“Yes, for gold; and I expect to find a pile.”
“Well, I hope you won’t be disappointed. Just give me a lump to have set in a scarf-pin, will you?” He laughed in derision.
“All right,—a small nugget will do, I suppose. I must be going now; good morning.”
Syd gave a grunt in reply and slouched away. Tall and awkward, he thrust his head forward when he walked and kept his eyes fixed on the ground.
Ben turned and watched him for a moment. “How he would rejoice in my failure!” he said to himself. “It’s odd that some people find their pleasure in just such things. Well, I hope he’ll not have that joy at my expense, that’s all.”
He regretted that he had yielded to the impulse to tell Syd.
“I wish I’d waited until I could have shown him the color of my gold,” he reflected. “Perhaps I sha’n’t find a pinch of it.”
Glancing up he saw that he had nearly reached Market Street, and, obeying a sudden impulse, he crossed that great artery and turned his steps toward the foundries.
He was glad to have something to divert his thoughts from his interview with Syd, and he spent the rest of the day in looking at machinery, more especially that used in mining.