Mr. Smithson supplied the place vacated by Benton without delay. He engaged a man of middle age who had come back from the mines with a fair sum of money. Before the first week was up, he made his employer an offer for the restaurant, and after some negotiation the transfer was made.

“I should like to have you continue Grant Colburn in your employment,” said Smithson, with a kindly consideration for his young waiter.

“I am sorry to say that I cannot do it,” answered his successor. “I have a young townsman at the mines who has not been very successful. I have promised to send for him in case I went into business.”

“It is of no consequence,” said Grant. “I have always wanted to go to the mines, and now I have money enough to make the venture.”

The same day, by a lucky coincidence, Grant received the following letter from Tom Cooper:

Dear Grant:

I have been meaning to write you for some time, but waited till I could tell whether I was likely to succeed or not. For the first month I was here I only got out enough gold-dust to pay my expenses, and envied father and you, who have a sure thing. The fact is, nothing is more uncertain than mining. You may strike it rich, or may fail entirely. Till last week it looked as if it would be the last in my case. But all at once I struck a pocket, and have thus far got two hundred and seventy-five dollars out of it, with more in prospect. That will make up for lost time. I tell you, Grant, it is a very exciting life. You are likely any day to make a strike. Further down the creek there is a long, lank Vermonter, who in a single week realized a thousand dollars from his claim. He took it pretty coolly, but was pleased all the same. “If this sort of thing continues a little longer,” he told me, “I’ll become a bloated bondholder, and go home and marry Sal Stebbins. She’s waitin’ for me, but the old man, her father, told her she’d have to wait till I could show him two thousand dollars, all my own. Well I don’t think I’ll have to wait long before that time comes,” and I guess he’s right.

But I haven’t said what I set out to say. That is I wish you would pull up stakes and come out here. I feel awful lonely, and would like your company. There’s a claim about a hundred feet from mine that I have bought for twenty-five dollars, and I will give it to you. The man that’s been workin’ it is a lazy, shiftless creeter, and although he’s got discouraged, I think it’s his fault that it hasn’t paid better. Half the time he’s been sittin’ down by his claim, readin’ a novel. If a man wants to succeed here, he’s got to have a good share of “get there” about him. I think you’ll fill the bill. Now, just pack up your things, and come right out. Go and see father and mother, but don’t show ’em this letter. I don’t want them to know how I am getting along. I mean some day to surprise ’em. Just tell them that I’m gettin’ fair pay, and hope to do better.

There’s a stage that leaves Sacramento Hotel for “these diggin’s.” You won’t have any trouble in findin’ it. Hopin’ soon to see you, I am,

This letter quite cheered up Grant. He was anxious to find out how it seemed to be digging for gold. He counted over his savings and found he had a little over a hundred dollars. But lack of money need not have interfered with his plans. On the same day he received a letter from Giles Crosmont, from which we extract a paragraph:

Remember, Grant, that when you get ready to go to the mines, you can draw upon me for any sum of money you want. Or, should you lose your place, or get short of money, let me know, and I will see that you are not inconvenienced for lack of funds. I am thinking of making a little investment in your name, which I think will be of advantage to you.

“That’s a friend worth having,” said Grant to himself. “If I had a father, I should like to have him like Mr. Crosmont. He certainly could not be any kinder.”

He wrote back that he was intending to start on the following day for Howe’s Gulch, and would write again from there. He concluded thus: “I thank you very much for your kind offer of a loan, but I have enough to start me at the mines, and will wait till I stand in need. When I do need money, I won’t hesitate to call upon you, for I know that you are a true friend.”

He went round to see the blacksmith the next forenoon.

“How do you happen to be off work at this hour?” asked Mr. Cooper.

“I’m a gentleman of leisure, Mr. Cooper.”

“How is that, Grant? You haven’t been discharged, have you?”

“Well, I’ve lost my place. Mr. Smithson has sold out his restaurant, and the new man has a friend of his whom he is going to put in my place.”

“I’m sorry, Grant,” said the blacksmith in a tone of concern. “It doesn’t seem hardly fair.”

“Oh, it’s all right, Mr. Cooper. I am going out to the mines, as I always intended to do. I shall start to-morrow morning.”

“I wish you luck. I don’t know how Tom is getting along.”

“Then I can tell you, for I’ve had a letter from him. He writes that he is doing fairly well.”

Jerry Cooper shook his head.

“I guess he ain’t doing as well as he did on the old farm at home,” he said.

“He writes very cheerfully and wants me to come out.”

“He’s too proud to own up that he’s disappointed. Just tell him that if he wants to come back to Sacramento and help me in the shop, I can give him two dollars a day and his living.”

“I’ll tell him, sir. I hope you are doing well.”

“I never did so well in my life,” answered the blacksmith complacently. “Why, Grant, I’ve averaged ten dollars a day over and above all expenses ever since I took the shop. How is that for high?”

“Why, father, I never knew you to use slang before,” said Mrs. Cooper reprovingly.

“Can’t help it, old lady. It’s my good luck that makes me a bit frisky. If we were only to home, I’d give you money to buy a new bonnet and a silk dress.”

“Thank you, father, but they wouldn’t do me any good here. Just fancy me walking through the town dressed up in that style. How folks would stare! When I get home I won’t mind accepting your offer.”

“Well, folks don’t dress much here, that’s a fact. Why, they don’t dress as much as they did in Crestville. I never looked so shabby there, but nobody takes any notice of it. There’s one comfort, if I don’t wear fine clothes it isn’t because I can’t afford it.”

“If you’re going away to-morrow, Grant,” said Mrs. Cooper hospitably, “you must come and take supper with us to-night. I don’t know as I can give you any brown bread, but I’ll give you some baked beans, in Eastern style.”

“I shall be glad to get them, Mrs. Cooper. I haven’t tasted any since I left home.”

“I wish I could send some to Tom,” said his mother. “Poor fellow, I don’t suppose he gets many of the comforts of home where he is.”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t carry the beans very conveniently,” said Grant, with a laugh.

On his way back to the restaurant, to make some preparations for his coming departure, he was accosted by a tall, thin man, who looked like a lay preacher.

“My young friend,” he said, with an apologetic cough, “excuse me for addressing you, but I am in great need of assistance. I——Why, it’s Grant!” he exclaimed in amazement.

“Mr. Silverthorn!”

“Yes, my young friend, it is your old friend Silverthorn, who counts himself fortunate in meeting you once more,” and he grasped Grant’s reluctant hand and shook it vigorously.

“You may be my old friend, Mr. Silverthorn,” returned Grant, “but it strikes me you didn’t treat me as such when you took the money from my pocket.”

“I acknowledge it, Grant, I acknowledge it,” said Silverthorn, as he took the same old red silk handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes, “but I was driven to it by want and dire necessity.”

“Well, let it pass! When did you reach Sacramento?”

“Only yesterday. Ah, Grant, I have had sad vicissitudes! I wandered in the wilderness, nearly starving, till I came across a party of Pennsylvania Quakers, who aided me and brought me with them to this place.”

“I hope you did not repay their hospitality as you did ours.”

“No, no. I obeyed the promptings of my better nature. And now, how have you prospered? Have you been to the mines?”

“No, I have been employed in a restaurant.”

“In a restaurant! Oh, how the word moves me! Ah, Grant, I have not tasted food for twenty-four hours.”

“Come with me, then, and I will see that you have a dinner.”

He took Silverthorn to the restaurant and authorized him to order what he liked. Mr. Silverthorn was by no means backward in accepting the invitation, and Grant had a dollar to pay.

“I feel better!” sighed Silverthorn. “Do you think I could get employment here?”

“No; my place is taken.”

“And how are my old friends, the Coopers?”

“Mr. Cooper is running a blacksmith shop, and Tom is at Howe’s Gulch, where I am going.”

“Could you—you are so kind—pay my expenses to the mines? I should so like to see my friend Tom.”

“No, I couldn’t,” answered Grant bluntly.

“I thought I would ask,” said Silverthorn, by no means abashed. “Tell Mr. Cooper that I will soon call at his shop.”

“I don’t think he will care to see you,” thought Grant.