Part 10 (2/2)
”'Strewth!” cried the man from the ”bush.” ”But let's see your next.”
”You haven't a hope,” said the big gambler. ”Two to one in notes we euchre you.”
”Done,” replied the digger, and he took a dirty one-pound bank-note from his heap of money.
”Most exciting,” exclaimed Mr. Crewe. ”Quite spirited. The trumps must all be out, Cathro. Let us see what all this betting means.”
”Right Bower,” said the Englishman.
”Ho-ho! stranger,” the American cried. ”I guess that pound belongs to Mr. Ga.r.s.ett.”
The digger put the Knave of Diamonds on the table, and handed the money to his florid antagonist.
”Your friend is set back two points, Scarlett.” It was Mr. Crewe that spoke. ”England and America divide the pool.”
The digger looked up at the Father of Timber Town.
”If you gen'l'men wish to bet on the game, well and good,” he said, somewhat heatedly. ”But if you're not game to back your opinion, then keep your blanky mouths shut!”
Old Mr. Crewe was as nettled at this unlooked-for attack as if a battery of artillery had suddenly opened upon him.
”Heh! What?” he exclaimed. ”You hear that, Cathro? Scarlett, you hear what your friend says? He wants to bet on the game, and that after being euchred and losing his pound to Mr. Ga.r.s.ett. Why, certainly, sir. I'll back my opinion with the greatest pleasure. I'll stake a five-pound note on it. You'll lose this game, sir.”
”Done,” said the digger, and he counted out five sovereigns and placed them in a little heap by themselves.
Mr. Crewe had not come prepared for a ”night out with the boys.” He found some silver in his pocket and two pounds in his sovereign-case.
”Hah! no matter,” he said. ”Cathro, call the landlord. I take your bet, sir”--to the digger--”most certainly I take it, but one minute, give me one minute.”
”If there's any difficulty in raising the cash,” said the digger, fingering his pile of money, ”I won't press the matter. _I_ don't want your blanky coin. I can easy do without it.”
The portly, rubicund landlord of the Lucky Digger entered the room.
”Ah, Townson,” said old Mr. Crewe, ”good evening. We have a little bet on, Townson, a little bet between this gentleman from away back and myself, and I find I'm without the necessary cash. I want five pounds.
I'll give you my IOU.”
”Not at all,” replied the landlord, in a small high voice, totally surprising as issuing from such a portly person, ”no IOU. I'll gladly let you have twenty.”
”Five is all I want, Townson; and I expect to double it immediately, and then I shall be quite in funds.”
The landlord disappeared and came back with a small tray, on which was a bundle of bank-notes, some dirty, some clean and crisp. The Father of Timber Town counted the money. ”Twenty pounds, Townson. Very well. You shall have it in the morning. Remind me, Cathro, that I owe Mr. Townson twenty pounds.”
The digger looked with surprise at the man who could conjure money from a publican.
”Who in Hades are _you_?” he asked, as Mr. Crewe placed his 5 beside the digger's. ”D'you own the blanky pub?”
”No, he owns the town,” interposed Ga.r.s.ett.
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