Steelman gave an exclamation of disapproval with that state of financial affairs. He thought a second. “I know the barman here, and I think he knows me. I'll chew his lug for a bob or may be a quid.”
Twenty minutes later he went to Gentleman Sharper's room with ten pounds—in very dirty Bank of New Zealand notes—such as those with which bush contractors pay their men.
Two mornings later the sharper suggested a stroll. Steelman went with him, with a face carefully made up to hear the worst.
After walking a hundred yards in a silence which might have been ominous—and was certainly pregnant—the sharper said:
“Well... I tried the water.”
“Yes!” said Steelman in a nervous tone. “And how did you find it?”
“Just as warm as I thought. Warm for a big splash.”
“How? Did you lose the ten quid?”
“Lose it! What did you take me for? I put ten to your ten as I told you I would. I landed 50 Pounds——”
“Fifty pounds for twenty?”