"See which are the heaviest," he said to Nelly.
Nelly strained her eyes; but she could hardly see that one scale was heavier than the other.
"They are alike," said Nelly.
Mr. Kleesman laughed.
"Ah, no! but they are not," he said. "Look! here it is written." And he pointed to a little needle which was fastened on the upright bar from which the scales swung. This needle was balanced so that the very smallest possible weight would make it move one way or the other, and point to figures printed on a scale behind it,—just as you have seen figures on the scales the cooks weigh sugar and butter on in the kitchen. Mr. Kleesman took off the glasses he was wearing, and put on another pair. "These are my best eyes," he said, "to read the small figures with." Then he peered a few minutes at the needle; then he shut down the glass slide, and watched it through the glass.
"Even my breath would make that it did not swing true," he said.
Presently he pushed up the slide, and took out the little button with his pincers, and put it up on a bar above the scales, where there were as many as a dozen more of the little buttons, all arranged in a row,—some larger, some smaller. Then he wrote a few words in a little book.
"There," he said, "I haf good news for two men, and bad news for one man,—the man who haf the little button; his mine are not goot. The other two can make twelve dollars of silver from one ton of ore."
By this time Nelly looked so hopelessly puzzled, that the old gentleman laughed, and said:—
"You haf not understand: is that so?"