“What’s the name of this town?”
“Sackville.”
“S’pose you get me a piece of paper, so’s I can put that down along with your names. I want to do what’s right by you young gents.”
Charlie got him a sheet of note-paper and a pencil.
Prawle set to work to jot down what he wanted to preserve for future reference; but it was easy to see that he was more used to handling a shovel or a pick, or something of that sort, than a pen or pencil, though he seemed to be a fairly well educated man, for his language was uncommonly good for a man of his appearance.
“If you were only going west now instead of east I should be tempted to go along with you,” said Jack, with a new-born enthusiasm for the great Northwest.
“Would you now?” replied Prawle, laying down his pencil and regarding Jack attentively.
“Yes. I came out West for my health, and have made myself a new man in a year. My people, who live in New York, look for me to return soon, but I’d rather rough it awhile longer, though not at farming, which is the way I’ve been putting in my time since I came out here. I always had a liking for mining. And I should fancy nothing better than getting an interest in a mine and putting in some big licks, if they would pan me out a fortune. Such things come to some people; why not to me?”
“That’s right, young man. I calculate you’re the man for my money. I’m going to give you an interest in my mine.”
“I’m willing to work for my share,” said Jack, earnestly.