“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.”