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A Millionaire of Rough-and-Ready By: Bret Harte (1836-1902) |
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by BRET HARTE
JTABLE 4 7 1 PROLOGUE There was no mistake this time: he had struck gold at last! It had lain there before him a moment ago a misshapen piece of
brown stained quartz, interspersed with dull yellow metal; yielding
enough to have allowed the points of his pick to penetrate its
honeycombed recesses, yet heavy enough to drop from the point of his
pick as he endeavored to lift it from the red earth. He was seeing all this plainly, although he found himself, he knew not
why, at some distance from the scene of his discovery, his heart
foolishly beating, his breath impotently hurried. Yet he was walking
slowly and vaguely; conscious of stopping and staring at the landscape,
which no longer looked familiar to him. He was hoping for some
instinct or force of habit to recall him to himself; yet when he saw a
neighbor at work in an adjacent claim, he hesitated, and then turned
his back upon him. Yet only a moment before he had thought of running
to him, saying, "By Jingo! I've struck it," or "D n it, old man, I've
got it"; but that moment had passed, and now it seemed to him that he
could scarce raise his voice, or, if he did, the ejaculation would
appear forced and artificial. Neither could he go over to him coolly
and tell his good fortune; and, partly from this strange shyness, and
partly with a hope that another survey of the treasure might restore
him to natural expression, he walked back to his tunnel. Yes; it was there! No mere "pocket" or "deposit," but a part of the
actual vein he had been so long seeking. It was there, sure enough,
lying beside the pick and the debris of the "face" of the vein that he
had exposed sufficiently, after the first shock of discovery, to assure
himself of the fact and the permanence of his fortune. It was there,
and with it the refutation of his enemies' sneers, the corroboration of
his friends' belief, the practical demonstration of his own theories,
the reward of his patient labors. It was there, sure enough. But,
somehow, he not only failed to recall the first joy of discovery, but
was conscious of a vague sense of responsibility and unrest. It was,
no doubt, an enormous fortune to a man in his circumstances: perhaps it
meant a couple of hundred thousand dollars, or more, judging from the
value of the old Martin lead, which was not as rich as this, but it
required to be worked constantly and judiciously. It was with a
decided sense of uneasiness that he again sought the open sunlight of
the hillside. His neighbor was still visible on the adjacent claim;
but he had apparently stopped working, and was contemplatively smoking
a pipe under a large pine tree. For an instant he envied him his
apparent contentment. He had a sudden fierce and inexplicable desire
to go over to him and exasperate his easy poverty by a revelation of
his own new found treasure. But even that sensation quickly passed,
and left him staring blankly at the landscape again. As soon as he had made his discovery known, and settled its value, he
would send for his wife and her children in the States. He would build
a fine house on the opposite hillside, if she would consent to it,
unless she preferred, for the children's sake, to live in San
Francisco. A sense of a loss of independence of a change of
circumstances that left him no longer his own master began to perplex
him, in the midst of his brightest projects. Certain other relations
with other members of his family, which had lapsed by absence and his
insignificance, must now be taken up anew. He must do something for
his sister Jane, for his brother William, for his wife's poor
connections. It would be unfair to him to say that he contemplated
those things with any other instinct than that of generosity; yet he
was conscious of being already perplexed and puzzled. Meantime, however, the neighbor had apparently finished his pipe, and,
knocking the ashes out of it, rose suddenly, and ended any further
uncertainty of their meeting by walking over directly towards him... Continue reading book >>
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