Part 11 (1/2)

The digger was upon his feet in a moment.

”Proud to meet you, mister,” he cried. ”Glad to have this bet with you.

I like to bet with a gen'l'man. Make it ten, sir, and I shall be happier still.”

”No, no,” replied the ancient Mr. Crewe. ”You said five, and five it shall be. That's quite enough for you to lose on one game.”

”You think so? That's your blanky opinion? See that?” The digger pointed to his heap of money. ”Where that come from there's enough to buy your tin-pot town three times over.”

”Indeed,” said Mr. Crewe. ”I'm glad to hear it. Bring your money, and you shall have the town.”

”Order, gentlemen, order,” cried the dough-faced man. ”I guess we're here to play cards, and cards we're going to play. If you three gentlemen cann't watch the game peaceably, it'll be my disagreeable duty to fire you out--and that right smart.”

And just at this interesting moment entered Gentle Annie. She walked with little steps; propelling her plenitude silently but for the rustle of her silk skirt. In her hand she held a scented handkerchief, like any lady in a drawing-room; her hair, black at the roots and auburn at the ends, was wreathed, coil on coil, upon the top of her head; her face, which gave away all her secrets, was saucy, expressive of self-satisfaction, petulance, and vanity. And yet it was a handsome face; but it lacked mobility, the chin was too strong, the grey eyes wanted expression, though they were ever on the watch for an admiring glance.

”The angel has come to pour oil upon the troubled waters,” said the flabby, florid man, looking up from his cards at the splendid bar-maid.

Gentle Annie regarded the speaker boldly, smiled, and coloured with pleasure.

”To pour whisky down your throats,” she said, laughing--”that would be nearer the mark.”

”And produce a more pleasing effect,” said Ga.r.s.ett.

”Attend to the game,” said the American. ”Spades are trumps.”

”Pa.s.s,” said the digger.

”Then down she goes,” said the Englishman.

”Pa.s.s again,” said the American.

”I make it Diamonds, and cross the blanky suit,” said the digger.

Gentle Annie turned to the Father of Timber Town.

”There's a gentleman wants to see you, Mr. Crewe,” she said.

”Very good, very good; bring him in--he has as much right here as I.”

”He said he'd wait for you in the bar-parlour.”

”But, my girl, I must watch the game: I have a five-pound note on it.

Yes, a five-pound note!”

”Think of that, now,” said Gentle Annie, running her bejewelled hand over her face. ”You'll be bankrupt before morning. But never mind, old gentleman,”--she deftly corrected the set of Mr. Crewe's coat, and fastened its top b.u.t.ton--”you'll always find a friend and protector in _me_.”

”My good girl, what a future! The tender mercies of bar-maids are cruel.

'The daughter of the horse-leech'--he! he!--where did you get all those rings from?--I don't often quote Scripture, but I find it knows all about women. Cathro, you must watch the game for me: I have to see a party in the bar. Watch the game, Cathro, watch the game.”

The old gentleman, leaning heavily upon his stick, walked slowly to the door, and Gentle Annie, humming a tune, walked briskly before, in all the glory of exuberant health and youth.

When Mr. Crewe entered the bar-parlour he was confronted by the bulky figure of Benjamin Tresco, who was enjoying a gla.s.s of beer and the last issue of _The Pioneer Bushman_. Between the goldsmith's lips was the amber mouthpiece of a straight-stemmed briar pipe, a smile of contentment played over the breadth of his ruddy countenance, and his e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns were made under some deep and pleasurable excitement.