“Quite so,” Onslow agreed. “And I dare say we shall learn the details about that later. But to come back to the piece of knavery we were interested in, I may say that Shelf seems to have been prepared for the smash. Three days ago I had a letter from him (which had been passed on the road by the newspaper cablegram) telling me to transmit the stuff to a place in South America, where he would meet it. The money would have been a pleasant little nest-egg for him to begin life again on somewhere beyond the allurements of extradition treaties; and I’ve no doubt that if he had got it he would have sailed ahead brilliantly. But he hasn’t, and he’s in jail; and he will be set up on high as a warning to the universe. There are a good many of us thieves, Kettle; and he was the cleverest of the lot; and he has made a mess of it. Mr. Theodore Shelf will be a wonderful reforming influence in his fall. He’ll do more good to the morality of the world by coming a cropper than he ever did by preaching. However, he clearly couldn’t handle the money if I did send it to South America now, and, being a convict, he can’t hold property; and so (perhaps jesuitically) I hold myself clear of all pledge to him; and that’s how the matter stands.”
Captain Kettle pulled at his short, red beard. “Then if you two aren’t taking any, who on earth is to get this money? Hang me if I can see!”
“The proper owners, whoever they may be,” replied Onslow. “But they’ll have to be found, and at present I haven’t the vaguest notion as to who they are. In fact, as we now stand, there’s our half-million of English sovereigns and a romping fine steamer going a-begging.”
“Oh, Lord!” mused Kettle, with his eyes upon the jam-pot of magnolia blossom, “why can’t this boodle be grabbed by a man like me? What have I done that I should kick up and down the world, and earn my living by being ugly to crews? If I’d means there wouldn’t be a wholesomer man between here and heaven. I’d have that farm, with cows on it, and sheep, and a steam threshing-machine, and I’d ride about the fields on a horse, and boss the hands just like Abraham did. I’d have the farm-buildings all painted white, with red roofs; and the house should be painted stone-color, with green shutters, and red flower-pots in the windows. No more lodging-house-keeping for the missis in Llandudno. I’d just waltz in there and turn the brutes she’d been slaving for right out into the street, and then take her off to my new farm before she’d time to gasp. We’d have a girl to do the house-work, and my old woman should be a lady, with nothing to do but trot round after her and see she did it. The kids—well, I guess I’d send them off to first-class boarding-schools first, and pay forty pounds each for them every year so long as there was anything more for them to learn. But they should come to us for the holidays; and in the evenings they and the missis should sing hymns, and I’d play the tunes for them on the accordion. I’d teach them to hold up their heads amongst the neighbors. And on Sunday nights we’d have in the minister to supper, and fill him out. Yes, Mr. Onslow, that’s the kind of man I am. Let me bend yellow gaiters and shave my chin, and there wouldn’t be a better, more God-fearing, more capable farmer ever attended market. It’s only the sea and the want of money that ever made me hanker to steal. Yes; poverty’s made me do a heap of mischief one way and another. I believe,” he added tentatively, “It would be worth somebody’s while to make me a well-off man even now. I’d be a deal safer that way.”
“It’s probable,” said Onslow dryly; “at any rate, for the while. But I don’t feel inclined to pension you off myself. For one thing, I couldn’t afford it out of my own pocket; and for another, I’m not going to let you have your pickings from the specie. It’s been trouble enough already, and if I can’t have it for myself, I’m jolly well going to make my conscience pat me on the back for handing it over to the right man.”
“I believe,” said Kettle, “I’d do the same if I were in your shoes; but, you see, I’m not, Mr. Onslow, and that’s why I wish it could be worked different. Hallo! here’s the donkeyman back again from his hunting. I wonder what he’ll have to say to it all? I wonder whether the donkeyman and I’ll chip in over what we’ve got and a free grant of land in Canada, or whether we’ll contrive to get independent for life before we leave this part of the world?”
“Canada sounds likeliest,” said Onslow. “You and I might have a shooting-match here in the chart-house till one or other of us was stretched; but I don’t see that that would better you, because whatever happens to me, you won’t get at the gold. I’m the only person in the world who knows where it’s hid, and I’ll cheerfully let you empty your revolver at me (if I don’t contrive to pot you first), sooner than give it away. As for finding the stuff yourself, you might as well look for a pet mosquito in a nigger village. The ground closed up, during the cyclone, over the place where I put it, and the keenest dollar-hunter on this planet wouldn’t start to dig up the Everglades haphazard for a hoard.”
“Well, Mr. Onslow,” said the sailor, “I’ll admit that sounds like square speaking. But, all the same, I think I’d like to hear what the donkeyman has to say upon the question before we close it. You see, he and I are running partners now, and it’s only right that he should have his say. The donkeyman has savvy, there’s no mortal doubt about that; and if he sees his way to give the new firm a good solid boost-up over this business, I’m the man that’s going to help him. I owe that to myself, not to mention the missis and the kids.”