Only the day before a stranger had entered the assay office bearing a gold button, the quality of which he wished determined. He said his brother had taken stock in a mine and he wished from this specimen to know the value of the product. It was as fine as a $20 gold piece. Very probably it was part of a $20 gold piece.
Some hours later he came again, bearing the precious brick in his arms. Wonderful to relate! He had seen the borings from this massive bit of wealth tested and tried, and found to be pure gold, and some envious fairy, with a magic wand that was able to neutralize the alchemist’s potent secret, had changed it into a baser metal. He bore in his arms but thirty pounds of solid brass. He also bore a letter to this effect:
“Sir:—You have been a —— fool to buy thirty pounds of brass. If you can find another man who will be —— fool to give you $2,000 for this brass, I will come and do the talking for you and take half the profits.
John Williams.”
My dream was shattered. My Bret Harte hero, with his saintly face and with the flavor of the forest about him, was a vulgar fraud! And yet he was not all bad. Observe the delicate touch of thoughtful benevolence with which he generously offered to come back and help his victim regain a part of what he had lost! There must have been something essentially noble about him to write like that!
Of course I saw what a clumsy trick it all was. The borings were made from the lump of brass, but were simply changed after being wrapped in the bit of newspaper. I have no doubt the gentleman who purchased the brick sees it clearly enough also.
Since that time I have thought it was not a universal experience which is expressed in Whittier’s celebrated lines:
Of all sad words of tongue or pen,
The saddest of all are “It might have been.”
