Part 16 (2/2)
The digger, on the other hand, looked serious, not to say anxious, and his manner was full of uneasiness. His gla.s.s stood untouched, his half-finished pipe had gone out, and he could not sit still, but began to pace backwards and forwards restlessly.
”I've put my foot in it,” he said, pulling nervously at his bushy beard.
”I've quarrelled with the toffs of the town, and the best thing I can do is to make a git. I'll start for the bush to-morrer.”
”Now you're talking bunk.u.m,” said Tresco, as the smoke from his pipe wreathed above his head. ”I know those men--two bigger rogues never breathed. They simply wanted to fleece you, and instead of that you gave 'em one in the eye. More power to you: it was immense! As for old Mr.
Crewe and his crowd, they were on the make too; but they are out of court--there's no chance of them trying to renew your acquaintance. Now, what you must do is to enjoy yourself quietly, and by-and-by get back to your claim. But, for to-night, we'll have a good time--a little liquor, a quiet game of cards, a bit of a talk, and perhaps a better understanding.”
”To speak the blanky truth,” said the digger, ”you're the whitest man I've met. True, I've give myself away a bit, but you're the only man ain't tried to do the pump-handle business with me.”
”I'll buy all the gold you like to bring to town.”
”Right! Here's my fist: you shall 'ave all I git.”
The two men solemnly shook hands.
”Drink your liquor,” said Tresco. ”It'll do you good.”
The digger drank, and re-lit his pipe.
”Now, what I says is that there's men I like to put in the way of a good thing.”
”Same here,” said Benjamin.
”An' I say you've dealt honest by me, and I'll deal fair and open with you.”
”What I should expect,” said Benjamin.
”I've found a good thing--more than I could ever want myself, if I lived a hundred years. I intend to do the handsome to a few o' my pals.”
”I'm one.”
”You're one. First, I shall go back and do a bit more prospecting, and see if I can better my claim. Then I shall come to town, and let my mates into the know.”
”Just so.”
”By-and-by we'll slip out o' town, an' no man any the wiser. You can't track _me_--I'm too smart, by long chalks.”
Tresco's gla.s.s stood empty.
”We'll drink to it,” he said, and rang the little hand-bell that stood on the table.
Gentle Annie entered, with that regal air common to bar-maids who rule their soggy realms absolutely.
”Well, old gentleman, same old tipple, I suppose,” said she to Tresco.
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