Part 11 (2/2)

”By the living hokey! What times, eh?” He slapped his thigh with his heavy hand. ”The town won't know itself! We'll all be bloomin'

millionaires. Ah! good evening, Mr. Crewe. Auspicious occasion. Happy to meet you, sir.” Benjamin had risen, and was motioning the Father of Timber Town to a seat upon the couch, where he himself had been sitting.

”You will perceive that I am enjoying a light refresher. Have something yourself at my expense, I beg.”

Mr. Crewe's manner was very stiff. He knew Tresco well. It was not so much that he resented the goldsmith's familiar manner, as that, with the instinct of his _genus_, he suspected the unfolding of some money-making scheme for which he was to find the capital. Therefore he fairly bristled with caution.

”Thank you, nothing.” He spoke with great dignity. ”You sent for me.

What do you wish to say, sir?”

Benjamin looked at the rich man through his spectacles, without which he found it impossible to read the masterpieces of the editor of _The Pioneer Bushman_; pursed his lips, to indicate that he hardly relished the old gentleman's manner; scrutinised the columns of the newspaper for a desired paragraph, on which, when found, he placed a substantial forefinger; and then, glancing at Mr. Crewe, he said abruptly, ”Read that, boss,” and puffed furiously at his pipe, while he watched the old man's face through a thick cloud of tobacco smoke.

Mr. Crewe read the paragraph; folded up the paper, and placed it on the couch beside him; looked at the ceiling; glanced round the room; turned his keen eyes on Tresco, and said:--

”Well, what of that? I saw that an hour ago. It's very fine, if true; very fine, indeed.”

”True, mister? _I_ bought the gold _myself_! _I_ gave the information to the 'buster'! Now, here is my plan. I know this gold is _new_ gold--it's no relation to any gold I ever bought before. It comes from a virgin field. By the special knowledge I possess as a gold-buyer, I am able to say that; and you know when a virgin field yields readily as much as eighty-two ounces, the odds are in favour of it yielding thousands. Look at the Golden Bar. You remember that?--eight thousand ounces in two days, and the field's been worked ever since. Then there was Greenstone Gully--a man came into town with fifty ounces, and the party that tracked him made two thousand ounces within a month. Those finds were at a distance, but this one is a local affair. How do I know?--my special knowledge, mister; my intuitive reading of signs which prognosticate coming events; my knowledge of the characters and ways of diggers. All this I am willing to place at your disposal, on one condition, Mr.

Crewe; and that condition is that we are partners in the speculation. I find the field--otherwise the partners.h.i.+p lapses--and you find me 200 and the little capital required. I engage to do my part within a week.”

Mr. Crewe stroked his nose with his forefinger and thumb, as was his habit when in deep contemplation.

”But--ah--what if I were to tell you that I can find the field entirely by my own exertions? What do you say to that, Mr. Tresco? What do you say to that?”

”I say, sir, without the least hesitation, that you _never_ will find it. I say that you will spend money and valuable time in a wild-goose chase, whereas _I_ shall be entirely successful.”

”We shall see,” said Mr. Crewe, rising from his seat, ”we shall see.

Don't try to coerce me, sir; don't try to coerce _me_!”

”I haven't the least desire in that direction.” Benjamin's face a.s.sumed the expression of a cherub. ”Nothing is further from my thoughts. I know of a good thing--my special knowledge qualifies me to make the most of it; I offer you the refusal of 'chipping in' with me, and you, I understand, refuse. Very well, Mr. Crewe, _I_ am satisfied; _you_ are satisfied; all is amicably settled. I go to place my offer where it will be accepted. Good evening, sir.”

Benjamin put his nondescript, weather-worn hat on his semi-bald head, and departed with as much dignity as his ponderous person could a.s.sume.

”And now,” said Mr. Crewe to himself, as the departing figure of the goldsmith disappeared, ”we will go and see the result of our little bet; we will see whether we have lost or gained the sum of five pounds.”

The old man, taking his stick firmly in his hand, stumped down the pa.s.sage to the door of the room where the gamblers played, and, as he turned the handle, he was greeted with a torrent of shouts, high words, and the noise of a falling table.

There, on the floor, lay gold and bank notes, scattered in every direction amid broken chairs, playing cards, and struggling men.

Mr. Crewe paused on the threshold. In the whirl and dust of the tumult he could discern the digger's wilderness of hair, the bulky form of Ga.r.s.ett, and the thin American, in a tangled, writhing ma.s.s. His friend Cathro was looking on with open mouth and trembling hands, ineffectual, inactive. But Scarlett, making a sudden rush into the melee, seized the lucky digger, and dragged him, infuriated, struggling, swearing, from the unwieldy Ga.r.s.ett, on whose throat his grimy fingers were tightly fixed.

”Well, well,” exclaimed Mr. Crewe. ”Landlord! landlord! Scarlett, be careful--you'll strangle that man!”

Scarlett pinioned the digger's arms from behind, and rendered him harmless; Ga.r.s.ett sat on the floor fingering his throat, and gasping; while Lichfield lay unconscious, with his head under the broken table.

”Fair play!” shouted the digger. ”I've bin robbed. Le'me get at him.

I'll break his blanky neck. Cheat a gen'leman at cards, will you? Le'me get at him. Le'go, I tell yer--who's quarrelling with _you_?” But he struggled in vain, for Scarlett's hold on him was tighter than a vice's.

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