“What shall we do with our old claims?” Before Grant could answer that question a step was heard, and looking up, the two friends saw approaching a tall, gaunt man of thirty-five—a typical Yankee—whose shabby attire indicated that he was “down on his luck.”
“Good-evenin’, friends,” he said.
“Good-evening,” responded Tom cordially. “Sit down with us, won’t you? I’ve got an extra pipe, if you would like a smoke.”
“Thank you; I’m just pinin’ for a smoke. Is this your tenement?”
“Well, we found it vacant, and squatted here. The owner hasn’t called on us for any rent yet.”
“You’re in luck.”
“Have you just arrived?”
“Yes, I have. I’m a rollin’ stone, and I haven’t gathered any moss.”
“There’s a good many in that fix.”
“Do you see that coin?” and the stranger took from his pocket a silver quarter and flipped it up in the air.