you’re right, Sophia. Why, there’s Bill Jones is gettin’ poorer

and poorer every year. I’ve got a thousand-dollar mortgage on his farm,”

he chuckled, “and I guess I’ll have to foreclose sooner or later.”

 

“What will become of Mrs. Jones and her young children?” asked Mrs.

Tarbox, in a tone of pity.

 

“That aint my lookout,” said Seth Tarbox, in a hard tone.

 

“But surely you wouldn’t turn the poor woman out into the street.”

 

“It aint for me to look out for another man’s wife and children, Mrs.

T.,” returned the farmer.

 

“But the farm must be worth a good deal more than the amount of your

mortgage!”

 

“Yes,” chuckled the farmer, “it’s well worth three thousand dollars. So

much the better for me!”

 

“You wouldn’t take possession of it, and take such an advantage of the

family!”

 

“Mrs. T., you don’t understand business. When you talk in that way you

only make yourself ridiculous. You’d better leave me to attend to

business, and you look after the housekeeping,” and he turned to his

daughter for approval.

 

“You are right, pa,” said Sophia, “and Mrs. Tarbox, though she means

well, shows that she doesn’t understand business.”

 

Mrs. Tarbox bit her lip, but did not reply. She had made the discovery

long since that the daughter was as cold and selfish as the father, and

probably even more so.

 

“Mrs. Tarbox, have you got Grant’s last letter?” asked Rodney.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Would you mind letting me read it?”

 

Mrs. Tarbox hesitated a moment, and then replied: “A part of it is

private, but I will read you the part in which he speaks of his position and prospects.”