"Not in this state," answered Murtha. New pity for this poor old wastrel took hold upon him. "What were you going to do?"
"I was going to retire, captain," said Doc faintly. "My daughter's husband—he owned a farm up in Cayuga County—well, he died and I was planning to go up there and live with her."
"And sting all the boobs?" grinned Murtha not unsympathetically. "How much money have you got?"
"Seventy-five cents."
"How much is the ticket?"
"About nine dollars," quavered Doc. "But I know a man down on Chatham Square who might buy a block of stock in the Last Chance Gold Mining Company; I could get the money that way."
"What's the Last Chance Gold Mining Company?" asked Murtha sharply.
"It's a company I'm going to organize. I'll tell you a secret, Murtha. There's a vein of gold runs right through my daughter Louisa's cow pasture—she doesn't know anything about it—"
"Oh, hell!" exclaimed Murtha. "Come along to the station. I'll let you have the nine bones. And you can put me down for half a million of the underwriting."