Dreaming Bob 145 



"Gold! Well, I guess not. It was 

 nothin' but pennies and a few things they 

 told me used to be called fips and shillin's. 

 It didn't amount to five dollars all told, 

 except what I got extra on some of the old 

 pennies." 



While these men were talking, the old 

 man did not move a muscle, but his face was 

 the pifture of despair. I wished myself a 

 hundred miles away. The finder of the 

 treasure and his friend moved on, and when 

 we could no longer hear their footsteps I 

 turned to the old man and said, " Well, 

 what shall we do ?" 



" I'm goin* back to my shanty, and you 

 needn't come. I'm much obliged to you all 

 the same." He turned and left me without 

 saying even " good-by." 



I did not follow him, much as I wished to 

 do so, and I tried in vain to turn my thoughts 

 into other channels than those concerning 

 him. 



That night Dreaming Bob, otherwise 

 Bartholomew Quiggle, died. 



