The prospect opening before him fairly made him dizzy with delight. He felt that he had suddenly become a man, and dimly wondered how it was possible that a month before he had played “shinny” and “pee-wee” with the other boys, as if there were nothing else to live for. And now—he had gone into business! He would succeed—he must succeed!
Mingled with his delight at his sudden good luck, there was a feeling of relief that he had resisted the temptation to go into debt.
At length he came in sight of the Custom House, a dilapidated brick building, the first floor of which was used as the main post-office. Ben slowly climbed the winding stone stairs. He suddenly wanted more time than the elevator would allow to think of how he should tell his story.
After a short delay he was ushered into the presence of the Collector of the Port. Ben explained his plan and his accidental discovery of the opium.
He fancied that the official and a gentleman who was sitting in the room seemed to be much more interested in his scheme to work over the bricks and rubbish of the old Smelting Works for gold, than they were in the discovery of the opium.
He noted that the visitor was addressed as “Mr. Hale,” and he wondered if he were the well-known lawyer of whom he had heard. This gentleman asked Ben several questions in relation to his plan; and although his eyes and voice were kind, the boy’s sensitive spirit shrank under the tone of the questioner. The amusement in his eyes seemed to foretell the failure of the venture.
The attention of the chief being called to other matters, he sent for a deputy to whom he referred Ben’s case. This official, also, appeared to be much interested in Ben’s private affairs, and plied him with questions, some of which were, apparently, irrelevant.
Nettled, he knew not why, by the man’s manner and questions, Ben finally asserted himself.
“I bought the property to work over for what I could get out of it,” he said. “By accident I found a lot of opium hidden on the premises, and I expect to get the thirty-three per cent. which the law allows.” The look which accompanied this speech said plainer than words, “Now, what are you going to do about it?”
Mr. Cutter meditatively regarded the speaker. “We’ll set a watch there to-night and catch some of the gang if we can,” he finally remarked. “You’re a pretty smart boy,”—he brought his hand down on Ben’s shoulder,—“can you keep a secret?”