“Answer the question yourself,” replied Clarence. “You are as good at guessing as I am.”
“Wal, if it’s him, his own self, I wish he hadn’t come back,” said Godfrey.
“I don’t, for I intend to make use of him. The old fellow is not above earning a dime or two, is he?”
“I never yet seed the man that was, black or white,” said Godfrey.
“Then I shall make it my business to scrape an acquaintance with the old fellow, if I can find him, and ask him if he’d like to make a thousand dollars. He’ll say ‘yes,’ of course; and then I’ll tell him that all he has got to do to have the money paid right over to him, is to show me where he hid that barrel before he ran away with the Yankees.”
Godfrey backed toward the bench and looked at Clarence without speaking.
“If he will do it—and I know I should if I were in his place—I shall be glad he has come back,” continued Clarence. “I took a good look at that potato-patch yesterday, and I tell you there’s a lot of ground in it. It will take us till doomsday to dig it full of holes four or five feet deep, and I can’t wait so long. I need the money now—to-day!”
Godfrey looked at Clarence from head to foot, taking in at a glance all the fashionable and expensive trappings he had about him, both useful and ornamental, and wondered why he should be so much in need of money. If he had possessed the cash value of the boy’s gold watch and chain he would have been very well contented, and would have thought no more about the barrel and its contents while he had ten dollars of it remaining.
“Now, don’t you suppose that if you were to hang around uncle’s barn for a while, you could gain an interview with old Jordan?” asked Clarence.
“No, sar,” answered Godfrey, hastily. “I wouldn’t see him again fur no money. An’ right here’s one thing that mebbe ye didn’t think of: Wouldn’t he be an ole fule to go an’ show ye whar that thar bar’l is, an’ get only a thousand dollars fur it, when he could go and dig it up by hisself an’ take it all—the hul eighty thousand?”