Flush, the Flat champion at poker, came in late in the afternoon, with a
huge watch-chain, and an overpowering bosom-pin, and his horrid fingers
sported at least one seal-ring each.

Several stove-pipe hats were visible in camp, and even a pair of gloves
were reported in the pocket of a miner.

Yankee Sam had sold out his entire stock, and prevented bloodshed over
his only bottle of hair-oil by putting it up at a raffle, in forty
chances, at an ounce a chance. His stock of white shirts, seven in
number, were visible on manly forms; his pocket combs and glasses were
all gone; and there had been a steady run on needles and thread. Most of
the miners were smoking new white clay pipes, while a few thoughtful
ones, hoping for a repetition of the events of the previous day, had
scoured their pans to a dazzling brightness.

As for the innocent cause of all this commotion, she was fully as
excited as the miners themselves. She had never been outside of Middle
Bethany, until she started for California. Everything on the trip had
been strange, and her stopping-place and its people were stranger than
all. The male population of Middle Bethany, as is usual with small New
England villages, consisted almost entirely of very young boys and very
old men. But here at Bottle Flat were hosts of middle-aged men, and such
funny ones! She was wild to see more of them, and hear them talk; yet,
her wildness was no match for her prudence. She sighed to think how
slightly Toledo had spoken of the minister on the local committee, and
she piously admitted to herself that Toledo and his friends were
undoubtedly on the brink of the bottomless pit, and yet--they certainly
were very kind. If she could only exert a good influence upon these