"I wish I was," said Peabody energetically. "I wouldn't have started if I had known what was before me. I expected to travel like a gentleman, instead of wading through this cursed mud till I'm ready to drop. Look at my pantaloons, all splashed with mire. What would my friends say if I should appear in this rig on Washington Street?"
"They might take you for a bog-trotter," said Tom, smiling.
"I have always been particular about my appearance," said Peabody plaintively. "'He looks just as if he'd come out of a bandbox,' some of my lady friends used to say. How do I look now?"
"Like a dirty-handed son of toil," said Tom humorously.
"So do you," retorted Peabody, who felt that this was uncomplimentary.
"I admit it," said Tom; "and that's just what I expect to be. You don't expect to dig gold with kid gloves on, do you, Mr. Peabody?"
"I wish I had brought some with me," said the Bostonian seriously. "It would have saved my hands looking so dingy."
"How came you to start for California, my friend?" inquired Ferguson.
"The fact is," said Peabody, "I am not rich. There are members of our family who are wealthy; but I am not one of the lucky number."
"You were making a living at home, were you not?"