“But Charlie makes himself a stranger. We haven’t seen you for six months, Mr. See.”
“Charlie,” said Mr. See again. “Six months and eight days.”
Mr. Hobby Lull sighed dreamily. “Dear me! It doesn’t seem over two weeks!”
A mesquite fire crackled in the friendly room. The night air bore no chill; it was the meaning of that fire to be cheerful; the wide old fireplace was the heart of the house. Adam Forbes spread his fingers to the blaze and sighed luxuriously.
“Charlie, when you build your house you want a fireplace like this in every room. Hob, who’s going to sell Charlie a farm?”
“What’s the matter with yours?”
Adam appeared a little disconcerted at this suggestion. “That idea hadn’t struck me, exactly,” he confessed. “But it may come to that yet. Lots of things may happen. I might find my placer gold, say. Didn’t know I was fixing to find a gold mine, did you? Well, I am. I wanted Charlie to go snooks with me, but he hasn’t got time. Me, I’ve been projectin’ and pirootin’ over the pinnacles after that gold for a year now, and I’ve just about got it tracked to its lair. To-morrow—”
“Oh, gold!” said Lyn disdainfully, and wrinkled her nose.
“Ain’t I told you a hundred times—
Baby!
Ain’t I told you a hundred times,
There ain’t no money in the placer mines?
Baby!”
“Lyn! Wherever do you pick up such deplorable songs?” said Aunt Peg, highly scandalized. “But she’s right, Adam. The best gold is like that in the old fable—buried under your apple trees. You dig there faithfully and you will need no placer mines.”