“That’s it,” said Mr. Brill, calmly. “Sixty nuggets, and all of ’em fairly big ones.”
“Are they on the railroad track?” asked Bob.
“No, son, they’re in the hardest valley to get to that I ever saw,” replied the old miser; “and they’re the prettiest nuggets I ever met up with. Sixty of ’em, and they’re on the border between Montana and Canada. I need help to get ’em back again, and Jim here suggested you boys. If you’d like to have a try, and go through some of the wildest country you ever saw, why——”
But Mr. Brill was interrupted by a cry from without. There was a pounding of feet on the porch of the Hopkins home, and a shrill voice yelled:
“Hey, fellows—Bob—Jerry—Ned!—Come on out—big excitement—whole town gone gold-crazy—they’re tearing up the railroad tracks—going to order out the militia—blow up the place with dynamite—people gone wild—taking up the ties—looking for nuggets—Hitter is dancing up and down—he’s sent for the railroad president in a special train—come on—lots of fun—it’s great—let’s get some—come on!”
A silence followed, broken only by the rapid breathing of someone just outside the long windows of the library, opening on the porch, near which the motor boys and their friends sat.
“What’s that—a phonograph broke loose?” asked Mr. Brill.
“I guess it’s Andy Rush,” said Jerry, laughing. “That’s the way he always talks.”