In a small camp like that at River Bend, the movements and plans of each individual were generally known. So it was generally understood that John Miles intended to start on Thursday for the city.
The previous evening he spent with Tom and Ferguson, with whom he was more intimate than any others of the party. He would not have been drawn to the Scotchman, but for his being Tom's room-mate. Through him he came to appreciate and respect the Scot's sterling virtues, and to overlook his dry, phlegmatic manner.
"I hope you'll have good luck, Mr. Miles," said Tom.
"I would join with my young friend Tom," said Ferguson, "if I were quite clear in my mind whether good luck is the right term to use."
"Don't you think some men are luckier than others, Mr. Ferguson?" asked Tom.
"Some men are more successful, doubtless; but what we call good luck, generally comes from greater industry, good judgment, and, above all, the prompt use of opportunities."
"There is something in that," said Miles; "but when two men work side by side with equal industry, and one finds a nugget worth thousands of dollars, while the other plods along at a few dollars a day, isn't there some luck there?"
"It may be so," said the Scotchman, cautiously, "but such cases are exceptional."
"So one boy is born to an inheritance of wealth and another to an inheritance of hard work. Isn't there any luck there?"
"The luck may be on the side of the poor boy," was the reply. "He is further removed from temptation."
"Well, at any rate, it seems you believe in luck after all. I am sure you both wish me to be prosperous, whether you call it luck or by some other name. Tom, if I meet with any good opening that I think will suit you, I shall write you. You don't want to stay here, particularly?"
"No; the place is not so pleasant since these new people have come here. Missouri Jack isn't a neighbor that I like."
"He is exerting a bad influence," said Ferguson. "I am afraid Peabody visits him too often for his own good."
"He ought to have stayed in Boston," said Miles. "He is not the man for such a life as ours. He is too delicate to work, or thinks he is, and I see no other reliable road to success."
"I saw Peabody reeling out of the saloon this afternoon," said Tom. "I asked him if he considered it was 'high-toned' to drink in a saloon, as that is the word he is always using, but he said it didn't make much difference out here, where he wasn't known."