I found my father seated before his books entering some statement by the light of a candle, and as I came in he thrust the book from him wearily.
“Oh, there you are, then,” he said good-humouredly. “Look here, young fellow, I don’t see why I should go on worrying and toiling over this mine just to make you well off. I was happy and comfortable enough without it, and here am I wearing myself out, getting no pleasure and no change, and all for you.”
“Sell it then, father,” I said. “I don’t want you to work so hard for me. I don’t want to be rich. Give it up.”
“No,” he said smiling; “no, Sep. It gives me a great deal of care and anxiety, but I do not mind. The fact is, Sep, I was growing fat and rusty, and loosing my grip on the world. A do-nothing life is a mistake, and only fit for a pet dog, and him it kills. I wanted interesting work, and here it is, and I am making money for you at the same time.”
“But I don’t think I want much money, father,” I said.
“Maybe you will when you grow older.”
“I wish I could help you better,” I said.
“Help me? Why, I am quite satisfied with you, my boy. You help me a great deal. There, put away those books, and let us have some supper. I find we have nearly eight thousand ounces of silver down below here, and it’s far too much to have in our charge. We must get it away, Sep, as soon as we can.”
“What would eight thousand ounces be worth?” I said.
“Somewhere about two thousand pounds, my lad. But there, let’s have some supper, and then I should like to have a pipe for half an hour in the soft fresh air.”