"You 'ave got gold fever, that's all!" said Stanley, impatiently. "All miners suffer from gold fever, but it doesn't often kill 'em. If we both work hard for a few minutes p'r'aps we'll find a tiny nugget that we can change for real ginger-beer and buns at the store. We'll have a splendid evening at the store after our day's work is done. All the boys will be there, and we'll drink more than is good for us, and fight and play poker."
"We haven't got any pokers to play with," argued the matter-of-fact Lessels. "An' there isn't any boys but us about; an' there's no store where we can spend our nuggets, an' fight in. If you tell stories like that, Stan, you'll never get to——"
"The worst of you is you're so silly!" interrupted the elder boy, shaking the cinder-sifter vigorously as he spoke. "You never think anything's real that you can't see. When people get to know that there's millions of pounds under these sands there'll be cheap two-and-sixpenny excursion trains, full of wild miners, arriving here every few minutes."
"Will there be anything to eat an' dwink?" demanded the hot and thirsty pard, anxiously.
"Tons of it!" answered the senior digger, enthusiastically. "We shall use sweets an' sugar sticks for bullets, an' wash ourselves in real ginger beer. Miners always spend their money like that. They waste what they can't eat, and wash their faces in drink when they've had more than is good for them. It's a splendid life, isn't it, Lessels?"
"Which?" asked the pard, doubtfully.
"What's the use of explaining things to a fellow like you?" snapped Stanley. "Haven't I told you all about it?"
Lessels retired to the shelter of the tent without attempting to reply to either of these questions, and slowly divested himself of his shoes and socks.
"Now what are you going to do?" demanded the miner, angrily.
"Paggle," replied Lessels, pointing to the incoming tide, which was rapidly approaching the camp.