“Gold dust especially,” retorted Susan Merton.
Robinson laughed. “The ladies are sharp, even in Berkshire,” said he.
Mr. Robinson then proceeded to disabuse their minds about the facility of gold.
“A crop of gold,” said he, “does not come by the wind any more than a crop of corn; it comes by harder digging than your potatoes ever saw, and harder work than you ever did—oxen and horses perspire for you, Fielding No. 2.”
“Did you ever see a horse or an ox mow an acre of grass or barley?” retorted William dryly.
“Don't brag,” replied the other; “they'll eat all you can mow and never say a word about it.”
This repartee was so suited to their rustic idea of wit, that Robinson's antagonists laughed heartily, except George.
“What is the matter with him?” said Robinson, sotto voce, indicating George.
“Oh! he is cross, never mind him,” replied Susan ostentatiously loud. George winced, but never spoke back to her.
Robinson then proceeded to disabuse the rural mind of the notion that gold is to be got without hard toil, even in California. He told them how the miners' shirts were wet through and through in the struggle for gold; he told them how the little boys demanded a dollar apiece for washing these same garments; and how the miners to escape this extortion sent their linen to China in ships on Monday morning, and China sent them back on Saturday, only it was Saturday six weeks.