his mind the morning's work of their old partnership. He would say to
himself, "It's time to go and look up Jim," and put off what he
was pleased to think were his pleasures until this act of duty was
accomplished.
In this singleness of purpose he made very few and no entangling
acquaintances, nor did he impart to any one the secret of his fortune,
loyally reserving it for his partner's first knowledge. To a man of
his natural frankness and simplicity this was a great trial, and was,
perhaps, a crucial test of his devotion. When he gave up his rooms at
the Oriental--as not necessary after his partner's absence--he sent
a letter, with his humble address, to the mysterious lock-box of his
partner without fear or false shame. He would explain it all when they
met. But he sometimes treated unlucky and returning miners to a dinner
and a visit to the gallery of some theatre. Yet while he had an active
sympathy with and understanding of the humblest, Uncle Billy, who
for many years had done his own and his partner's washing, scrubbing,
mending, and cooking, and saw no degradation in it, was somewhat
inconsistently irritated by menial functions in men, and although
he gave extravagantly to waiters, and threw a dollar to the
crossing-sweeper, there was always a certain shy avoidance of them in
his manner. Coming from the theatre one night Uncle Billy was, however,
seriously concerned by one of these crossing-sweepers turning hastily
before them and being knocked down by a passing carriage. The man rose
and limped hurriedly away; but Uncle Billy was amazed and still more
irritated to hear from his companion that this kind of menial occupation
was often profitable, and that at some of the principal crossings the
sweepers were already rich men.
But a few days later brought a more notable event to Uncle Billy. One
afternoon in Montgomery Street he recognized in one of its smartly
dressed frequenters a man who had a few years before been a member of
Cedar Camp. Uncle Billy's childish delight at this meeting, which
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