“WHY, Miss Peekin!”
“It’s a fact: Eben Javash, that went out better’n a year ago, hez got
back, and he wuz at the next diggins an’ heerd all about it. ‘T seems
the officers ketched Brown, an’ Jim Hockson gave ’em thirty thousand
dollars to pay them an’ the bank too, and then they let him go. Might’s
well ha kept his money, though, seein’ Brown washed overboard on the way
back.
“I ain’t a bettin’ man,” said the deacon, “but I’d risk our white-faced
cow that them thirty thousand dollars preached the greatest sermon ever
heerd in Californy—ur in Crankett either.”
Miss Peekin threw a withering glance at the deacon; it was good he was
not on trial for heresy, with Miss Peekin for judge and jury. She
continued:
“Eben says there was a fellow named Weasel that hid close by, an’ heerd
all ’twas said, and when he went to the rum-shop an’ told the miners,
they hooray’d for Jim ez ef they wuz mad. Just like them crazy
fellers—they hain’t no idee when money’s wasted.”
“The Lord waste all the money in the world that way!” devoutly exclaimed
the deacon.
“An’ that feller Weasel,” continued Miss Peekin, giving the deacon’s pet
cat a vicious kick, “though he’d always been economical, an’ never set a
bad example before by persuadin’ folk to be intemprit, actilly drored a
pistol, and fit with a feller they called Colonel Two—fit for the chance
of askin’ the crowd to drink to Jim Hockson, an’ then went aroun’ to all
the diggins, tellin’ about Jim, an’ wastin’ his money treatin’ folks to
drink good luck to Jim. Dis—graceful!”
“It’s what _I’d_ call a powerful conversion,” remarked the deacon.
“But ther’s more,” said Miss Peekin, with a sigh, and yet with an air of
importance befitting the bearer of wonderful tidings.
“What?” eagerly asked Mrs. Crankett.
“Jim’s back,” said Miss Peekin.
“Mercy on us!” cried Mrs. Crankett.
“The Lord bless and prosper him!” earnestly exclaimed the deacon.
“Well,” said Miss Peekin, with a disgusted look, “I s’pose He will, from
the looks o’ things; fur Eben sez that when Weasel told the fellers how
it all wuz, they went to work an’ put gold-dust in a box fur Jim till
ther wus more than he giv fur Brown, an’ fellers from all round’s been
sendin’ him dust ever since. He’s mighty sight the richest man anywhere
near this town.”
“Good—bless the Lord!” said the deacon, with delight.
“Ye hain’t heerd all of it, though,” continued Miss Peekin, with a
funereal countenance. “They’re going to be married.”
“Sakes alive!” gasps Mrs. Crankett.
“It’s so,” said Miss Peekin; “an’ they say she sent for him, by way of
the Isthmus, an’ he come back that way. Bad enough to marry him, when
poor Brown hain’t been dead six months, but to _send_ for him——”
“Wuz a real noble, big-hearted, womanly thing to do,” declared Mrs.
Crankett, snatching off her spectacles; “an’ I’d hev done it myself ef
I’d been her.”
The deacon gave his old wife an enthusiastic hug; upon seeing which Miss
Peekin hastily departed, with a severely shocked expression of
countenance and a nose aspiring heavenward.
[Illustration]
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