Casey was restless, and his restlessness manifested itself in a most unusual pessimism.

Twice he picked up "float" that showed the clean indigo stain of silver bromyrite in spots the size of a split pea, and cast the piece from him as if it were so much barren limestone, without ever investigating to see where it had come from.

Little as I know about mineral, I am sure that one piece at least was rich; high-grade, if ever I saw any.

But Casey merely grunted when I spoke to him about it.
"Maybe it is.

A coupla hundred ounces, say.