“He says there’s piles of gold there.”
“Piles of gold!” repeated Seth Tarbox, an expression of greed stealing over his face.
“Yes, that’s what he said.”
“I wish I was a young man. I ain’t sure but I’d go myself. But I’m sixty-eight.”
“That’s a little too old to go.”
“If you are prosperous, Grant, take care of your money and bring it all home. We’ll be glad to see you back safe and prosperous, your mother and me.”
“Thank you, Mr. Tarbox.”
This conversation relieved Grant’s mind. Even if Mr. Tarbox were opposed to his going, he meant to go all the same, but it was pleasanter to have no trouble in the matter.
The next day he went to Crestville again, this time to see Jerry Cooper, as everybody called him, and his son Tom, and ascertain whether they were willing that he should join their party.
Mr. Cooper, a weather-beaten man of fifty, was at work in his yard when Grant came up. Grant knew him by sight, and bade him good-morning.