The royal commissioner was a stout Englishman with a red face and abundant whiskers of the same colour. He chanced to be at the door of the office as the party appeared.
“Well, can I do anything for you?” he asked.
“Yes, sir; you can give us a receipt for this nugget.”
“Nugget!” ejaculated the commissioner, fixing his eyes on the burden which Mr. Stackpole carried. “You don’t mean to say that you have found a nugget of that size!”
“That’s just what we’ve done,” answered Obed.
“When did you find it?”
“Well, we took it from the mine about midnight. We found it in the afternoon, but calculated we’d better take possession when there wasn’t so many lookin’ on. I say, Mr. Commissioner, I don’t think it would agree with me to be a rich man. I got broken of my rest last night, from havin’ the nugget in the cabin.”
“You ran very little risk. No one could have found out that you had it in your possession,” remarked the commissioner.
“That’s where you are mistaken, commissioner. We came near being robbed of it only an hour after we brought it home.”
“Bless my soul! How did that happen?”