“What is what?”
“Bro demporay—dot’s a funny words.”
“That’s Latin, and means ‘for the time being’—see?” and Jack fetched the German boy a dig in the ribs that made him jump.
“So-o!”
Two days later the setting sun saw the prospector and the three boys, now attired in regular mining outfits, toiling up the bank of Beaver Creek with a small flatboat in tow.
It was no easy work, the reader may well believe; but the boys were strong and hearty, and stuck to their labor like good fellows, the only kick so far coming from Meyer, who was fatter and less able to hustle than the others.
“By shinger,” he said, after they had accomplished about a mile of the way, “vhen do ve got py der ends of dis yob? Dere vill be noddings but a wet spot left off me py der dimes ve shall be done mit id,” and he dashed the perspiration from his face.
“The trouble with you, Meyer,” said Charlie, who was pulling on a line right back of him, “is that you’re too fat. It will do you good to get rid of some of your surplus flesh.”
“Is dot so? It vill done me goot to make a skelingtons off mineseluf you dink? Vell, I differ mit you.”
“Why, you chump,” exclaimed Charlie, “you’ve been doing nothing else but getting fat ever since you came to work for us in Sackville.”