“If you want to give up you can sit down here and wait for me,” said John resolutely; “I’m going to keep this thing up until I strike oil or gold.”
Both boys earnestly renewed their search, but their efforts in the rapidly passing minutes were still unrewarded.
“There isn’t anything here,” muttered Fred. “We’ve looked high and low. Mr. Button didn’t know what he was talking about.”
John made no response to the declaration of his discouraged companion and perhaps abashed somewhat by the zeal of John, again joined in the search.
“Have you looked in that piano-box?” inquired John at last.
“Yes, but there isn’t anything but a little meal in the bottom. It isn’t deep enough to cover a box of matches.”
“We’ll look again anyway,” said John as he lifted the cover and glanced within the high box. He was about to drop the cover when once more he hesitated. Leaning over the edge he thrust his long arms down into the meal below him. In one corner of the box his fingers came in contact with an object which instantly aroused his keenest interest. A moment later he brought out a small wooden box, discolored, heavy and apparently of no value. He speedily discovered, however, that the top of the box was fastened by a small and strong pad-lock. Holding his discovery aloft John quickly turned to Fred and said, “Do you see what I’ve found?”
“What is it? What is it?” whispered Fred as he ran to join his friend.
“It’s a box.”
“So I see, but how much does that mean?”