The Golden Chimney: A Boy's Mine — Background and Themes

xclaimed, “there is where the boilers stood. And there,”--he pointed to where some twisted and rusty pipes loosely hung against the wall, like petrified serpents,--“is where the tanks stood in which they washed the gold. They washed it before melting it into bricks. Father has told me how the men used to stand knee-deep in it in the tanks and shovel it out, just as if they were shoveling coal.”

“They must have lost a lot.”

“It couldn’t be helped. And no one’s ever worked it over!”

“Nothing but a loose shingle in the roof. Why, Beth, I didn’t know you were such a coward.”

“I’m not a coward; but I don’t like spooky places.” She looked apprehensively toward a dark corner.

“Spooky! Well, I hope some old miner’s ghost will kindly show me where to dig, that’s all. See how wide the cracks are in the floor of this shed,” he said, as he looked through an opening which led to an adjoining building. “There are thousands of dollars in the dirt under it--probably.”

They peered into the black cracks and could almost fancy they saw the glitter of the precious metal. The boy threw back his head and gazed at the massive brickwork of the chimney.

“It’s a chance, of course, but I’m going to take it. It’s funny to think of mining for gold in the heart of San Francisco in 1901!” He laughed and gave a low whistle.

“I’m so afraid you’ll lose all you’ve got,” she said. Then she suddenly made up her mind to side with him. “But, after all, there’s a risk in everything. I’d do it, if I were you, Ben,” she stoutly affirmed. “There’s lots of risks I’d take if I were a man.”

“That’s got some grit to it,” Ben approvingly replied. His seventeen-year-old vanity was flattered by being called a man.

“You see,” he continued, “if I’d been taught a trade it would be different; or if father had had any business to leave me. But he was just like old Madge,--wouldn’t do anything but trade in mines. He always had a big fortune just in sight, but it never came near enough to catch.”

“That’s a hard way to live.”

“Yes. It wore mother out; never to know from month to month whether we were going to stay or move on, or what our income would be. I believe all old miners are alike. Once a miner, always a miner. The gold fever of early times bewitched them for all the rest of their lives.”

“Take care you’re not bewitched, too.”

“It’s entirely different with me,” he began.

“No, it isn’t,” she interrupted. “But I’m with you, Ben. O, what a crazy scheme it is!” She laughed at his troubled face. “What was that? It is something in the house!”

“It’s some one in the yard,” Ben replied, looking out.

A man’s figure appeared in the doorway.

“Good-afternoon, Mr. Madge,” Ben said. “We are viewing your property. With a floor, this would make a first-rate skating-rink.”

The man came toward them. Of medium stature, with a halting gait, as though his joints were rusty, he helped himself along by the aid of a stout hooked cane. A sparse gray beard covered the lower part of his face, which was flushed from liquor. He looked uncomfortably warm, and he took off his shabby broad-brimmed hat and ran his fingers through his hair until it stood erect in tufts.

“A skating-rink! Like as not ’twould come down about your heads. Run home, girl,” he said to Beth; “this is no place for you.”

“We were just going when you came in,” Ben replied, before she could answer. “Good-night.”

“Didn’t you want to talk to him about the scheme?” she asked, when they were out of hearing.

“Not when he’s in that condition. I wouldn’t take advantage of him. Run home, now, before Mrs. Hodges has a chance to scold.”

“She’ll scold, anyway,” the girl replied. Then she shrugged her shoulders as if to dismiss an unpleasant subject, and her face brightened. “Race you to the Point, Ben!” she cried, placing one foot forward for the start.

He did not respond, but gazed at her with a preoccupied air.