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Updated: June 24, 2025
In after days, Mark only regretted that, in view of the arduous labours he had performed in that mill, he had not asked seven hundred thousand for his services! After a time, Mark and his friend Higbie established their claim to a mine, became mad with excitement, and indulged in the wildest dreams for the future.
Higbie had been dreaming about the marvelous cement for months; and now, against his better judgment, he had gone off and "taken the chances" on my keeping secure a mine worth a million undiscovered cement veins. They had not been followed this time. His riding out of town in broad daylight was such a common-place thing to do that it had not attracted any attention.
I always hated cooking now, I abhorred it. The news was all over town. The former excitement was great this one was greater still. I walked the streets serene and happy. Higbie said the foreman had been offered two hundred thousand dollars for his third of the mine. I said I would like to see myself selling for any such price. My ideas were lofty. My figure was a million.
It was driving gradually shoreward all the time, now; but whether it was driving fast enough to make the connection or not was the momentous question. When it got within thirty steps of Higbie I was so excited that I fancied I could hear my own heart beat.
About seven o'clock one blistering hot morning for it was now dead summer time Higbie and I took the boat and started on a voyage of discovery to the two islands.
An old miner, like Higbie, could no more withstand the fascination of a mysterious mining excitement like this "cement" foolishness, than he could refrain from eating when he was famishing.
Higbie, nor that of the old master, nor of the watchman, Bugbee. With some difficulty, Jack recognized the figure of Doctor Lanham. "Oh, it's Jack Dudley, is it?" said the doctor, after examining him in the feeble moonlight. "Yes," said Jack, sheepishly. "You're the one that got that whipping from the old master. I don't wonder you came out to-night."
Higbie knew the Wide West rock perfectly well, and the more he had examined the new developments the more he was satisfied that the ore could not have come from the Wide West vein. And so had it occurred to him alone, of all the camp, that there was a blind lead down in the shaft, and that even the Wide West people themselves did not suspect it. He was right.
"Too high too much climbing" from Higbie. "What is?" "I was thinking of Russian Hill building a house up there." "Too much climbing? Shan't you keep a carriage?" "Of course. I forgot that." Pause. "Cal., what kind of a house are you going to build?" "I was thinking about that. Three-story and an attic." "But what kind?" "Well, I don't hardly know. Brick, I suppose." "Brick bosh." "Why?
A year ago my esteemed and in every way estimable old millionaire partner, Higbie, wrote me from an obscure little mining camp in California that after nine or ten years of buffetings and hard striving, he was at last in a position where he could command twenty-five hundred dollars, and said he meant to go into the fruit business in a modest way.
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