said, flicking his whip meditatively. "Most gents from de mines prefer
de 'Polka,' for dey is dancing wid de gals frown in. But de real prima
facie place for gents who go for buckin' agin de tiger and straight-out
gamblin' is de 'Arcade.'"
"Drive there like thunder!" said Uncle Billy, leaping into the carriage.
*****
True to his word, Uncle Billy was at his partner's shanty early the next
morning. He looked a little tired, but happy, and had brought a draft
with him for five hundred and seventy-five dollars, which he explained
was the total of his capital. Uncle Jim was overjoyed. They would start
for Napa that very day, and conclude the purchase of the ranch; Uncle
Jim's sprained foot was a sufficient reason for his giving up his
present vocation, which he could also sell at a small profit. His
domestic arrangements were very simple; there was nothing to take
with him--there was everything to leave behind. And that afternoon, at
sunset, the two reunited partners were seated on the deck of the Napa
boat as she swung into the stream.
Uncle Billy was gazing over the railing with a look of abstracted relief
towards the Golden Gate, where the sinking sun seemed to be drawing
towards him in the ocean a golden stream that was forever pouring
from the Bay and the three-hilled city beside it. What Uncle Billy was
thinking of, or what the picture suggested to him, did not transpire;
for Uncle Jim, who, emboldened by his holiday, was luxuriating in an
evening paper, suddenly uttered a long-drawn whistle, and moved closer
to his abstracted partner. "Look yer," he said, pointing to a paragraph
he had evidently just read, "just you listen to this, and see if we
ain't lucky, you and me, to be jest wot we air--trustin' to our own hard
work--and not thinkin' o' 'strikes' and 'fortins.' Jest unbutton yer
ears, Billy, while I reel off this yer thing I've jest struck in the
paper, and see what d--d fools some men kin make o' themselves. And that
theer reporter wot wrote it--must hev seed it reely!"
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