Curiously enough, she reminded me of Mrs. Gardener, for whom she
had worked in Black Hawk so long ago. She told me about some of the
desperate chances she had taken in the gold country, but the thrill of
them was quite gone. She said frankly that nothing interested her much now
but making money. The only two human beings of whom she spoke with any
feeling were the Swede, Johnson, who had given her his claim, and Lena
Lingard. She had persuaded Lena to come to San Francisco and go into
business there.
"Lincoln was never any place for her," Tiny remarked. "In a town of that
size Lena would always be gossiped about. Frisco's the right field for
her. She has a fine class of trade. Oh, she's just the same as she always
was! She's careless, but she's level-headed. She's the only person I know
who never gets any older. It's fine for me to have her there; somebody who
enjoys things like that. She keeps an eye on me and won't let me be
shabby. When she thinks I need a new dress, she makes it and sends it
home--with a bill that's long enough, I can tell you!"
Tiny limped slightly when she walked. The claim on Hunker Creek took toll
from its possessors. Tiny had been caught in a sudden turn of weather,
like poor Johnson. She lost three toes from one of those pretty little
feet that used to trip about Black Hawk in pointed slippers and striped
stockings.
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