They were talking of treasure in the parlour of the Three Tuns at
Gravesend--old salts, every one of them, to whom five hundred pounds a
year had been riches beyond desire. The precise inspiration of their
eloquence chanced to be the money which had been smuggled out of Africa
at the time of the war. Some said that it was all banked in France
and Holland; others declared that a few paltry millions had gone to
America. In the heat of the argument pipes were broken and glasses
overturned. Gilbert Lorimer, a young officer on a Scotch tramp, who had
been ashore on his captain's business, smiled often and said little;
but he corrected old Crabb of the Margate service, and drew down upon
himself that worthy's wrath thereby.
"There's more nonsense than not talked about a million of money," the
captain had remarked, sententiously. The others agreed. Had anyone
bestowed such a trifle upon them, they would have been at no loss how
to handle it.
"I'd pop my lot in the Savings Bank," said Billy of the wherry, in
parsimonious solemnity. Jack the waterman, however, declared that
he would ferry his across the river and leave it to-morrow with the
lawyers. Then the sage and learned Skipper Crabb delivered himself of
the oracle.
"A million weighs close upon five tons," said he.
"More than ten," exclaimed Gilbert Lorimer, quietly.
"Ah, here's Crɶsus," was the captain's sly retort, "and I dare say,"
he put it familiarly to Gilbert, "that you are very much at home with
sums like that. Suppose you make it champagne, young man?"
Gilbert laughed drily. He was a fine specimen of a sailor, and he would
have been called handsome by the women in spite of the scar upon his
cheek--an ugly gash which seemed to have a history behind it. A little
reserved and proud, he had listened to the talk of money with some
contempt; but the captain's challenge drew him out, and he rang the
bell impatiently for the barman.
"Champagne, by all means," he said, "since the next that I shall drink
will be in Sydney. As to your million, I know nothing about it; but I
once owned some large part of one. What's more, I was careless enough
to lose it."
A solemn silence fell upon the company. Gilbert Lorimer raised his
glass and gave them "To our next." The aged Captain Crabb surrendered
at once to a master. I, alone, followed the young sailor from the room
and asked him, at the river's bank, to let me have a story.
"Yonder's my ship," he said, indicating the anchor light of a large
steamer. "She would be at the Nore before I had well begun."
"Then why not write it----?"
He shook his head.
"I am handier with the gloves," said he.
"Oh, but you can spin a plain yarn, I'll be bound."
"Well, as to that----"
The great steamer sounded her siren and he leaped into the wherry.
His last word was a cheery "So long." But he sent me the story of his
treasure three months afterwards, and I give it here with scarce a line
deleted or a phrase re-turned.