For a moment Grant was serious. Then looking up at Roderick, he laughed and said: “We all have to think of those old days once in a while, don’t we?”
Roderick nodded gravely.
“Now I come to think of it,” said Grant, “the present moment’s a very good time. We’ll go down and call on one of Nature’s noblemen. He is somewhat of an enigma. You cannot tell how old he is by looking at him. He may have seen fifty years or a hundred and fifty—the Lord only knows, for nobody in this camp has any idea. But you will meet a magnificent character. Come along. I’m going to present you to my friend, Major Buell Hampton, about whom I’ve just been speaking. I guess we’ll catch him at home.”
CHAPTER VIII.—A PHILOSOPHER AMONG THE MOUNTAINS
AS THE two young men walked down the brilliantly lighted main street of Encampment, Grant Jones explained that the water had been dammed several miles up the south fork of the Encampment river and conducted in a California red-wood pipe down to the smelter plant for power purposes; and that the town of Encampment was lighted at a less cost per capita than any other town in the world. It simply cost nothing, so to speak.
Grant had pointed out several residences of local celebrities, but at last a familiar name drew Roderick’s special attention—the name of one of his father’s old friends.
“This is Boney Earnest’s home,” Grant was remarking. “He is the fellow who stands in front of the furnaces at the smelter in a sleeveless shirt and with a red bandana around his neck. They have a family of ten children, every one of them as bright as a new silver dollar. Oh, we have lots of children here and by the way a good public school. You see that log house just beyond? That is where Boney Earnest used to live when he first came into camp—before his brood was quite so numerous. It now belongs to Major Buell Hampton. It is not much to look at, but just wait until you get inside.”
“Then this Major Hampton, I presume, has furnished it up in great shape?”