No one spoke for a few minutes, but they sat there thinking deeply of the old man’s coming, his death, and his legacy to the doctor, who broke the silence at length with a bitter sigh.
“Poor old dreamer!” he said sadly. “You bequeathed us your imagination, and sent us off on our quest for the phantom gold.”
“Yes,” said Bourne; “we’d better have left him his legacy and gone on home to the old-country.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Wilton. “We’ve had a grand time of travel and adventure, eh, boys?”
“Splendid!” came in a breath. “I’m only sorry that we’ve come back.”
“Yes,” added Chris. “You’ll think that over, father, about rigging up another expedition and making a fresh trial?”
“We shall see,” said the doctor thoughtfully; “we shall see. What do you say, Griggs, about another search for the golden city?”
“Well, I dunno,” said Griggs slowly. “Maybe I’ll wait a year before I decide one way or the other.”
“Griggs!” cried the two lads together.
“Oh, you needn’t shout,” said the American. “I’ve been thinking over it a deal, more’n you have, p’r’aps, and it seems to me that even if we had found the old place marked down on that old Rip Van Winkle map we should have had a deal of trouble to carry back enough gold to have made the journey worth while.”