Part 24 (1/2)
”But if you see that you could soon make him like you.”
”If he gave me the chance, perhaps.”
”He shall!”
Denis was leaning in the moonlight against the windla.s.s staging. There he listened to the lad's strenuous and enthusiastic plea.
”We've never had a mate like that since we've been on Ballarat,” urged Jimmy; ”and all done in half-an-hour out of our own odds and ends! Why, mister, that steward of yours would make a man of me and a new man of you in less than no time. And he doesn't even ask to be a partner; he's the very man we want, dropped from the stars on to this blessed claim!
If we don't snap him up, others soon will, and we deserve to lose the second-best chance we've ever had.”
Denis puffed his pipe in silence.
”I know him, you see,” he said at last.
”Of course you do.”
”But I never liked him.”
”So he says.”
”And it was his own fault.”
”He says that too. He's said enough for me to see he means turning over a new leaf if you give him this chance.”
Denis wavered. If he was going to give the man a chance (and he could always watch him, and get rid of him at a moment's notice) it would be perhaps unfair to let the lad know all he thought about their prospective companion.
”Do you really want him to have the job, Jimmy?”
”I do so, mister. He's the very man for us. I want him bad.”
”And you never wanted Mr. Moseley at all, eh?”
”No, mister, I never did.”
Denis went on smoking for another minute. The moon was high now, and as pure as ever. The tents further down the gully shone white as from a fall of real Christmas snow; and sounds of real Christmas came faintly from them, and more faintly from far beyond. Denis, however, was not thinking of the morrow, but of many a morrow--of long days of unremitting labour--of short nights when the spent body would be fit but for rest and for refreshment. He felt the better already for this single evening meal. And the man could be watched--the man could be watched.
”Well, mister?”
”It's all right, Jimmy. He shall have his trial--to-morrow--the day after to-morrow--and as many days after that again as he suits us and we him. But never let him know the half of what we take, and never you leave him on the claim alone.”
CHAPTER XX
THE JEWELER'S SHOP
Dent and Doherty became the heroes of one of those fairy-tales in which the times were rich. For eight consecutive days, after laying the gutter bare from wall to wall of the shaft, and slabbing the latter down to the last inch, they washed their twenty tubs a day, and averaged rather better than four ounces to the tub. The daily yield only once fell below 300 at current rates; but more than once it impinged upon 400.
Altogether the eight days realized upwards of 50; which was the aggregate amount handed over to the Commissioner, who forwarded it to Geelong by Gold Escort, which delivered it to a firm of gold-buyers whom the Commissioner could recommend, and who presently remitted some 2,400 in hard cash.
These wonderful days were also the most comfortable that the partners had yet spent upon the diggings. They were properly looked after for the first time. They had three good meals a day, to say nothing of coffee and a biscuit before they went to work in the early morning and afternoon tea with hot cakes or any other incongruous luxury which happened to occur to the steward's mind. Denis said it was a good thing they were working so hard. Doherty rolled his eyes and put on flesh. The pair were being spoiled and cosseted by a master-hand, and it did them more good than their success. They were the better workers by day, the better sleepers by night, and this despite the manifold excitements of every waking hour.