“Gosh darn it!” muttered Mr. Murphy, as he regarded the book, “if I’d ever thought I’d come to this I suppose I’d ’ve drowned myself.”
He leafed over the book and looked at the illustrations.
“It ain’t dull reading anyway. It might be worse. They say Cooper was a clever man so I guess it won’t spoil my intellect to read ’em. But it does beat all how tenants use things. To think of those brand new books looking like that!”
Mr. Murphy turned to the first chapter and began “The Pilot.” He became very much interested therein and read on till the greyness of the page told him that it was growing late. He closed the book, put it in his pocket, stretched out his legs and gazed across the water.
“I’ll be damned if it isn’t the best of any of ’em, and I’ve read upwards of two dozen now. Well, I’d never have believed it. You’ll come to almost anything in this world, that’s my belief. But it does take a woman to give you the push that starts you down.”
He meditated silently for sometime, but began again to hold audible commune with himself. “I wonder if I’ve got the correct picture in my head of that knight of the waves hanging up in that library? It would be a good pattern to model myself after if the elements of all those high qualities ain’t in me already. By darn, that’s it! They are in me all the time, too, and I don’t realize it. They just need bringin’ to the surface, excavating ’em so to speak. ‘Daring’ was one of ’em—well, I never was called a coward. ‘Picturesque’—that’s a hard one to come at. Now an Indian dressed up in his war togs, or a Mexican or even a cowboy would have some claim on that quality, but I’ll be darned what a plain, sober, God-fearing man can do to be it and keep the respect of his mates. I’m doubtful of making that one. If I remember right she claimed he was ‘romantic.’” Mr. Murphy kicked the pebbles about and then resumed his monologue. “It wouldn’t be as hard to make that one as the other one. I’ve got half a dozen to steer by in any one of the books I’ve been pouring down me. Let me see, though, she mentioned two or three: Captain Kidd was among ’em, I remember. I’d hate to have to carry on my conscience all he must have had on his, if that’s necessary to qualify. But I’ve heard he wore stunning whiskers and that’s probably what took her eye. I can’t call the others to mind but I’m bound to hit on them soon if my eyes don’t give out.”
The lengthening shadows warned Mr. Murphy that it was past supper time, so he rose, stretched himself and started homeward.
All this time we have been ignoring Joseph, who had again fallen into the even tenor of his way. The vision of gold that had for a time disturbed his tranquility had vanished almost as suddenly as it had arisen. Such flights of imagination were not for him and he was leading a life of perfect content when a malicious sprite stumbled upon him and marked him for her own.
Joseph and Willie Brown, a neighbor’s boy, were spading up the ground where he had decided to replant his currant bushes. Mr. Murphy had been sauntering about and had pulled a book out of his pocket and departed when Joseph’s unlucky spade threw up something which, in hitting against a stone, had given forth such a clear, ringing sound that he stooped down and felt about in the fresh earth. His fingers closed upon something cold, flat and round. He rubbed it against his overalls until a piece of gold milled like a coin came to view. In a moment his mind had made the connection between his sister’s theories and his discovery. He stood gazing at the piece of gold. “Holy Moses!” he softly ejaculated.
Suddenly he remembered Willie. He had found but a clew to the treasure. Where was the bulk of it? Willie suspected something already. Joseph looked at the boy, then at the gold piece, and then at the place where he had found it. I have remarked before that there was no strategy in Joseph’s nature. He seized Willie by the arm and marched him towards the house.