“Cause you see if I happen to strike de rocks, it’ll be my head, an’ den dar’s no danger ob gittin’ hurt.”
This was his philosophy.
Our friends had unmistakeably found a prize, and it only remained for them to work it up. As Edwin was of comparatively little use, he occasionally roamed in the woods in search of game. He was careful not to stray far away, as there really was no necessity for doing so, and even if he failed in obtaining his food in this manner, the lake offered a good supply of fish, which were always at their disposal.
When the first night came, an inventory of their receipts was taken, and George Inwood was sure that they were several thousand dollars richer than at morning, and so expressed himself to his friends.
“Rather better earnings than we have yet made,” he remarked, with some degree of complaisance, as the three sat in the cool of the evening, chatting and discussing the matter.
“Yes, I think we ought to be satisfied with that,” replied Edwin.
“I isn’t,” was the sententious observation of Jim, as he quaffed his black clay pipe.
“And why not?” inquired George.
“’Cause I ain’t, dat’s de reason. In de fust place, dat ain’t ’nough gold, an’ in de next place, it’s too little, an’ den we orter git more. Wait till I gits to work to-morrer, an’ I’ll show you sumfin. Dar’s a sort ob gineral looseness dat I hab to git frough me, afore I can do what I orter.”
“Well, I shall be satisfied if you only do as well as you have to-day.”