"We'll leave it on the table, sociable like, in case any of the boys
come in," said Uncle Billy, taking up the cards. "Well. How do we
stand?"

Uncle Jim consulted the memorandum-book. "You were owin' me sixty-two
thousand dollars on the last game, and the limit's seventy-five
thousand!"

"Je whillikins!" ejaculated Uncle Billy. "Let me see."

He examined the book, feebly attempted to challenge the additions, but
with no effect on the total. "We oughter hev made the limit a hundred
thousand," he said seriously; "seventy-five thousand is only triflin'
in a game like ours. And you've set down my claim at Angel's?" he
continued.

"I allowed you ten thousand dollars for that," said Uncle Jim, with
equal gravity, "and it's a fancy price too."

The claim in question being an unprospected hillside ten miles distant,
which Uncle Jim had never seen, and Uncle Billy had not visited for
years, the statement was probably true; nevertheless, Uncle Billy
retorted:--

"Ye kin never tell how these things will pan out. Why, only this mornin'
I was taking a turn round Shot Up Hill, that ye know is just rotten with
quartz and gold, and I couldn't help thinkin' how much it was like my
ole claim at Angel's. I must take a day off to go on there and strike a
pick in it, if only for luck."