The previous evening he spent with Tom and Ferguson, with whom he was more intimate than any others of the party. He would not have been drawn to the Scotchman, but for his being Tom's room-mate. Through him he came to appreciate and respect the Scot's sterling virtues, and to overlook his dry, phlegmatic manner.
"I hope you'll have good luck, Mr. Miles," said Tom.
"Thank you, my boy."
"I would join with my young friend Tom," said Ferguson, "if I were quite clear in my mind whether good luck is the right term to use."
"Don't you think some men are luckier than others, Mr. Ferguson?" asked Tom.
"Some men are more successful, doubtless; but what we call good luck, generally comes from greater industry, good judgment, and, above all, the prompt use of opportunities."
"There is something in that," said Miles; "but when two men work side by side with equal industry, and one finds a nugget worth thousands of dollars, while the other plods along at a few dollars a day, isn't there some luck there?"
"It may be so," said the Scotchman, cautiously, "but such cases are exceptional."
"So one boy is born to an inheritance of wealth and another to an inheritance of hard work. Isn't there any luck there?"
"The luck may be on the side of the poor boy," was the reply. "He is further removed from temptation."