Mrs Skaggss Husbands | Page 7

to the point of combustion, curling up
the long dry shingles, and starting aromatic tears from the green pine
beams, Tommy led Johnson into one of the larger openings, and with a
sense of satisfaction threw himself panting upon its rocky floor. Here
and there the grateful dampness was condensed in quiet pools of water,
or in a monotonous and soothing drip from the rocks above. Without
lay the staring sunlight,--colorless, clarified, intense.
For a few moments they lay resting on their elbows in blissful

contemplation of the heat they had escaped. "Wot do you say," said
Johnson, slowly, without looking at his companion, but abstractly
addressing himself to the landscape beyond,--"wot do you say to two
straight games fur one thousand dollars?"
"Make it five thousand," replied Tommy, reflectively, also to the
landscape, "and I'm in."
"Wot do I owe you now?" said Johnson, after a lengthened silence.
"One hundred and seventy-five thousand two hundred and fifty
dollars," replied Tommy, with business-like gravity.
"Well," said Johnson, after a deliberation commensurate with the
magnitude of the transaction, "ef you win, call it a hundred and eighty
thousand, round. War's the keerds?"
They were in an old tin box in a crevice of a rock above his head. They
were greasy and worn with service. Johnson dealt, albeit his right hand
was still uncertain,--hovering, after dropping the cards, aimlessly about
Tommy, and being only recalled by a strong nervous effort. Yet,
notwithstanding this incapacity for even honest manipulation, Mr.
Johnson covertly turned a knave from the bottom of the pack with such
shameless inefficiency and gratuitous unskilfulness, that even Tommy
was obliged to cough and look elsewhere to hide his embarrassment.
Possibly for this reason the young gentleman was himself constrained,
by way of correction, to add a valuable card to his own hand, over and
above the number he legitimately held.
Nevertheless, the game was unexciting, and dragged listlessly. Johnson
won. He recorded the fact and the amount with a stub of pencil and
shaking fingers in wandering hieroglyphics all over a pocket diary.
Then there was a long pause, when Johnson slowly drew something
from his pocket, and held it up before his companion. It was apparently
a dull red stone.
"Ef," said Johnson, slowly, with his old look of simple cunning,-- "ef
you happened to pick up sich a rock ez that, Tommy, what might you

say it was?"
"Don't know," said Tommy.
"Mightn't you say," continued Johnson, cautiously, "that it was gold, or
silver?"
"Neither," said Tommy, promptly.
"Mightn't you say it was quicksilver? Mightn't you say that ef thar was
a friend o' yourn ez knew war to go and turn out ten ton of it a day, and
every ton worth two thousand dollars, that he had a soft thing, a very
soft thing,--allowin', Tommy, that you used sich language, which you
don't?"
"But," said the boy, coming to the point with great directness, "DO you
know where to get it? have you struck it, Uncle Ben?"
Johnson looked carefully around. "I hev, Tommy. Listen. I know whar
thar's cartloads of it. But thar's only one other specimen-- the mate to
this yer--thet's above ground, and thet's in 'Frisco. Thar's an agint
comin' up in a day or two to look into it. I sent for him. Eh?"
His bright, restless eyes were concentrated on Tommy's face now, but
the boy showed neither surprise nor interest. Least of all did he betray
any recollection of Bill's ironical and gratuitous corroboration of this
part of the story.
"Nobody knows it," continued Johnson, in a nervous whisper,--
"nobody knows it but you and the agint in 'Frisco. The boys workin'
round yar passes by and sees the old man grubbin' away, and no signs
o' color, not even rotten quartz; the boys loafin' round the Mansion
House sees the old man lyin' round free in bar-rooms, and they laughs
and sez, 'Played out,' and spects nothin'. Maybe ye think they spects
suthin now, eh?" queried Johnson, suddenly, with a sharp look of
suspicion.
Tommy looked up, shook his head, threw a stone at a passing rabbit,

but did not reply.
"When I fust set eyes on you, Tommy," continued Johnson, apparently
reassured, "the fust day you kem and pumped for me, an entire stranger,
and hevin no call to do it, I sez, 'Johnson, Johnson,' sez I,' yer's a boy
you kin trust. Yer's a boy that won't play you; yer's a chap that's white
and square,'--white and square, Tommy: them's the very words I used."
He paused for a moment, and then went on in a confidential whisper,
"'You want capital, Johnson,' sez I, 'to develop your resources, and you
want a pardner. Capital you can send for, but your pardner,
Johnson,--your pardner is right yer. And his name,