Part 40 (2/2)
Jack looked at her closely. Her cheeks were pink-and-white, her crisp, brown hair formed a becoming setting to her face, and her blue eyes sparkled as they watched him.
”It seems to agree with you,” he said. ”I feel inclined to recommend a course of sewing and cooking to all my plain girl-friends.”
”Mr. Scarlett!”
”I mean it.”
”Then go, and tell Rachel Varnhagen to use your recipe.”
”She's beautiful already.”
Just at this point of the conversation, there was the sound of heavy steps somewhere in a remote part of the house, and presently the Pilot of Timber Town tramped into the room.
”Hullo!” he exclaimed. ”Mr. Scarlett! Making love to my dar'ter, when I thought you was on your way to the diggings? Come, come; you're losing your opportunities; you're wasting time in gallivanting, when you might be growing rich. There's great news abroad. They've issued a writ against that chap Tresco for the robbery of those mail-bags.”
”Tresco?” said Scarlett.
”Aye, Tresco the goldsmith. He's wanted by the police.”
”Then I'm afraid they won't find him,” said Jack. ”He's safe, I reckon.”
”Indeed. How do you know that?”
”He was in the bush with his prospector friend, when I left Bush Robin Creek. But he robbed no mails, bless you, Pilot. What would he want with other people's letters?”
”I don't pretend to know. There's money in mail-bags, I suppose. Perhaps he was after that.”
”He's after gold, right enough, and he'll get it, if I'm not mistaken.”
Jack had risen to go.
”We leave early in the morning,” he said. ”I must get some sleep.
Good-bye, Pilot; good-bye, Miss Summerhayes.”
”Good luck, lad. Come back rich.”
Rose was silent till Jack was near the door. Then she said, ”I shall remember your recipe--I shan't neglect home duties: I shall attend to them regularly.”
Jack laughed, and the Pilot went with him to the front door.
”Eh, lad, there never was such a gal for minding a house. She can make a batter-puddin' with anyone, and I don't care who the next is. Good night, lad, good night. There's never no need to tell her to look after her old father, none at all. And it's a good test--as good as you can have, Jack, my lad. If a gal looks after her old father well, she'll look after her husband, too, when he comes along. Good night, Jack; good night. Eh, but you're in a lucky streak. You'll die rich, Jack. Good night, Jack; good night.”
CHAPTER XXIII.
Forewarned, Forearmed.
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