“An so yu think this yur’s ’bout the place whur yu kin make yer pile, do yu?” queried Hank Purdy, as he emptied the ashes from his pipe by rapping it against the palm of his left hand.
“Well, they told me down below that there was gold up here and that I was to be careful and not be taken in. And perhaps you gentlemen will tell me where to dig—kind of advise me, you know.
“I’m very anxious to find some gold in a little while—I don’t care for so very much, only a few thousand dollars—and I don’t want to dig very deep for it, ’cause I’m not used to hard work. And besides I’ve got to get it quick, for I must start back home before fall, or ma and the girls will think I’m sick or something.
“Just tell me some place where I can get it quick; some place close around here, if you know any.”
Mr. Purdy was the first of the party to recover his mental equilibrium after the preferment of this extraordinary request, and lost no time in stating emphatically that he would be something which could only be expressed here by a long dash, in the event of Mr. Anderly not being about the freshest thing he had ever seen.
“An’ so yu hain’t got no more’n a couple a days to spare, an’ yu’d like to make a snug little pile and git out a here by ’bout day arfter tomorrow, would yu?” again queried Mr. Purdy.
“Why, isn’t that a little soon?” asked Julius.
“Not a bit uv it. People air comin’ in an’ goin’ out a here every day er so. All they hav’ to do is to jes scratch eroun’ a little mite, ’n they’re sure to turn up a whole pile a nuggets.”
“No? You don’t mean to tell me so!” exclaimed the now radiant and delighted Julius.
“Fact; you betchu!” asseverated Mr. Purdy. “Leave ’t the jedge there if ’taint.”