“Won’t old Anderson raise your wages?”

“Not he!  He thinks I ought to get rich on what he pays me now,” and Clapp laughed scornfully.  “If I were like Ferguson, I might.  He never spends a cent without taking twenty-four hours to think it over beforehand.”

My readers, who are familiar with Mr. Ferguson’s views and ways of life, will at once see that this was unjust, but justice cannot be expected from an angry and discontented man.

“Just so,” said Luke.  “If a feller was to live on bread and water, and get along with one suit of clothes a year, he might save something, but that aint my style.”

“Nor mine.”

“It’s strange how lucky some men are,” said Luke.  “They get rich without tryin’.  I never was lucky.  I bought a ticket in a lottery once, but of course I didn’t draw anything.  Just my luck!”

“So did I,” said Clapp, “but I fared no better.  It seemed as if Fortune had a spite against me.  Here I am twenty-five years old, and all I’m worth is two dollars and a half, and I owe more than that to the tailor.”

“You’re as rich as I am,” said Luke.  “I only get fourteen dollars a week.  That’s less than you do.”

“A dollar more or less don’t amount to much,” said Clapp.  “I’ll tell you what it is, Luke,” he resumed after a pause, “I’m getting sick of Centreville.”

“So am I,” said Luke, “but it don’t make much difference.  If I had fifty dollars, I’d go off and try my luck somewhere else, but I’ll have to wait till I’m gray-headed before I get as much as that.”

“Can’t you borrow it?”

“Who’d lend it to me?”

“I don’t know.  If I did, I’d go in for borrowing myself.  I wish there was some way of my getting to California.”

“California!” repeated Luke with interest.  “What would you do there?”

“I’d go to the mines.”

“Do you think there’s money to be made there?”

“I know there is,” said Clapp, emphatically.

“How do you know it?”

“There’s an old school-mate of mine—­Ralph Smith—­went out there two years ago.  Last week he returned home—­I heard it in a letter—­and how much do you think he brought with him?”

“How much?”

“Eight thousand dollars!”

“Eight thousand dollars!  He didn’t make it all at the mines, did he?”

“Yes, he did.  When he went out there, he had just money enough to pay his passage.  Now, after only two years, he can lay off and live like a gentleman.”

“He’s been lucky, and no mistake.”

“You bet he has.  But we might be as lucky if we were only out there.”

“Ay, there’s the rub.  A fellow can’t travel for nothing.”

At this point in their conversation, a well-dressed young man, evidently a stranger in the village, met them, and stopping, asked politely for a light.

This Clapp afforded him.