It did not look very likely that a rich man, or even one moderately well-to-do, would voluntarily make his home in a poor cabin, like that which old Anthony occupied.
Lyman began to fear that his uncle had managed to lose by bad investments the money he had obtained from the claims, and was really as poor as appearances would seem to indicate.
"Are you livin' in this hotel?" asked the miner.
"I'm not living anywhere in particular," answered Lyman. "Fact is, I'm rather down on my luck. There are no 'piles' to be made in New York."
"I've been there myself, stranger. Here, take this, and pay it back when it's convenient."
Lyman eagerly accepted the twenty-dollar gold piece offered him by his liberal new acquaintance, and leading the way to the bar, they cemented their new-born friendship by a drink in true California style. He then proposed a game of cards, but the miner declined.
"I never cared much for keerds," he said. "Excuse me! I don't mind playing a game of pool if you're agreeable."
When the two parted, they were sworn friends. Lyman, however, found that his miner friend had all his wits about him, and that the twenty dollar loan was all he was likely to extract from him.
"I must make another visit to that uncle of mine," said Lyman to himself, as he sauntered down the Bowery. "He ought to pay me half the money he got for that claim."