“I’ll take a chance,” said a man stepping forward to the table, where the names were being written out.
The individual thus presenting himself, bore every evidence of having obtained a passage to the colonies at the expense of his native country—about twenty-five years before.
“What name shall I put down?” asked the youthful master of the ceremonies.
“Jimmy from Town.”
“Jimmy from hell!” screamed the woman. “You had better save your money Jimmy from Town. I wouldn’t live with an old beast like you, if you were to win me ten times over.”
The prospect of losing his two pounds, and gaining nothing, caused the old convict to retire, which he did, apparently with no very good grace.
“We must pay something for this entertainment,” whispered my mate; “I will go halves with you in a chance.”
As he said this, he slipped a sovereign into my hand.
I did not fully understand what my partner meant. He surely could not be thinking of our winning the woman, and owning her in partnership, as we did our mining claim?
But as he had said something about our paying for the entertainment—and having trusted myself to him before I came away from my tent—I gave the name of “Rolly,” to the manager of the raffle, and put down the two pounds.