“There’s your money,” said the goldsmith, throwing the notes upon the table.
The digger counted them.
“You shall have the balance in two days, but not an hour sooner,” replied Tresco. “In the meanwhile, you can git. I’m busy.”
Without more ceremony, he went into his workshop.
“Jake, I give you a holiday for three days,” he said. “Go and see your Aunt Maria, or your Uncle Sam, or whoever you like, but don’t let me see your ugly face for three solid days.”
The apprentice looked at his master open-mouthed.
The goldsmith went to the safe which stood in a corner of the shop, and took out some silver.
“Here’s money,” he said. “Take it. Don’t come back till next Friday. Make yourself scarce; d’you hear?”
“Right, boss. Anythin’ else?”