Bob-cat district. Poor man's mining. Placer, and durned good
placer, right on the top of the ground. The mining gentleman I
spoke about is having his breakfast now. Suppose you go in and
have a talk with him? Nice man, drunk or sober, although excitable
when he's had a little too much, or not quite enough. He might put
you onto a good thing. I'm not a mining person myself.'

"'Thanks,' says I, and in I went to the dining room.

There was a great, big, fine-looking man eating his ham and eggs
the way I like to see a man eat the next morning. He had a black
beard that was so strong it fairly jumped out from his face.

"'Mornin',' says I.

"'Good morning', sir!' says he. 'A day of commingled lucent
clarity and vernal softness, ain't it?'

"'Well, I wouldn't care to bet on that without going a little
deeper into the subject,' says I; 'but it smells good at least--so
does that ham and eggs. Mary, I'll take the same, with coffee
extra strong.'

"'You have doubtless been attracted to our small but growing city
from the reports--which are happily true--of the inexhaustible
mineral wealth of the surrounding region?' says he.

"'No-o--not exactly,' says I; 'but I do want to hear something
about mines. Mr. Hotel-man out there (who's a gentleman of the old
school if ever there lived one) told me that you might put me on to