Dolphin and Carnac drew chairs to the table, on which stood a guttering candle, glued to the wood with its own grease.
“Charming residence,” remarked Carnac, elegant in a black velvet coat, as he glanced round the bare and battered room.
“Sweet William Villa,” said the young man. “I pay no rent; and mighty comfortable it is too, when you have a umberella to keep out the rain.”
“Our business,” said the pugnacious-looking Dolphin, “is to square up, which hasn’t been done since we cleaned out the digger that William hocussed.”
He drew a handful of notes and gold from his pocket, and placed it on the table.
“Gently,” said Sweet William, who took Carnac’s hat, and placed it over the money. “Wait till I fix my blind.” Snatching a blanket from a bed made upon the bare floor, he hung it on two nails above the window, so as to effectually bar the inquisitive gaze of chance wayfarers. “Damme, a bloke would think you wanted to advertise the firm and publish our balance-sheet.” Stepping down to the floor, he replaced Carnac’s hat upon its owner’s head, and said “Fire away.”
Each man placed his money in front of him, and rendered his account. Then Dolphin took all the money, counted it, and divided it into four equal heaps, three of which he distributed, and one of which he retained.
“Fifty-seven quid,” said Sweet William, when he had counted his money. “A very nice dividend for the week. I think I’ll give up batching here, and live at The Lucky Digger and have a spree.”
“Not much, William,” broke in Dolphin. “Keep yourself in hand, my son. Wait till we’ve made our real haul and got away with the loot: then you can go on the burst till all’s blue. Each man wants his wits about him, for the present.”
“You mean the bank,” said Carnac.