"The Kernel's tech 'ud be cold and clammy," concluded the Duke of
Chatham Street, who had not yet spoken, "sure. But what did yer mammy
say about it? Is she gettin' married agin? Did SHE send ye here?"

It seemed to Clarence that the Duke of Chatham Street here received a
kick from his companions; but the boy repeated doggedly--

"I came to Sacramento to find my cousin, Jackson Brant; but he wasn't
there."

"Jackson Brant!" echoed the first speaker, glancing at the others. "Did
your mother say he was your cousin?"

"Yes," said Clarence wearily. "Good-by."

"Hullo, sonny, where are you going?"

"To dig gold," said the boy. "And you know you can't prevent me, if it
isn't on your claim. I know the law." He had heard Mr. Peyton discuss
it at Stockton, and he fancied that the men, who were whispering among
themselves, looked kinder than before, and as if they were no longer
"acting" to him. The first speaker laid his hand on his shoulder, and
said, "All right, come with me, and I'll show you where to dig."

"Who are you?" said Clarence. "You called yourself only 'me.'"

"Well, you can call me Flynn--Tom Flynn."

"And you'll show me where I can dig--myself?"