“Oh yes, you can. He will understand all about it; he enjoys falsehood as well as we all do, and has the nicest sense of when to lie and when not to do so.”
“What gift can be more invaluable?”
My father, knowing that he might not have another chance of seeing Yram alone, now changed the conversation.
“I have something,” he said, “for George, but he must know nothing about it till after I am gone.”
As he spoke, he took from his pockets the nine small bags of nuggets that remained to him.
“But this,” said Yram, “being gold, is a large sum: can you indeed spare it, and do you really wish George to have it all?”
“I shall be very unhappy if he does not, but he must know nothing about it till I am out of Erewhon.”
My father then explained to her that he was now very rich, and would have brought ten times as much, if he had known of George’s existence. “Then,” said Yram, musing, “if you are rich, I accept and thank you heartily on his behalf. I can see a reason for his not knowing what you are giving him at present, but it is too long to tell.”
The reason was, that if George knew of this gold before he saw the King, he would be sure to tell him of it, and the King might claim it, for George would never explain that it was a gift from father to son; whereas if the King had once pardoned him, he would not be so squeamish as to open up the whole thing again with a postscript to his confession. But of this she said not a word.
My father then told her of the box of sovereigns that he had left in his saddle-bags. “They are coined,” he said, “and George will have to melt them down, but he will find some way of doing this. They will be worth rather more than these nine bags of nuggets.”