estment of Mr. Hawkins's recently-acquired capital. "Ef he
allows to send it to that 'Hag,'" said one prominent citizen, "suthin'
ought to be done. It's jest ruinin' the reputation of this yer
camp,--this sloshin' around o' capital on non-residents ez don't claim
it!" "It's settin' an example o' extravagance," said another, "ez is
little better nor a swindle. Thais mor'n five men in this camp, thet,
hearin' thet Hawkins hed sent home eight thousand dollars, must jest
rise up and send home their hard earnings too! And then to think thet
thet eight thousand was only a bluff, after all, and thet it's lyin'
there on call in Adams & Co.'s bank! Well, I say it's one o' them things
a vigilance committee oughter look into."

When there seemed no possibility of this repetition of Hawkins's folly,
the anxiety to know what he had really done with his money became
intense. At last a self-appointed committee of four citizens dropped
artfully, but to outward appearances carelessly, upon him in his
seclusion. When some polite formalities had been exchanged, and some
easy vituperation of a backward season offered by each of the parties,
Tom Wingate approached the subject.

"Sorter dropped heavy on Jack Hamlin the other night, didn't ye? He
allows you didn't give him no show for revenge. I said you wasn't
no such d----d fool; didn't I, Dick?" continued the artful Wingate,
appealing to a confederate.

"Yes," said Dick promptly. "You said twenty thousand dollars wasn't
goin' to be thrown around recklessly. You said Cyrus had suthin' better
to do with his capital," super-added Dick with gratuitous mendacity. "I
disremember now what partickler investment you said he was goin' to make
with it," he continued, appealing with easy indifference to his friend.

Of course Wingate did not reply, but looked at the "Fool," who, with
a troubled face, was rubbing his legs softly. After a pause, he turned
deprecatingly toward his visitors.

"Ye didn't enny of ye ever hev a sort of tremblin' in your legs, a
kind o' shakiness from the knee down? Suthin'," he continued, slightly
brightening with his topic,--"suthin' that begins like chills, and
yet ain't chills? A kind o' sensation of goneness here, and a kind o'
feelin' as it you might die suddint?--when Wright's Pills don't somehow
reach the spot, and quinine don't fetch you?"

"No!" said Wingate with a curt directness, and the air of
authoritatively responding for his friends,--"no, never had. You