Klondike Nuggets | Page 6

Jeff, as they hurried over the plank to the landing. "But where can Tim be?"
He paused abruptly as soon as he was clear of the crowd, and looked around for the one who was the cause of his coming to this out-of-the-way corner of the world. He was still gazing when a man, dressed much the same as himself, but short, stockily built, and with the reddest hair and whiskers the boys had ever seen, his round face aglow with pleasure stepped hastily forward from the group of spectators and extended his hand.
"Ah, Jiff, it does me good to see your handsome silf; and how have ye been, and how do ye expect to continue to be?"
Tim McCabe was an Irishman who, when overtaken by misfortune in San Francisco, found Jeff Graham the good Samaritan, and he could never show sufficient gratitude therefor. It was only one of the many kindly deeds the old miner was always performing, but he did not meet in every case with such honest thankfulness.
Jeff clasped his hand warmly, and then looked at the smiling boys, to whom he introduced his friend, and who shook their hands. He eyed them closely, and, with the quizzical expression natural to many of his people, said:
"And these are the laddies ye wrote me about? Ye said they were likely broths of boys; but, Jiff, ye didn't do them justice--they desarved more."
"Tim is always full of blarney," explained Jeff, who, it was evident, was fond of the merry Irishman; "so you mustn't mind him and his ways."
Roswell and Frank were attracted by Jeff's friend. He was one of those persons who, despite their homeliness of face and feature, win us by their genial nature and honest, outspoken ways. No one ever saw a finer set of big, white teeth, nor a broader smile, which scarcely ever was absent from the Irishman's countenance. He shook hands with each lad in turn, giving a warm pressure and expressing his pleasure at meeting them. "I'm glad to greet ye, me friends," he said, as the whole party moved out of the way of the hurrying, bustling swarm who were rushing back and forth, each intent on his own business; "not only on your own account, but on account of me friend Jiff."
"I do not quite understand you," said Roswell with a smile.
"Well, you see, I've met Jiff before, and formed a rather fair opinion of him; but whin a gintleman like mesilf is engaged on some important business, them as are to be favored with me confidence must have their credentials."
"And you accept our presence with him as proof that he is what he should be?"
Tim gravely inclined his head.
"Do ye think I would admit Jiff as a partner if it was otherwise? Not I."
"But," interposed Frank, "how is it with us? You never saw us before."
"One look at them faces is enough," was the prompt reply; "ye carry a certificate wid ye that no one can dispoot."
"And I should like to know," said Jeff, with assumed indignation, "what credential you have to present to us, young man."
"Mine is the same as the young gintlemen," answered Tim, removing his thick fur cap and displaying his whole wealth of fiery red hair; "obsarve me countenance."
His face became grave for the first time, while all the rest laughed.
"I'm satisfied and hungry," said Jeff; "take us where we can get something to eat."
"I knew by that token that I had forgot something, and it's me breakfast and dinner. In honor of yer coming, I've engaged the best quarters at the leading hotel. Come wid me."
It was but a short distance up the street to a frame hotel, which was kept by a corpulent German who had been in the country for a couple of years. The men registered, during which Tim remarked to the landlord, who seemed never to be without his long-stemmed meerschaum pipe between his lips:
"This gintleman isn't the burglar that ye would think from his looks. He belongs to a good family, or ye wouldn't obsarve him in my company. The young gintlemen are two princes that are travelling in cog. In consideration of all of them having delicate appetites like mesilf, not forgetting the honor of their company, ye will be glad to make a reduction in your exorbitant rates, Baron Fritz, I am sure."
The phlegmatic German smiled, and in a guttural voice announced that his terms were three dollars a day, including rooms and meals, which, when all the circumstances are considered, was not extravagant. The party carried their luggage to their rooms, where they prepared themselves for the meal, which was satisfactory in every respect and better than they expected.
It came out during the conversation that Tim McCabe had not a dollar to his name, and he spoke the