“Twenty-five thousand dollars will make us all rich,” said Tom, his eyes glowing with joy. “Mother can live like a lady.”
“As I am sure she is.”
“In that case,” said Tom, “I won’t claim any of the gold which we have found here. Doctor, I give you and Mr. Brush my share.”
At first his two friends opposed this, but Tom was firm, and, knowing that he was now rich, they ceased their opposition.
A week later, the three friends, in company with Mr. Percival, set out for San Francisco, which they reached without any adventure which we feel called upon to record.
CHAPTER XLIV.
A WONDERFUL DISCOVERY.
IN THE upper part of San Francisco, where now stand fine mansions, there were at the time of my story, only a few small and modest houses, with land enough attached for a kitchen garden.
One of these was occupied by David Temple, employed as a clerk in the city. In his family for years Robert Thatcher had made his home.
He was at work in the garden—a man of about fifty, but looking considerably older on account of his hair, which had become prematurely whitened. His figure was slightly bent, and his face was embrowned by exposure. Physically he looked well, but in his face there was something wanting. His intellect was clouded, but many had conversed with him for an hour at a time without ascertaining the fact.