It struck Grant as strange that his fellow waiter, though he received five dollars a day, never seemed to have any money on hand. More than once he had borrowed a couple of dollars of Grant, which, however, he always repaid.

“What can he do with his money?” thought Grant. “He gets very little chance to spend it, for he is confined in the restaurant from twelve to fourteen hours a day.”

The mystery was solved when, one night, he saw Benton entering a notorious gambling¹ saloon not far from the restaurant.

“So that is where he disposes of his money,” reflected Grant. “I wish I could venture to give him a hint. But probably he would pay it no attention, as I am a boy considerably² younger than he.”

159He did, however, find occasion for speaking soon afterward³.

“Have you ever been to the mines, Mr. Benton?” he asked.

“No.”

“Don’t you ever expect to go?”

“I would go in a minute if I had money enough.”

“I should think you might save money enough in a month or two. You get good pay.”

“It’s tiresome⁴ saving from one’s daily pay. I want to make a strike. Some day I shall. I might win five hundred dollars in the next week. When I do I’ll bid the old man good-by, and set out for the mines.”

“I believe in saving. A friend of mine, now in San Francisco, warned me to keep clear of the gambling-houses, and I would be sure to get on.”

Albert Benton regarded Grant suspiciously.

“Does the boy know I gamble, I wonder?” he said to himself.

“Your friend’s an old fogy,” he said, contemptuously.

160“Don’t you think his advice good?”

“Well, yes; I don’t believe in gambling to any extent, but I have been in once or twice. It did me no harm.”

If he had told the truth, he would have said that he went to the gambling-house nearly every evening.

“It’s safest to keep away, I think.”

“Well, yes, perhaps it is, for a kid like you.”

No more was said at the time. But something happened soon which involved both Benton and his associate.

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