d
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 whi