"Did any of them dig?" asked the boy.
"What kind of digging?" inquired Peter.
"Well, the kind you spoke of the night you came to see me."
"Oh, with their hands?" cried Peter with a laugh. "Well, now, let
me see--" and his glance roved about the room. "There is Mr.
Schlessinger, the Egyptologist, but of course he was after
mummies, not dirt; and then there is--yes--that sun-burned young
fellow of forty, talking to Mr. Eastman Johnson; he has been at
work in Yucatan looking for Toltec ruins, because he told me his
experience only a few nights ago; but then, of course, that can
hardly be said to be--Oh!--now I have it. You see that tall man
with side-whiskers, looking like a young bank president--my kind--
my boy--well, he started life with a pick and shovel. The steel
point of the pick if I remember rightly, turned up a nugget of
gold that made him rich, but he DUG all the same, and he may again
some day--you can't tell."
It had all been a delightful experience for Jack and his face
showed it, but it was not until after I left that the story of why
he had come late was told.
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