My "Pardner" and I. Emerson Willis George
where I place this ink-stand, is Gray Rocks; just beyond, here where I lay this pen-stalk, is the Peacock mine. It joins us directly on the nawth. The Excelsior is at this point, where I lay my eye-glasses, directly south of Gray Rocks. Both of them, suh, are payin’ immense dividends, and befo’ a year, with proper management, Gray Rocks will be doin’ the same. When he learned, suh, that I only had a half interest, he refused to talk with me any mo’ about it. He said he wanted all or none. Confidentially, Mr. Gilder, I consider old Grim the most ill-mannered man in the Fish River minin’ district, and us miners, suh, usually form a pretty correct idea of mankind in gene’l. I have been minin’ it now fo’ over thirty years, and while I have never ‘struck it’ yet, I assure yo’ on my word, suh, that I have mo’ confidence in Gray Rocks to-day than ever befo’.”
“Of course, Col. Bonifield,” said Vance, “I know nothing about your technical expressions of ‘sinking-shafts,’ ‘cross-cutting,’ and all that sort of thing, but I remember now of my father speaking of you on several occasions, and I doubt not, if he were living, he would gladly assist you in any way in his power. Personally, my means are limited, but if your wants are not too great, I will gladly give you my assistance.”
“Give me yo’re hand, suh! Why, Mr. Gilder, yo’re a gentleman that I’m proud to meet, suh.
“What we must do, suh, is to sink the shaft on Gray Rocks to a 300 foot level, and we will cross-cut into a vein of wealth, suh, that will make yo’ rich as a Vanterbilt. Yes, suh; take my word fo’ it. Now,” he continued, “there is old Grim; he owns a majority of the stock in the Peacock, and he wanted to buy out Gray Rocks, but of the old school, belonging to one of the oldest and proudest families of Virginia – yes, suh. Now, you have a half interest in Gray Rocks, and if yo’ can furnish the money, Mr. Gilder, to sink the shaft to the 300 foot level, I will go back to Gold Bluff and immediately commence the work – and mind, Mr. Gilder, I give yo’ my word that yo’ will never lose a dollar; no, suh, Gray Rocks is a sure winner. The claim is patented and our title is perfect; but we must do mo’, suh; we must sink our shaft, and it costs money to sink shafts, and a pow’ful sight of hard work into the bargain, suh. I came to New York especially to see yo’re father and have him help me by advancin’ a little mo’ money. He paid me $1,000, suh, fo’ a half interest in Gray Rocks. I told him, and I tell yo’ now, it will bring yo’ a million. Yes, suh, I pledge yo’ my word it will.”
The old gentleman’s words, his enthusiasm, his southern courtliness, and his unmistakable belief in Gray Rocks, carried Vance quite away, in anticipation of his half-ownership in a gold mine. He mentally computed the amount of money he had in the bank, and felt that he would willingly check out his last half-dollar to sink the shaft on Gray Rocks to a 300 foot level.
He had to his credit in the Chemical National Bank some fifteen thousand dollars, and finally ventured to ask about how much it would take to do the work.
“Why, yo’ see, suh,” replied the old miner, “the mo’ a fellow has, the quicker he can sink a shaft. Now, I could get along at present with, say $1,500, but $2,000 would be betteh, and $2,500 would be a great plenty.”
“Very well,” replied Vance, “I’ll advance you $2,500, and can bring it to you within a couple of hours.”
The old gentleman was highly delighted with Vance’s ready acquiescence in the matter, and shook his hand warmly, assuring him that he was a very true Virginian. Taking his leave, he quitted the hotel, and in less than two hours paid to Col. Bonifield $2,500.
The old gentleman was very urgent for Vance to remain and lunch with him.
“My Louise, suh,” he said, “will be delighted to see yo’.
Now, suh, there’s one girl in a thousand. I call her a diamond in the rough, suh. She stays by the old man, and has just as much faith in the ultimate outcome of Gray Rocks as I have, I sometimes think, suh, that I ought not to keep her away so far from civil’zation, so to speak, among the mountains; but she says, ‘We will wait until we strike it.’ I assure yo’, suh, she is a wonderful comfort to me.”
Vance endeavored to persuade the old gentleman to bring his daughter and stop at his house for a few days, but the old miner explained that his stay could not be prolonged; that he was impatient to begin work on the mine, sinking the shaft to the 300 foot level, and then commence cross-cutting. He insisted that he must start for Gold Bluff by the evening train.
Ascending to the ladies’ parlor, Vance waited until the old miner brought his daughter to bid him good-bye. As she came into the room on the arm of her stately father, Vance had hard work to convince himself that such a queenly girl as stood before him could have grown to such loveliness among the mountains of the northwest.
CHAPTER III. – THE BANNER FORCE
A GREAT metropolitan journal like the Banner, has a tendency to swallow up individual characteristics in its own self-importance. A man may be ever so clever with his pen, and contribute the most readable articles day after day and year after year, and yet not one reader in ten thousand has any idea whose composition he is perusing.
Vance Gilder was only one of the force, and yet he was a favorite with his associates. He sometimes dreamed of promotion, and the time when he would be a correspondent of note, or possibly at the head of some important department on that great paper. Visions of special work which would call him not only to different parts of his own country, but to foreign parts as well, charmed him into contentment and renewed energy.
Only once during his connection with the Banner had he made anything like a “hit.” He had on one solitary occasion succeeded in “scooping” the other New York journals in a most masterly manner. Indeed, to Vance belonged the credit of having completely humiliated the other dailies with an article under flaming headlines and double-leaded. As a compensation, he was sent for by the chief, and received that august person’s special thanks. This was a mark of distinction, for it was seldom that he paid compliments. On the other hand, if the work was not up to the standard, the staff generally heard from him in a volley of profanity that caused them to doubt the permanency of their positions.
On the night after Ben Bonfield started for Gold Bluff, Vance found himself thinking a great deal about Gray Rocks. To a young man of twenty-five, fifteen years seems a long time to wait for the possession of one’s property. There is a certain fascination about the idea of owning a gold mine, and this charm had taken possession of Vance to a degree far beyond that which he was willing to admit, and between the lines of copy, he speculated on the future and built many castles in the air.
The half interest which his father owned in Gray Rocks had not been named in the will, and as Vance was his only heir, it naturally occurred to him that in case the old miner should “strike it rich,” he would find himself with a handsome competency long before his fortieth birthday.
For the first time during the years of his connection with the Banner, a feeling of dissatisfaction stole over him, and he was glad Colonel Bonfield had been so prompt in returning to Gold Bluff, for he felt the work of sinking the shaft on Gray Rocks should be commenced at the earliest possible moment. There was also a feeling of regret deep down in his heart that he had not had an opportunity to know more of the fair Louise, the remembrance of whose laughing blue eyes and perfect freedom from affectation hovered near him with a distinctness that he had never before experienced with any of his young lady friends. He was in this state of mind when the police reporter came in and declared that he was disgusted with the scarcity of crime.
“I say, Vance,” saidhe, “it’s getting to be a pretty pass when a fellow has to rummage all over the city for a few crumbs of accidental deaths, street brawls and shooting affairs.”
Before Vance had time to reply, the religious editor commenced swearing about the uninteresting sermons he was compelled to write of late.
The dramatic critic observed that lie presumed writing sermons was a rather stupid business, but if the reading public could endure them, the religious editor ought to be able to, at $60 a week.
The religious editor said, “by Gad! old boy, you’re about right,” and begged a cigarette of the dramatic critic, declaring that he did