"I don't mind telling you that I have three good claims staked out," said Jack. "In case I should be stopped from filing them, I'll leave you a full description before I go. I'll leave you my little bag of dust too, to keep for me."
"You're serious about going back with them, then?" said Cranston.
Jack nodded. "I ought to go, anyway, to make sure they don't blanket anything of mine."
In due course Jack produced his little canvas bag, which the trader sealed, weighed, and receipted for.
"There's another thing I wanted to talk to you about," said Jack diffidently. "I can't hold these three claims myself. I want you to take one."
"Me?" exclaimed Cranston in great astonishment.
"Yes," stammered Jack, still more embarrassed. "For—for her, you know—Mary. I feel that I owe it to her. I want her to have it, anyway. She needn't know it came from me. It's a good claim."
Cranston would not hear of it, and they argued hotly.
"You're standing in your own daughter's light," said Jack at last. "I'm not giving you anything. It's for her. You haven't any right to deprive her of a good thing."
Cranston was silenced by this line; they finally shook hands on it, and turned with mutual relief to less embarrassing subjects. Jack had the comfortable sensation that in a measure he had squared himself with himself.