“Yes,” he answered slowly. “But my public has eyes. There are some advantages in painting for the blind. But, for that matter, many supposedly good eyes are blind.”
“And many supposedly weak ones are sound.”
“Exactly. The soul is the vision. I remembered the heading of the boy’s letter—‘The Last Chance’—and so had a starting-point. Given, too, the mystical white name ‘Alaska’ and what setting ought we to furnish a penniless young man with more spirit than heart? It was only a guess but I chose this: a green-blue sky, brittle, stinging; a panorama of white undulating to a horizon shrouded in virgin snow; in the middle distance a few slab huts; in the foreground a closer huddling of camps with the gaudy sign of the ‘Nugget’ saloon conspicuous. In the single street, bearded men as ungainly as bears in their heavy clothing, glancing with fevered eyes now towards the ‘Nugget,’ now towards the rugged banker mountains. Lean mongrels attached to sleds, passing from time to time, but no other animals; no birds, no felines, no wasted brute life.”
The Princess stole across the room and sprang into the girl’s lap. She passed her hand over the silken hair.
“The notable other buildings,” continued Barnes, dreamily, “are the post-office, the bank, the assayer’s offices, all of which are distinguished by their signs. In the bank the sheriff has diplomatically taken up quarters. So much for the stage.
“In a shanty on the outskirts of the settlement, sits Joe—sits myself. I am in heavy trousers tucked into cowhide boots and wear a bearskin coat. I am studying a batch of papers. They are the giddily-printed stock certificates of ‘The Lucky Find.’”
“I know them,” nodded Aunt Philomela, now quite lost in the narrative.
“I’m indebted to you for that suggestion,” answered Barnes. “I pore over the papers for a minute and then go to a corner where there’s a stout wooden chest marked ‘Joe Van Patten, His box,’ I take out a package of letters from home. I place them on the table and my eyes grow moist.”
“I never saw the boy blubber in my life,” objected Aunt Philomela.
“You mustn’t interrupt,” protested Miss Van Patten.