“How did you get to hear about it?”
“Ann she browt me a paper onct.” He dug under his pillow, and brought out a piece of newspaper, worn and frayed and cut with age and usage. “This heer’s what’s left of it.” Tembarom saw that it was a fragment from an old American sheet and that a column was headed “The Rush for the Klondike.”
“Why didn’t tha go theer?” demanded Tummas. He looked up from his fragment and asked his question with a sudden reflectiveness, as though a new and interesting aspect of things had presented itself to him.
“I had too much to do in New York,” said Tembarom.
Tummas silently regarded him a moment or so.
“It’s a pity tha didn’t,” he said. “Happen tha’d never ha’ coom back.”
Tembarom laughed the outright laugh.
“Thank you,” he answered.
Tummas was still thinking the matter over and was not disturbed.
“I was na thinkin’ o’ thee,” he said in an impersonal tone. “I was thinkin’ o’ t’other chap. If tha’d gone i’stead o’ him, he’d ha’ been here i’stead o’ thee. Eh, but it’s funny.” And he drew a deep breath like a sigh having its birth in profundity of baffled thought.