“Plenty of these in California. What is it? Why, I'll tell you; it is a pale old Joey.”
“You don't say so; looks like a shell.”
“Sit down a moment, George, and let us look at it. He bids me drop gold—and then goes and shows me a proof of gold that never deceived us out there.”
“You are mad. How can this be a sign of gold? I tell you it is a shell.”
“And I tell you that where these things are found among mica, quartz and granite, there gold is to be found if men have the wit, the patience and the skill to look for it. I can't tell you why; the laws of gold puzzle deeper heads than mine, but so it is. I seem to smell gold all round me here.” And Robinson flushed all over, so powerfully did the great idea of gold seated here on his native throne grapple and agitate his mind.
“Tom,” said the other doggedly, “if there is as much gold on the ground of New South Wales as will make me a wedding-ring—I am a Dutchman;” and he got up calmly and jerked the pale old Joey a tremendous way into the valley.
This action put Robinson's blood up. “George,” cried he, springing up like fire and bringing his foot down sharp upon the rocky floor, “IF I DON'T STAND UPON GOLD—I'M D——D!”
And a wild but true inspiration seemed to be upon the man; a stranger could hardly have helped believing him, but George had heard a good deal of this, though the mania had never gone quite so far. He said quickly, “Come, let us go down into the pasture.”
“Not I,” replied Robinson. “Come, George, prejudice is for babies, experience for men. Here is an unknown country with all the signs of gold thicker than ever. I have got a calabash—stay and try for gold in this gully; it looks to me just like the mouth of a purse.”
“Not I.”