“No, the only way you can do any good is to make your contribution. I’ll go with you.”
They walked together toward the box which was now deserted, save by the doctor and one other, who were scooping the money into a water pail they had secured somewhere. Bill threw his roll of bills into it and the doctor looked up and smiled.
“I knew you would come,” he said. “And that, with the two thousand that Mrs. Meredith has volunteered––”
She checked him.
“That was to be my secret. Please, none of you, speak of it again.”
“As you wish,” replied the doctor. “And I apologize. Now I would suggest that you take charge of this and take it to the High Light. I’ll send it over to-morrow by Jim. The boys have done well.”
That was all he said, and yet in his simple sentence was much. The camp had done well. He straightened up with an air of weariness.
“This pail is pretty heavy,” he said. “Won’t you take it, Mathews, and carry it over?”
The miner caught it up in his arms, fearing lest the bail break loose under its weight. The doctor bade them good night, and they started toward the High Light, leaving the torch man to extinguish his flares. She talked freely as she walked between them, expressing her relief that none of the destitute in that distant camp of mourning would suffer unduly after the receipt of Goldpan’s offering. As they entered the house of the lights and noise the bartender nearest hailed her, wiped his hands on his apron and reached out an envelope.