“Wiley,” cried Frank, “I believe you would joke in the face of old Death himself!”
“Why not? I regard life as a joke, and I don’t propose to show the white feather when my time comes. I will have no mourning at my funeral. I propose to have my funeral the gayest one on record. Everybody shall dress in their best, and the band shall play quicksteps and ragtime on the way to the silent tomb. And then I shall warn them in advance to be careful, if they want to finish the job, not to pass a baseball ground where a game is going on, for just as sure as such a thing happened I’ll kick off the lid, rise up, and prance out onto the diamond and git into the game.”
“Don’t you worry about what will become of you, cap’n,” advised Merry. “For all that you failed to stick by us in relocating those claims, I fancy we shall be able to make some provisions for you.”
“That’s charity!” shouted Wiley. “I will have none of it! I want you to understand that little Walter is well able to hustle for himself and reap his daily bread. Not even my best friend can make me a pauper by giving me alms.”
“Oh, all right, my obstinate young tar,” smiled Merry. “Have your own way. Go your own course.”
“Of course, of course,” nodded Wiley. “I always have, and I always will. Now leave me to my brooding thoughts, and I will evolve some sort of a scheme to make a few million dollars before sundown.”
Wiley’s schemes, however, did not seem to pan out, although his brain was full of them, and he had a new one every day, and sometimes a new one every hour of the day. Knowing they were soon to be separated again, Dick and Felicia spent much of their time together. It was Merriwell’s plan, of which he had spoken, to take Felicia to Denver and find her a home there where she could attend school.
The assay of the quartz Merry had brought to Prescott showed that the mine was marvelously rich. Beyond question it would prove a good thing, for all of the great expense that must be entailed in working it. On the day following the report of the assayer, Merry was writing letters in the little room of the hotel provided for such use when a man entered, approached him, and addressed him.
“Excuse me,” said this man, who was middle-aged and looked like a business man from the ground up. “I suppose you are Mr. Frank Merriwell?”
“That’s my name.”