“It’ll take me a long time to get up to where I was,” said the other; “but it’s my fault, and I must make the best of it.”
Joe observed, with satisfaction, that his visitor was doing ample justice to the supper spread before him. With a full stomach, he would be likely to take more cheerful views of life and the future. In this thought Joe proved to be correct.
“I didn’t think I could eat anything,” said the miner, laying down his knife and fork, twenty minutes later, “but I have made a hearty supper, thanks to your kindness. Things look a little brighter to me now. I’ve had a hard pullback, but all is not lost. I’ve got to stay here a year or two longer, instead of going back by the next steamer; but I must make up my mind to that. What is your name, boy?”
“Joe Mason.”
“You’ve been kind to me, and I won’t forget it. It doesn’t seem likely I can return the favor, but I’ll do it if ever I can. Good night to you.”
“Where are you going?” asked Joe, surprised, as the miner walked to the door.
“Out into the street.”
“But where do you mean to pass the night?”
“Where a man without money must—in the street.”
“But you mustn’t do that.”