"You'd better come with us, Tom," said Smith, a few days after. "There's not much need for you here now. This rain has done you out of a job which would never make you rich."
They were walking together on the outskirts of the barren town, close by the New Find, which had turned the inside of the earth up to the sky. They were making money there, though every night the men working it had nightmares, and sweated to think the gold was done. Smith waved his hand towards it.
"They've taken out fifty thousand already, Tom," he said.
"And I daresay they'll take out no more," said red-faced Tom, whose natural good-humour and hopefulness were a little off in colour.
"What then? They'll float it," said Smith. "It would do us four. I could show my peeled nose in England again."
He rubbed his aquiline beak, which was badly skinned. His blue eyes were bright and eager and courageous.
"Oh, if you didn't drink such a lot, you'd be a daisy," said Tom, who had spent years in America, and mixed his talk as the other did his drinks.
"Hang it," said Smith, "I give you my word I'm off drink. I tell you honestly that I mean it. And out yonder we sha'n't be able to get it."
Tom looked out across the north-east plain, and shook his head.
"No, perhaps not," he answered.