Short Stories
couple of fistfuls of teeny ones an' dust."
He looked at Jim.
"Correct," was the response.
He wrote the count out on a slip of memorandum paper,
and made a copy of it, giving one slip to his partner and re-
taining the other.
"Just for reference," he said.
Again he had recourse to the food shelf, where he emptied
the sugar from a large paper bag. Into this he thrust the dia-
monds, large small, wrapped it up in a bandana handkerchief,
and stowed it away under his pillow. Then he sat down on the
edge of the bed and took off his shoes.
"An' you think they're worth a hundred thousan'?" Jim
asked, pausing and looking up from the unlacing of his shoe.
"Sure," was the answer. "I seen a dance-house girl down in
Arizona once, with some big sparklers on her. They wasn't re-
al. She said if they was she wouldn't be dancin'. Said they'd be
worth all of fifty thousan', an' she didn't have a dozen of 'em
all told."
"Who'd work for a livin'?" Jim triumphantly demanded.
"Pick an' shovel work!" he sneered. "Work like a dog all my
life, an' save all my wages, an' I wouldn't have half as much as
we got to-night."
"Dish washin's about your measure, an' you couldn't get
more'n twenty a month an' board. Your figgers is 'way off, but
your point is well taken. Let them that likes it, work. I rode
range for thirty a month when I was young an' foolish. Well,
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