Digging for Gold. Horatio Alger Jr.
noticing any further speeches of his young antagonist.
“By the way, father,” said Mrs. Bartlett, “you remember John Heywood, of our town?”
“Yes; what of him?”
“He’s just got back from California.”
“It’s dreadful expensive goin’ to California.”
“That isn’t of much account if you can bring back a lot of money.”
“Did John Heywood bring back a lot of money?” asked the farmer, pricking up his ears.
“He brought back ten thousand dollars.”
“Sho! How you talk!”
“It’s true, every word of it.”
“How did he make it?”
“Mining, I believe. He’s bought the Ezra Jones place, and is going to put up a nice house.”
Among the most interested listeners was Grant Colburn. His color went and came, and he seemed excited.
“How long was Mr. Heywood in California,” he asked.
“About a year. He was gone a good deal longer, for he went across the plains, and it took four months. He came back across the Isthmus.”
“I would like to go California,” said Grant thoughtfully.
“You go to California! A boy like you!” repeated Mrs. Bartlett scornfully. “What could you do?”
“I could make more money than I do here,” answered Grant with spirit.
“I reckon you won’t go in a hurry,” said Seth Tarbox composedly. “You haven’t money enough to get you twenty-five miles, and I s’pose it’s as much as two thousand miles from Iowa to Californy.”
Grant felt that there was a good deal of truth in his step-father’s words, but the idea had found lodgment in his brain, and was likely to remain there.
“I mean to go sometime!” he said resolutely.
“You’d better start right off after dinner!” said Rodney in a sneering tone.
CHAPTER III
A TERRIBLE RESPONSIBILITY
“Grant, you may go over to the other farm and ask Luke Weldon for the pitchfork he borrowed of me last week. There’s no knowing how long he would keep it if I didn’t send for it.”
“All right, sir.”
“Rodney can walk with you if he wants to.”
“Thank you,” said Rodney, shrugging his shoulders, “but I don’t care to walk a mile and a half for a pitchfork. I’ll go part way, though, to the village.”
The two boys started out together. Rodney looked askance at his companion’s poor clothes.
“You’re foolish not to take the suit I offered you,” he said. “Its a good deal better than yours.”
“I presume it is.”
“Then why don’t you want it?”
“Because it will prevent your grandfather buying me a new one.”
“Have you asked him?”
“Yes, I asked him this morning.”
“What did he say?”
“That he would buy a new one for himself, and have his best suit cut down for me.”
Rodney laughed.
“You’d look like a fright,” he said.
“I think so myself,” assented Grant with a smile.
“You’d better take mine than his. Grandfather isn’t much like a dude in dress.”
“No; he tells me that I dress as well as he.”
“So you do, nearly. However, it does not make much difference how an old man like him dresses.”
Rodney rather approved of his grandfather’s scanty outlay on dress, for it would enable him to leave more money to his mother and himself.
“Do you know how old grandfather is?” asked Rodney.
“I believe he is sixty-nine.”
“That’s pretty old. He won’t live many years longer probably. Then the property will come to mother and me.”
“Shall you come to live on the farm?”
“Not much. Mother says she’ll sell both farms, and then we may go to Chicago to live.”
Grant did not like Mr. Tarbox, but he was rather disgusted to hear his grandson speculate so coolly about his death.
“Don’t you think grandfather is failing?” continued Rodney.
“I don’t know that he is,” answered Grant coldly.
“Mother thinks he’s got kidney disease. Old men are very apt to have that trouble.”
“I never heard him complain of being sick.”
By this time the two boys had reached the village.
“I think I’ll drop into the drug store,” said Rodney. “They keep cigarettes there, don’t they?”
“I believe so.”
“Mother don’t like me to smoke, but I do it on the sly. I’ll give you a cigarette, if you want one,” he said, in an unusual fit of generosity.
“Thank you, but I don’t smoke.”
“It’s just as well, for you are poor and couldn’t afford to buy cigarettes. Well, I suppose you’ve got to go on.”
“Yes.”
So the two boys parted. Rodney entered the drug store, and not only bought a package of cigarettes, but drank a glass of soda water. It did not occur to him to offer Grant soda water, for that would have cost a nickel, while a cigarette was inexpensive.
“Somehow I don’t like Rodney,” said Grant to himself as he walked along. “He seems anxious to have his grandfather die in order to get hold of the property. I wouldn’t want to feel that way about anybody, though money would be very acceptable.”
Grant walked a mile farther till he reached the farm. Luke Weldon, who had taken it on shares, was in the yard.
“Well, Grant, have you come to see me?” he asked with a good-natured smile.
“Yes, Mr. Weldon. Mr. Tarbox wants his pitchfork, which you borrowed last week.”
“Was the old man afraid he wouldn’t get it back?”
“Perhaps so.”
“He doesn’t mean to let anybody get the advantage of him. Well, come to the barn with me, and I’ll give it to you.”
Grant followed Luke to the barn, and received the borrowed article.
“It beats all how suspicious Seth Tarbox is,” continued Luke. “You know I run this farm on shares. The old man is dreadfully afraid I shall cheat him in the division of the crop. He comes over spying round from time to time. How do you like working for him?”
“Not at all,” answered Grant bluntly.
“Does he pay you any wages?”
“I work for my board and clothes, but I don’t get any clothes. Look at me.”
“The old man is awful close. I sometimes ask myself how it is all to end. He stints himself and his family, and all his money will go to his daughter Sophia and her boy.”
“They are over there to-day.”
“How do you like the boy?”
“About as much as his grandfather.”
“He’s a disagreeable young cub, and about as mean as the old man.”
“He