As soon as he had made his discovery known, and settled its value,
he would send for his wife and her children in the States. He
would build a fine house on the opposite hillside, if she would
consent to it, unless she preferred, for the children's sake, to
live in San Francisco. A sense of a loss of independence--of a
change of circumstances that left him no longer his own master--
began to perplex him, in the midst of his brightest projects.
Certain other relations with other members of his family, which had
lapsed by absence and his insignificance, must now be taken up
anew. He must do something for his sister Jane, for his brother
William, for his wife's poor connections. It would be unfair to
him to say that he contemplated those things with any other
instinct than that of generosity; yet he was conscious of being
already perplexed and puzzled.

Meantime, however, the neighbor had apparently finished his pipe,
and, knocking the ashes out of it, rose suddenly, and ended any
further uncertainty of their meeting by walking over directly
towards him. The treasure-finder advanced a few steps on his side,
and then stopped irresolutely.

"Hollo, Slinn!" said the neighbor, confidently.

"Hollo, Masters," responded Slinn, faintly. From the sound of the
two voices a stranger might have mistaken their relative condition.
"What in thunder are you mooning about for? What's up?" Then,
catching sight of Slinn's pale and anxious face, he added abruptly,
"Are you sick?"

Slinn was on the point of telling him his good fortune, but