“But, Bill,” said I, with undampened ardor; “don’t you understand the scientific nature of it? Isn’t it likely that there must be lots more of it scattered about? Besides, the volcanic character of the country is very favorable for that kind of a product, you know.”
Bill smiled skeptically, and gave me the benefit of his geological knowledge as follows:
“Oh, yes, I know. The gold is thrown out from the bowels of the earth, where it’s manufactured, by the volcanoes and scattered about on the tops of the mountains. Then along come the earthquakes and shake it down among the grass roots and bushes in the valleys, where you expect to scrape it up by the bushel.”
“Oh, well, it may prove to be, as you say, a wild goose chase, after all; but there’s a ship, now at the wharf, right from San Francisco, and one of the sailors, who seems to be a real honest chap, told me that the country was chock full of gold. He said that after they had hoisted up the anchor to start home he scraped the mud off the anchor and washed more than five pounds out of it—”
“Of what—mud?”
“No, of Gold; Real Gold!”
“Oh, pshaw! Do you believe that yarn?”
“Why, of course I do! Sailors are noted for their veracity.”
“Nothing of the kind. They have the reputation of being the biggest liars on earth; especially when out on the water and the wind blows hard.”