"A golden butterfly," said Mr. Beck. "No goldsmith made this butterfly. It came from Nature's workshop. It is my Luck."
"And If the butterfly fall and break,
Farewell the Luck of Gilead Beck,"
said Jack.
"Thank you, sir. That's very neat. I'll take that, sir, if you will allow me, for my motto, unless you want it for yourself."
"No," said Jack; "I have one already."
"If this golden butterfly fall and break,
Farewell the Luck of Gilead P. Beck,"
repeated the owner of the insect. "If you are going on, gentlemen, to San Francisco, I hope you will take me with you."
"Colquhoun," said Ladds, "you do not mean to stay by yourself? Much better come with us, unless, of course——"