“Done,” replied the digger, and he took a dirty one-pound bank-note from his heap of money.
“Most exciting,” exclaimed Mr. Crewe. “Quite spirited. The trumps must all be out, Cathro. Let us see what all this betting means.”
“Right Bower,” said the Englishman.
“Ho-ho! stranger,” the American cried. “I guess that pound belongs to Mr. Garsett.”
The digger put the Knave of Diamonds on the table, and handed the money to his florid antagonist.
“Your friend is set back two points, Scarlett.” It was Mr. Crewe that spoke. “England and America divide the pool.”
The digger looked up at the Father of Timber Town.
“If you gen’l’men wish to bet on the game, well and good,” he said, somewhat heatedly. “But if you’re not game to back your opinion, then keep your blanky mouths shut!”
Old Mr. Crewe was as nettled at this unlooked-for attack as if a battery of artillery had suddenly opened upon him.
“Heh! What?” he exclaimed. “You hear that, Cathro? Scarlett, you hear what your friend says? He wants to bet on the game, and that after being euchred and losing his pound to Mr. Garsett. Why, certainly, sir. I’ll back my opinion with the greatest pleasure. I’ll stake a five-pound note on it. You’ll lose this game, sir.”