Part 9 (1/2)

There were birch twigs caught in the straps of the digger's ”swag,” and he had a bit of _rata_ flower stuck in the band of his hat. ”That's where he's come from!” Tresco pointed in the direction of the great range of mountains which could be seen distinctly through the window of his workshop.

”What's it worth?” asked Jake, who stood beside his master.

”The gold? Not a penny less than 3/17/-an ounce, my son.”

”An' you give 3/15/-. Good business, boss.”

”I drew him a cheque for three hundred pounds, and I haven't credit at the bank for three hundred s.h.i.+llings. So I must go and sell this gold before he has time to present my cheque. Pretty close sailing, Jake.

”But mark me, young shaver. There's better times to come. If the discovery of this galoot don't mean a gold boom in Timber Town, you may send the crier round and call me a flathead. Things is goin' to hum.”

CHAPTER VI.

The Father of Timber Town.

”I never heard the like of it!” exclaimed Mr. Crewe. ”You say, eighty-two ounces of gold? You say it came from within fifty miles of Timber Town? Why, sir, the matter must be looked into.” The old gentleman's voice rose to a shrill treble. ”Yes, indeed, it _must_.”

They were sitting in the Timber Town Club: the ancient Mr. Crewe, Scarlett, and Cathro, a little man who rejoiced in the company of the rich octogenarian.

”I'm new at this sort of thing,” said Scarlett: ”I've just come off the sea. But when the digger took a big bit of gold from his pocket, I looked at it, open-eyed--I can tell you that. I called the landlord, and ordered drinks--I thought that the right thing to do. And, by George! it was. The ruffianly-looking digger drank his beer, insisted on calling for more, and then locked the door.”

Mr. Crewe was watching the speaker closely, and hung on every word he uttered. Glancing at the lean and wizened Cathro, he said, ”You hear that, Cathro? He locked the door, sir. Did you ever hear the like?”

”From inside his s.h.i.+rt,” Scarlett continued, ”he drew a fat bundle of bank notes, which he placed upon the table. Taking a crisp one-pound note from the pile, he folded it into a paper-light, and said, 'I could light my pipe with this an' never feel it.'

”'Don't think of such a thing,' I said, and placed a sovereign on the table, 'I'll toss you for it.'

”'Right!' said my hairy friend. 'Sudden death?'

”'Sudden death,' I said.

”'Heads,' said he.”

”Think of that, now!” exclaimed Mr. Crewe. ”The true digger, Cathro, the true digger, I know the _genus_--there's no mistaking it. Most interesting. Go on, sir.”

”The coin came down tails, and I pocketed the bank-note.

”'Lookyer here, mate,' said my affluent friend. 'That don't matter.

We'll see if I can't get it back,' and he put another note on the table.

I won that, too. He doubled the stakes, and still I won.

”'You had luck on the gold-fields,' I said, 'but when you come to town things go dead against you.'

”'Luck!' he cried. 'Now watch me. If I lost the whole of thisyer bloomin' pile, I could start off to-morrer mornin' an, before nightfall, I'd be on ground where a week's work would give me back all I'd lost.

An' never a soul in this blank, blank town knows where the claim is.'”