The old miner read it through slowly. Then he started on it a second time. Finally, when he had again gotten to the end, he asked:
"Are you Fred Stanley?"
"I am, sir."
"And you want me to leave my quiet life here, let my garden all grow up to weeds, and go chasing off to Alaska after a lot of gold that we'll probably never find."
"We might find it; and, as for the garden, isn't there some one you can leave in charge?"
"Nobody knows how to take care of my garden but myself," said the man. "Especially my onion bed. I'm very fond of onions. Are you?"
"No, sir, I don't like them."
"Great mistake! Great mistake! Everyone ought to eat onions. They're the healthiest vegetable that grows. Guess I'll have one now," and he pulled a green one from the ground, wiped the earth from it, and chewed it with every indication of satisfaction.
"But—about the gold expedition," said Fred, thinking the old man had forgotten all about it.
"The gold? Oh, yes. I was thinking whether I hadn't better plant more onions. It hardly seems enough to tide me over the winter, but I'll have to make 'em do. The gold, hum—let me see."