"You're the second man that's dined with me to-day," said the widow.
"And who was the first lucky man?" inquired Crane, suspecting at once that it might have been Miles.
"I don't know his name, but he was a good-looking young man, who said he had had a bag of gold-dust stolen from him."
"That's Miles," thought Crane; and he at once decided not to betray any knowledge of him.
"He was in bad luck," said Bill. "Did he know who stole it?"
"He didn't tell me. I don't think he knew."
"Do you live here all the year round, Mrs.----?"
"All I can say is, that Brown is a lucky man. Another cup of tea if you please, Mrs. Brown."
"You might not like to exchange places with him, for all his luck, stranger," remarked the widow.
"Indeed I would," said Bill, with a languishing look.
"He's six feet under ground!" explained Mrs. Brown, dryly.
"But you don't mean to stay a widow?" interrogated Crane.
"Well, it is kinder lonesome. It seems natural like to have a man round."
"I wonder if she's got any money," thought Crane. "I'll find out if I can."
"Yes, Mrs. Brown, I feel for you," he said. "A woman can't struggle with the world as a man can."
"I don't know about that, stranger. I can take care of myself, if that's what you mean."
"But a woman needs a man to protect and work for her," insinuated Crane.
"I don't need any one to protect me," said the widow; "and, as for support, I've got a matter of five thousand dollars laid by, and a good claim that'll pay for the workin'. I don't think I shall need to go to the poor-house yet awhile."
Bill Crane's eyes sparkled. The widow Brown seemed wonderfully attractive in his eyes. He was willing to barter his young affections for five thousand dollars and a claim, even if the widow had been thrice as homely as she was. If he had known that Mrs. Brown was bent on marriage his way would have been clearer. His mind was made up. He would woo and win his fair hostess if he could.
"Yes, he was a quiet man, Brown was. He never gave me any trouble, and it was natural to see him round."
"You must not mourn for him too much, Mrs. Brown."
"I shan't make a fool of myself," said the widow. "He's gone, and he won't come back. There's no use cryin'."
"She's rather a queer specimen," thought Crane. "She hasn't broken her heart, it seems."