"No, no, no! Tell a worl' no, no, no!" he remonstrated
vehemently, until Bud whooped with laughter.
"All right--all right! Keep your gold, durn it. You're like
all the rest--minute you get your paws on to some of the real
stuff, you go hog-wild over it."
Cash was pouring the fine gold back into the buck skin bag and
the baking-powder cans.
"Let the kid play with it," he said. "Getting used to gold when
he's little will maybe save him from a lot of foolishness over it
when he gets big. I dunno, but it looks reasonable to me. Let him
have a few nuggets if he wants. Familiarity breeds contempt, they
say; maybe he won't get to thinkin' too much of it if he's got it
around under his nose all the time. Same as everything else. It's
the finding that hits a feller hardest, Bud--the hunting for
it and dreaming about it and not finding it. What say we go up to
the claim for an hour or so? Take the kid along. It won't hurt
him if he's bundled up good. It ain't cold to-day, anyhow."
That night they discussed soberly the prospects of the claim
and their responsibilities in the matter of Lovin Child's
windfall. They would quietly investigate the history of old
Nelson, who had died a pauper in the eyes of the community, with
all his gleanings of gold hidden away.
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