ness finished, Earl thanked the operator and started on his return home.
He was very much out of sorts with himself, and wondered what his younger brother would think of him. "I needn't find fault with Randy for being careless after this," he sighed, almost bitterly. "I'm as bad as he is, and worse. One thing is a comfort, though: I remember the name of that Boston firm that is to provide us with our money—Bartwell & Stone. I had better make a note of that." And he did.
The evening shadows were beginning to fall when Basco was again reached. On the main street of the little town Earl halted to think matters over. Why wouldn't it be a good thing to let folks know that they wanted to sell out their household goods and their tools and other things? He made his way to the general store.
"Well, Portney, I heard you had been put off your place," was the greeting received from the general storekeeper.
"We have not been put off—we are going to leave it, Mr. Andrews."
"Oh! Where are you going?"
"Alaska? You must be joking."
"No, sir. My uncle, Foster Portney, has sent for Randy and me to come to San Francisco, and the three of us are going to some new gold fields."