Jake had opened the shop and taken down the shutters. The goldsmith had lighted his pipe, and the workshop had assumed its usual air of industry, when a rapping was heard on the glass case which stood on the counter of the shop.
Benjamin, glad to welcome so early a customer, rose with a beaming face, and bustled out of the workshop.
Bill the Prospector stood before him.
“Good morning!” Tresco’s greeting was effusively delivered. “I hope I see you well.”
“A bit thick in the head, mate,” said the digger, “but not much the worse, ’cept I ain’t got so much as a bean to get a breakfast with.”
“Come in, come in,” exclaimed Benjamin, as he ushered the digger into the back room, where such chops as had escaped the voracious appetite of Jake Ruggles remained upon the table.
“Sit down, my friend; eat, and be well filled,” said the goldsmith. “I’ll brew another pot of tea, and soon our Richard will be himself again.”
The dissipated digger ate half a chop and a morsel of bread and, when the tea was ready, he drank a cupful thirstily.
“Try another,” suggested Tresco, holding the teapot in his hand. “You’re a marvel at making a recovery.”
The digger complied readily.