The Tale of Timber Town. Grace Alfred Augustus

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СКАЧАТЬ wish to bet on the game, well and good,” he said, somewhat heatedly. “But if you’re not game to back your opinion, then keep your blanky mouths shut!”

      Old Mr. Crewe was as nettled at this unlooked-for attack as if a battery of artillery had suddenly opened upon him.

      “Heh! What?” he exclaimed. “You hear that, Cathro? Scarlett, you hear what your friend says? He wants to bet on the game, and that after being euchred and losing his pound to Mr. Garsett. Why, certainly, sir. I’ll back my opinion with the greatest pleasure. I’ll stake a five-pound note on it. You’ll lose this game, sir.”

      “Done,” said the digger, and he counted out five sovereigns and placed them in a little heap by themselves.

      Mr. Crewe had not come prepared for a “night out with the boys.” He found some silver in his pocket and two pounds in his sovereign-case.

      “Hah! no matter,” he said. “Cathro, call the landlord. I take your bet, sir” – to the digger – “most certainly I take it, but one minute, give me one minute.”

      “If there’s any difficulty in raising the cash,” said the digger, fingering his pile of money, “I won’t press the matter. I don’t want your blanky coin. I can easy do without it.”

      The portly, rubicund landlord of the Lucky Digger entered the room.

      “Ah, Townson,” said old Mr. Crewe, “good evening. We have a little bet on, Townson, a little bet between this gentleman from away back and myself, and I find I’m without the necessary cash. I want five pounds. I’ll give you my IOU.”

      “Not at all,” replied the landlord, in a small high voice, totally surprising as issuing from such a portly person, “no IOU. I’ll gladly let you have twenty.”

      “Five is all I want, Townson; and I expect to double it immediately, and then I shall be quite in funds.”

      The landlord disappeared and came back with a small tray, on which was a bundle of bank-notes, some dirty, some clean and crisp. The Father of Timber Town counted the money. “Twenty pounds, Townson. Very well. You shall have it in the morning. Remind me, Cathro, that I owe Mr. Townson twenty pounds.”

      The digger looked with surprise at the man who could conjure money from a publican.

      “Who in Hades are you?” he asked, as Mr. Crewe placed his £5 beside the digger’s. “D’you own the blanky pub?”

      “No, he owns the town,” interposed Garsett.

      The digger was upon his feet in a moment.

      “Proud to meet you, mister,” he cried. “Glad to have this bet with you. I like to bet with a gen’l’man. Make it ten, sir, and I shall be happier still.”

      “No, no,” replied the ancient Mr. Crewe. “You said five, and five it shall be. That’s quite enough for you to lose on one game.”

      “You think so? That’s your blanky opinion? See that?” The digger pointed to his heap of money. “Where that come from there’s enough to buy your tin-pot town three times over.”

      “Indeed,” said Mr. Crewe. “I’m glad to hear it. Bring your money, and you shall have the town.”

      “Order, gentlemen, order,” cried the dough-faced man. “I guess we’re here to play cards, and cards we’re going to play. If you three gentlemen cann’t watch the game peaceably, it’ll be my disagreeable duty to fire you out – and that right smart.”

      And just at this interesting moment entered Gentle Annie. She walked with little steps; propelling her plenitude silently but for the rustle of her silk skirt. In her hand she held a scented handkerchief, like any lady in a drawing-room; her hair, black at the roots and auburn at the ends, was wreathed, coil on coil, upon the top of her head; her face, which gave away all her secrets, was saucy, expressive of self-satisfaction, petulance, and vanity. And yet it was a handsome face; but it lacked mobility, the chin was too strong, the grey eyes wanted expression, though they were ever on the watch for an admiring glance.

      “The angel has come to pour oil upon the troubled waters,” said the flabby, florid man, looking up from his cards at the splendid bar-maid.

      Gentle Annie regarded the speaker boldly, smiled, and coloured with pleasure.

      “To pour whisky down your throats,” she said, laughing – “that would be nearer the mark.”

      “And produce a more pleasing effect,” said Garsett.

      “Attend to the game,” said the American. “Spades are trumps.”

      “Pass,” said the digger.

      “Then down she goes,” said the Englishman.

      “Pass again,” said the American.

      “I make it Diamonds, and cross the blanky suit,” said the digger.

      Gentle Annie turned to the Father of Timber Town.

      “There’s a gentleman wants to see you, Mr. Crewe,” she said.

      “Very good, very good; bring him in – he has as much right here as I.”

      “He said he’d wait for you in the bar-parlour.”

      “But, my girl, I must watch the game: I have a five-pound note on it. Yes, a five-pound note!”

      “Think of that, now,” said Gentle Annie, running her bejewelled hand over her face. “You’ll be bankrupt before morning. But never mind, old gentleman,” – she deftly corrected the set of Mr. Crewe’s coat, and fastened its top button – “you’ll always find a friend and protector in me.”

      “My good girl, what a future! The tender mercies of bar-maids are cruel. ‘The daughter of the horse-leech’ – he! he! – where did you get all those rings from? – I don’t often quote Scripture, but I find it knows all about women. Cathro, you must watch the game for me: I have to see a party in the bar. Watch the game, Cathro, watch the game.”

      The old gentleman, leaning heavily upon his stick, walked slowly to the door, and Gentle Annie, humming a tune, walked briskly before, in all the glory of exuberant health and youth.

      When Mr. Crewe entered the bar-parlour he was confronted by the bulky figure of Benjamin Tresco, who was enjoying a glass of beer and the last issue of The Pioneer Bushman. Between the goldsmith’s lips was the amber mouthpiece of a straight-stemmed briar pipe, a smile of contentment played over the breadth of his ruddy countenance, and his ejaculations were made under some deep and pleasurable excitement.

      “By the living hokey! What times, eh?” He slapped his thigh with his heavy hand. “The town won’t know itself! We’ll all be bloomin’ millionaires. Ah! good evening, Mr. Crewe. Auspicious occasion. Happy to meet you, sir.” Benjamin had risen, and was motioning the Father of Timber Town to a seat upon the couch, where he himself had been sitting. “You will perceive that I am enjoying a light refresher. Have something yourself at my expense, I beg.”

      Mr. Crewe’s manner was very stiff. He knew Tresco well. It was not so much that he resented the goldsmith’s familiar manner, as that, with the instinct of his genus, he suspected the unfolding of some money-making scheme for which he was to find the capital. Therefore СКАЧАТЬ