“Solemn fact—there’s a writ out against me.”
“Well?”
“I ain’t got a mind to be gaoled at such a glorious time in the history of Timber Town. I want to get more gold, stacks of it.”
“An’ where do I come in?”
“You come in as owner of this business by and by—if you’re a good boy.”
“Huh! I want to go diggin’ too.”
“All in good time, my energetic youth, all in good time. But for the present, give me some food.”
“Didn’t I tell you there isn’t any?” yelled Jake.
“Very good, very good, but don’t talk so loud. Take this half-crown, and go to The Lucky Digger. Tell the young lady in the bar that you have a friend who’s dying of hunger. Tell her to fill a jug with a quart of beer, and a basket with tucker of sorts. And hurry back; for, by my sacred aunt, if I don’t get something better presently, I shall turn cannibal and eat you!”
While the boy was gone, Tresco weighed the gold that lay on the bench. It came to 111 ounces, and this, valued at the current price of gold from Bush Robin Creek—the uninitiated are possibly unaware that as one star differeth from another star in glory, so the gold from one locality differs in price from that found in another—came to £430 2s. 6d.