"Gold?" said Smash McGregor. "Why, there's gold enough in the world."
"Ay, there's comfort too, if you know where to take it," said Rainbow Pete, twirling here at his mustache and looking at the woman.
"There's gold," said McGregor, "for any man."
"Yes, my hearty," said Pete, "it's twinkling in the river-beds, it shines in the sands under your feet, but still it's hard to get in your two fisties."
"Why," said Smash McGregor, "did you never hear there's a pot of gold at the foot of every rainbow?"
Oh, my friend, as he went mentioning the rainbow, there was a thunder-cap on the brow of that great sailor.
"So they call me—Rainbow Pete," he said.
"Look then," said McGregor, "take the pick, and strike the ground at your feet."
Rainbow Pete was not hearing them.
"This is a man I have been following on many trails," he muttered, "This man who made a rainbow of me. Mark this, he shall thirst, if I meet him. Ay! He shall burn with these fingers at his throat. He shall have gold poured into him like liquid, however."