"I'll give a hundred and fifty--and the drinks. I've been," he added
apologetically, "wantin' sunthin' like this a long time."

"Well, gen'lemen," said the man who had first spoken to him, "lookin'
at him by and large; takin' in, so to speak, the gin'ral gait of him in
single harness; bearin' in mind the perfect freshness of him, and the
coolness and size of his cheek--the easy downyness, previousness, and
utter don't-care-a-damnativeness of his coming yer, I think two hundred
ain't too much for him, and we'll call it a bargain."

Clarence's previous experience of this grim, smileless Californian chaff
was not calculated to restore his confidence. He drew away from the
cabin, and repeated doggedly, "I asked you if this was the way to the
mines."

"It ARE the mines, and these yere are the miners," said the first
speaker gravely. "Permit me to interdoose 'em. This yere's Shasta Jim,
this yere's Shotcard Billy, this is Nasty Bob, and this Slumgullion
Dick. This yere's the Dook o' Chatham Street, the Livin' Skeleton, and
me!"

"May we ask, fair young sir," said the Living Skeleton, who, however,
seemed in fairly robust condition, "whence came ye on the wings of the
morning, and whose Marble Halls ye hev left desolate?"

"I came across the plains, and got into Stockton two days ago on Mr.
Peyton's train," said Clarence, indignantly, seeing no reason now to
conceal anything. "I came to Sacramento to find my cousin, who isn't
living there any more. I don't see anything funny in THAT! I came here
to the mines to dig gold--because---because Mr. Silsbee, the man who was