Uncle Jenico, with his blue coat fastened tightly across his chest, was looking extraordinarily swollen, I thought, until the reason was explained to me. We had not gone far, when—first glancing all about him with an air of twinkling mystery—he cautiously unbuttoned, and revealed, neatly folded upon his chest, a little bushel sack such as they use for potatoes.
“Hush!” he whispered, though not a soul was in sight; “the difficulty will be to avoid observation when we bring it back full. I dare say they’re honest here, Richard; but it’s a wrong business principle to presume upon a sentiment. We must dine and sup out—I’ve brought some sandwiches with me, and Mr. Sant will excuse you for once—and return with our booty after dark.”
“Do you expect to fill that, Uncle?” I said, aghast for all my infancy.
“Well,” he answered, laughing joyously but privately, “I hope not quite, or it would puzzle us to carry it. But, in common wisdom we must make the best we can of this rare opportunity.”
He hung the sack over his arm, and we started off. The storm had certainly overturned the shingle, and scattered much of it abroad in a tangle of seaweed and dead dog-fish. For hours we hunted on, groping sedulously among the litter; and at last, late in the afternoon, we found a penny. At least, I was convinced it was one, being intimately acquainted, like most boys, with the coin. But Uncle Jenico would not hear of it. He was shaking with excitement as he examined it. It was so rubbed by the action of the waves as to exhibit nothing but a near-obliterated bust, which I was sure was that of our late lamented King. My uncle, however, pointed out to me distinct traces, though I could not see them, of a Latin inscription, and was jubilant over the find. It did not make much impression on the sack, it is true; but he was careful to point out to me that the value of a nugget, such as it would take two men to carry, might all be contained in a diamond which one could slip into one’s waistcoat pocket. It was not so much quantity we needed, he said, as quality; and he was quite satisfied, entirely so, with the result of our day’s exploration.
I was glad of this, at least, being dog-tired long before the sun-setting, as it justified us in going home to supper. But my faith in Morant, I am afraid, was already sadly shaken.
CHAPTER IX.
HARRY HARRIER.
It was that obnoxious penny, I believe, which was responsible for my uncle’s continued pursuit of his new Lobby, until the hobby itself became an obsession. If we had come home that first day empty-handed, I have little doubt but that his baulked imagination would have found itself some other and more practical outlet. As it was, the discovery was held by him to justify every proverb which values itself upon small beginnings. He was so little cast down by its meagreness, that there was no limit to the golden dreams of which he made it the basis. Most crazes, I fancy, are so built upon a pennyworth of fact.
He did not take out the sack again, but replaced it by a sponge-bag, and the bag, later, by a stout leathern purse. Finally, he decided that his trouser-pockets would serve all our needs, with the additional advantage that our hands would be freer thereby, and the risk of comment on our proceedings avoided. It may have been, for it had certainly little to feed upon. During those early weeks, beyond some scraps of old iron, we found nothing.
At first, it must be said, Uncle Jenico was not so entirely possessed by his infatuation, but he found time to experiment in other directions. For days he made our lodgings almost uninhabitable by boiling and decomposing seaweed, until Mrs. Puddephatt complained that her reputation was suffering by the incessant “hodour of ’ot putrid fish” which emanated from her premises.