"She's almost a lady," thought the Blackguard, while he groomed and watered and fed the exhausted horses.
Within the cabin Mr. Burrows was holding forth while his niece laid the table. From his talk one would have supposed that he spoke from some rostrum, possibly from a throne.
"Look at me," he said majestically,—"do I look like a fool?"
The Tenderfoot blushed.
"Answer this. Does my appearance suggest insanity?"
The Tenderfoot went on blushing.
"These ignorant prospectors have given forth to the whole neighbourhood that because my methods of mining differ from theirs, I am nothing better than a lunatic."
"I should think that you would treat them with silent contempt."
"I do, young man,—I do treat them with silent contempt. Why, only the other day I asked one of them what he meant by——; but, pshaw, I can afford to overlook what they mean. After all, these prospectors only reflect the greater world outside, which ever has resented improvements, and looked upon the inventor as a public enemy. It was thus with Galileo, Watt, Stephenson, Faraday—contempt, disparagement, starvation, while they lived; then, when they died of want, a commemorative statue. For my part, I desire no statue which commemorates rather the littleness of the living than the greatness of the dead. I overlook such small considerations; they are beneath my notice. What did you say, Violet? Supper? Ah!—a second supper. This mountain air has the advantage of being conducive to a second supper. I entirely approve of mountain air. Draw up, young man, to the table."
So they began to eat bacon and beans, the Lunatic discoursing monotonously, the Tenderfoot exchanging first flirtation signals with the Burrows girl, as she waited on them, while the Blackguard just outside splashed cumbrously over a tin basin and a model brickbat of scrubbing soap.