“Excuse me, boy,” he said, advancing towards our hero. “Do you mind telling me your name?”
“My name is Paul Parton,” answered the telegraph boy, with a glance of surprise.
“Were you ever in California?”
“Not that I know of, sir.”
“It’s strange!” said the miner, reflectively.
“What is strange, sir?”
“You are the living image of a man I used to know a dozen or fourteen years since in California. Were you born in New York?”
“I think so, sir—I don’t know.”
“Is your father living?”
“No, sir; I live with an old man who is not related to me.”