He had lost as much as Mack. How rosy is the rainbow, and how evanescent
the pot of gold at the end of it! California had swallowed up more
wealth than its gold could ever repay, as Keeler well knew. It was only
occasionally that some lucky devil, or some prudent, saving man like
Robert Palmer, after thirty years in the gold fields, had anything to
show for it.
So Keeler, pondering the deceitfulness of riches, sadly made his way
back across the mountains. Even then Fate was weaving her web about his
old friend Palmer, who was soon to lie in a pauper's grave. Francis
seized a Golden Opportunity.
Francis had so far prospered that he had moved to San Francisco. In the
city he could watch the stock market, as he told himself privately. To
his friends he announced that failing health demanded the change, albeit
the exhilarating air of the Sierras was far more beneficial than the
dampness of the sea coast. But Francis, inheriting ten thousand dollars
from one of his deceased brothers, had moved to San Francisco, taking
with him sundry hundreds and thousands of dollars, entrusted to him by
his Pennsylvania friends for investment.
Pages:
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123