This plan seemed wise, and Grant set out with about fifteen hundred dollars’ worth of gold. He carried it in a valise, and, the better to divert suspicion, wore an old and shabby working suit.
“I am not proud of my appearance,” he said, as he took a position in front of the mirror in their chamber. “What do I look like?”
“A healthy young tramp,” answered Tom, laughing.
“I agree with you.”
“However, there is one comfort; no one will think you have anything of value with you.”
“What will Mr. Crosmont think when I make my appearance in San Francisco?”
“That you are down on your luck. However, you can explain to him.”
The next morning Grant set out on his way to Sacramento. Tom Cooper accompanied him as far as the cabin of the old man to whom they owed their present good fortune. It was a long walk, and the valise, with its weight of gold-dust, was no light burden.
When they reached the cabin, they found Mr. Gilbert—for this was the old man’s name—sitting on a chair in front of it. His face was naturally grave, but it lighted up when his glance rested on the two new-comers.
“I am glad to see you,” he said; but, as his glance dwelt on Grant in his shabby attire, “you don’t seem to have prospered,” he added.