“Because she loved you,” said Jim, and then he walked quietly away.
V.
“Why, Miss Peekin!”
“It’s a fact: Eben Javash, that went out better’n a year ago, hez got back, and he wuz at the next diggins an’ heerd all about it. ‘T seems the officers ketched Brown, an’ Jim Hockson gave ’em thirty thousand dollars to pay them an’ the bank too, and then they let him go. Might’s well ha kept his money, though, seein’ Brown washed overboard on the way back.
“I ain’t a bettin’ man,” said the deacon, “but I’d risk our white-faced cow that them thirty thousand dollars preached the greatest sermon ever heerd in Californy—ur in Crankett either.”
Miss Peekin threw a withering glance at the deacon; it was good he was not on trial for heresy, with Miss Peekin for judge and jury. She continued:
“Eben says there was a fellow named Weasel that hid close by, an’ heerd all ’twas said, and when he went to the rum-shop an’ told the miners, they hooray’d for Jim ez ef they wuz mad. Just like them crazy fellers—they hain’t no idee when money’s wasted.”
“The Lord waste all the money in the world that way!” devoutly exclaimed the deacon.
“An’ that feller Weasel,” continued Miss Peekin, giving the deacon’s pet cat a vicious kick, “though he’d always been economical, an’ never set a bad example before by persuadin’ folk to be intemprit, actilly drored a pistol, and fit with a feller they called Colonel Two—fit for the chance of askin’ the crowd to drink to Jim Hockson, an’ then went aroun’ to all the diggins, tellin’ about Jim, an’ wastin’ his money treatin’ folks to drink good luck to Jim. Dis—graceful!”
“It’s what I’d call a powerful conversion,” remarked the deacon.