Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 41, Number 84, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 9 July 1909 — A GOLD BRICK. [ARTICLE]

A GOLD BRICK.

From Pasquedunk in Connecticut, he came to the City of Curious Delights and the markings of his Yankefe home craft were upon him in a hundred verdant manifestations. Yet he was such stuff as steel rail billionaires are made of. I would have sworn. Hiram from Pasqhedunk stopped at the entrance of the Mogul Cigar store. r J. Frederick Colvin, the blase proprietor, chaffed him, winking at a group of small boys who stood near. And then a maid of middle-teen-age stepped beneath Colvin’s great Indian Mogul sign. She had big, frightened brown eyes and a pale, sickly face that promised beauty should the rose tints of health ever return. The girl carried a newspaper-wrapped package, which she hugged closely to her as she studied the faces of the metropolitan and hayseed with her hungry, appealing eyes. Colvin, the cigar man, frowned on the girl, but the man from Pasquedunk seized her by the arm. “Come right in, Sis,” he assented. “My brother is sick,” she announced gravely. “Well,” growled Colvin. “This is no charity society.’ ’ “Poor little girl,” sympathized the Pasquedunker. She continued hopelessly. “We are poor—dreadfully poor—my father works in the big government building yonder and he got hold of this. It’s wrong—but there’s little Joe and the operation. Look at the bundle, please and give me what you can for it.” Colvin said nothing, but Hiram Hopper tugged at the, package. In a minute he rolled it over, jerked away the paper and strings and revealed a brick of dull gold. “The gold brick game,’’ sneered J. Frederick Colvin. “They played it in Nineveh.” Hiram Hopper tapped at the yellow brick meditatively. Then he searched the girl’s downcast eyes. “You ain’t tellin’ no lies about it, are you. honey?” She shook her head, and Colvin burst into laughter. “That’s all right.” declared Hiram of Pasquedunk. “Give you $25 for the outfit.” The girl gave a glad little cry. The little lady of poverty stepped into the street for departure; and a rushing, gesticulating man almost ran over her. “You haven’t seen a pale-faced girl with a bundle that she might have wanted to hide?” “What’s that?’’ snapped Colvin. “Oh, nothing!” groaned the man. “I’m out just $4,800 is all. In the assay office —let a poor, starved workman get away with a bar of virgin gold—think he passed it to the girl!” He smiled bitterly and would have passed on. “You’d give a heap for that gold brick now. I reckon?” asked young Hiram. “Try me and see.” “A hundred dollars?” “Well, rather.’’ The Reuben chewed meditatively. “Any questions asked?’’ “Not a question—you don’t mean—” “Let’s see your hundred dollars first,” demanded Hiram of Pasquedunk, retreating into the store. The assay man followed, placing ten crisp bills on the counter, and Hiram Hopper passed over the yellow brick of gold. “'Purty easy money,” smiled the countryman. “You lucky idiot,” growled Colvin. “But you were a fool to touch it, Just the same.” As for the man from the big govern ment office, he went away rejoicing. Then the pale lady of poverty left the Sign of the Great Mogul, with the rose tint in her cheeks because of the $25 in her tight-clenched hand. And Hiram of Pasauedunk accompanied the maid. “I could tell you were a lady,’’ he whispered, “and didn't I clean up $75 mighty slick?” Colvin, the cynical cigar man, watched them disappear. “Preposterously lucky fooir* he grumbled. "But he’ll pay for it all; he’ll marry the girl.”—Stuart B. Stone.