"I did pretty well," said I, and pulled out two hundred and sixteen
ounces.

"About three thousand dollars," computed Talbot. "You're the plutocrat,
all right. Well, I've done pretty well with this end of the partnership,
too. I think--but I guess we'd better take a fresh day to it. It must be
ungodly late. Good Lord, yes! Three o'clock!"

Nobody would have thought so. The place seemed nearly as full as ever.
We accompanied Talbot to his hotel, where he managed, after some
difficulty, to procure us a cot apiece.

Our sleep was short; and in spite of our youth and the vitality we had
stored in the healthy life of the hills we felt dragged out and tired.
Five hours' sleep in two days is not enough. I was up a few minutes
before the rest; and I sat in front of the hotel basking in the sun like
a lizard. The let-down from the toil and excitement of the past months
still held me. I thought with lazy satisfaction of the two thousand-odd
dollars which was my share of our partnership. It was a small sum, to be
sure; but, then, I had never in my life made more than twelve dollars a
week, and this had cost me nothing. Now that definitely I had dropped
overboard my hopes of a big strike, I unexpectedly found that I had
dropped with them a certain feeling of pride and responsibility as well.
As long as I had been in the mining business I had vaguely felt it
incumbent on me to do as well as the rest, were that physically
possible. I was out of the mining business. As I now looked at it, I had
been mighty well paid for an exciting and interesting vacation. I would
go back to New York at a cost of two or three hundred dollars, and find
some good opening for my capital and ability.

Talbot appeared last, fresh and smiling. Breakfast finished, he took us
all with him to the new brick building. After some business we adjourned
once more to the Arcade. There Talbot made his report.

I wish I could remember it, and repeat it to you verbatim. It was worth
it. But I cannot; and the most I can do is to try to convey to you the
sense of that scene--we three tanned, weather-beaten outlanders
listening open-mouthed to the keen, competent, self-assured magician who
before our eyes spun his glittering fabric. Talbot Ward had seized upon
the varied possibilities of the new city. The earnings on his first
scheme--the ship storehouses, and the rental of the brick building on
Montgomery Street, you will remember--amounted net, the first month,