The man was at his heels at this effort to dodge him without paying. Behind him rushed the other four, frightened and sobered by this terrible blow. But Bull’s anxiety lent speed to him and he easily outdistanced the crowd.
When they came upon him again they found him in the woods on his knees, digging savagely in the ground with his fingers. In response to his shouts they flung themselves down to help him, while the breathless Irishman stood by and stared in amazement.
Bull was in a frenzy. He fairly tore his way down to the chest, and seizing it by the handles, jerked it out with the strength of a Hercules. He flung back the lid, jerked the bit of rock from his pocket, and seized a handful of the coins.
A moment more and he staggered back, and sank to the ground, limp and helpless.
The chest of “gold” was worthless.
We must revert to the conversation of the Seven the night before, for the benefit of those who are curious. Mark and his friends, as they disappeared in the woods, were joined by the solemn Parson. You may believe that it was a merry crowd.
“Look here, Parson,” demanded Mark, the first thing. “Are you sure that money is no good?”
“Sure?” echoed the Parson. “Sure as I am that the most reliable and mathematical of all the sciences is true. Perhaps you will wish, gentlemen, that I explain to you the most extraordinary state of affairs. I shall do so, yea, by Zeus. I feel that I owe it to myself by way of explanation of a most unaccountable—ahem—blunder I have made.”
The Parson drew a long breath and continued.