“Gold, of course,” answered one of them.
“Let’s see it.”
The boy with the buckskin sack held it open for our inspection, but did not relax his grip on it. The bottom of the bag was thickly gilded with light glittering yellow particles.
“It looks like gold,” said I, incredulously.
“It is gold,” replied the boy with some impatience. “Anyway, it buys things.”
We looked at each other.
“Gold diggings right in the streets of San Francisco,” murmured Yank.
“I should think you’d find it easier later in the day when the wind came up?” suggested Talbot.
“Of course; and let some other kids jump our claim while we were waiting,” grunted one of the busy miners.
“How much do you get out of it?”