“Yes; six months ago a Scotch miner named Lindsay found one weighing twenty-two pounds and some ounces.”
“Is he here now?”
“Yes, and without a shilling.”
“Didn’t his nugget benefit him any then?” asked Harry.
“It became a curse to him. He obtained some hundreds of pounds for it, and all went in three months.”
“How did he get rid of it?”
“In drinking and gambling. Two months since he drifted back to the camp in rags. He did not have money enough to buy a claim, but being a good practical miner he got a chance to work a claim on shares for another man, who had just come out from Melbourne, and who knew very little of mining. I hope you will make better use of your money. Are these boys your partners?”
“Yes, Mr. Commissioner, they are equal partners. What’s one’s luck, is the luck of all.”
The commissioner then weighed the nugget, the three awaiting the result with great interest.
“It weighs seventy-four pounds and four ounces,” he announced. “My friend, it will be famous in the annals of Australia. If I am not mistaken, when it is known it will create a stampede to our mines.”