“I won’t?” challenged Denver and then he stopped and waited as she smiled back at him mischievously.
“She’s a nice old woman,” went on Drusilla demurely, “but I wouldn’t take her too seriously. She told me, for instance, that I’d give up a great career 258in order to marry for love. Yes, I went over to see her, myself.”
“But what about me?” demanded Denver eagerly, “did she say I’d live till I was eighty?”
“Yes, she did; and she told me some other things, including the color of your eyes. But don’t you see, Denver, that you made a mistake when you took what she said so seriously? Why, you wouldn’t even speak to me or let us be friends for fear that I’d rise up and kill you; and now it appears that it was all a mistake and you’re going to live till you’re eighty.”
“Well, all the same,” responded Denver sighing and stretching his great arms, “I’m awful glad she said it. And a man could live to be eighty and still be killed by his friend. No, I believe that prophecy was true!”
“Very well,” she assented, “but you don’t need to worry about our friendship, and that’s the principal thing. I just did it to set your mind at rest.”
“Yes, it was true,” he went on rousing up from a reverie, “but I was wrong–I should have taken the gold.”
“Is that all you think of?” she asked impatiently, “is there nothing but silver and gold?”
“Yes, there is,” he acknowledged, “but–say, Drusilla I’m going to buy out the Dutchman. I believe that stringer of his is rich.”
“What stringer?” she demanded looking up from her own musings and then she nodded and sighed. “Yes, I know,” she said, “you’re back at your 259mining–but you promised you’d think only of me. I may not be here long and you want to be nice to me; because I almost hated you, once. Now listen, Denver, and let me interpret–don’t you know you’ve got everything wrong?”