"
"I mean the other Mr. Morehouse, his brother--your banker. Henry wired to
him from New York. And he was writing you, to say, if you hadn't got
anybody who knew the ropes to see you through your excursions, you
couldn't do better than let Hilliard of Lucky Star be your pilot--kind of
courier, you know. Both the Morehouses vouch for me, though it's Henry
who's my friend. All strangers who come to have a look around California
take a Californian to show them the sights. If you haven't got Mr.
Morehouse's letter, it must be waiting for you. I reckon it ought to have
arrived last night or this morning. And if you find he recommends me as a
trustworthy man, will you think the plan over, before you say no?"
"You take my breath away! But--ye-es. I'll think it over. I suppose one
really _can_ do things in America one wouldn't do _anywhere_ else?"
"That's why there's so much emigration," replied Nick, gravely.
"And I should be studying California through you, I suppose? I begin to
see that you're a typical Californian."
"No," Nick contradicted her. "You mustn't get hold of that impression. It
wouldn't be playing the game for me to let you. The typical Californian's
a very different man: a grand chap, and I reckon more like the sort you're
used to.
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