“Is that why you’ve come out here?”
“Yes,” he said. “I got sick of being in England with nothing to do, and I thought I’d take a run over here and see if I couldn’t find some kind of employment. There’s a general idea that this is a sort of Tom Tiddler’s ground, where you can pick up gold and silver. Of course it’s a mistake, I suppose?”
“I should think so!” said Esmeralda, who, though she knew nothing of the peerage, was well up in gold digging. “You don’t pick it up, or, at least, very seldom. You have to work precious hard for it; and even then don’t always get it. It’s just whether you have luck or not. Some men come across a nugget perhaps the first or second day they work their claims; others only get pay dirt—what they could earn as laborers, you know—and a good many never find anything at all. But whether you get it or you don’t, it’s always hard work.”
“Yes, I know,” he said; “but I’m not afraid of hard work. I should like to get a claim at your camp”—he glanced at her shyly—“or perhaps I could find something to do.”
She looked at him critically.
“I don’t know about the claim,” she said. “You might. You must ask Taffy. He knows all about that.”
“Who is Taffy?” he asked.
“Oh, he’s a Welshman,” she exclaimed. “Sometimes they call him the Wild Welshman; but he’s always very good to me.”
“I should think so,” he said under his breath, as if it would be impossible for any one to be anything else but good to her.
“But what can you do?” she asked. “I thought lords never did anything but order other people about and lead armies into battle.”