“GEORGE, I want you to go to Bathurst.”
“What for?”
“To buy some things.”
“What things?”
“First of all, a revolver; there were fellows about our tent last night,
creeping and prowling.”
“I never heard them.”
“No more you would an earthquake--but I heard them, and got up and
pointed my revolver at them; so then they cut--all the better for them.
We must mind our eye, George; a good many tents are robbed every week,
and we are known to have a good swag.”
“Well, I must start this moment if I am to be back.”
“And take a pound of dust and buy things that we can sell here to a
profit.”
George came back at night looking rather sheep-faced.
“Tom,” said he, “I am afraid I have done wrong. You see there was a
confounded auction, and what with the hammer, and the folk bidding, and
his palaver, I could not help it.”
“But what is it you have bought?”
“A bit o' land, Tom.”
Robinson groaned; but, recovering himself, he said gayly:
“Well, have you brought it with you?”
“No, it is not so small as all that; as nice a bit of grass as ever you
saw, Tom, and just outside the town of Bathurat; only I didn't ought to
have spent your money as well as my own.”
“Stuff and nonsense--I accept the investment. Let me load your new
revolver. Now look at my day's work. I wouldn't take a hundred pound for
these little fellows.”
George gloated over the little nuggets, for he saw Susan's eyes in them.
To-night she seemed so near. The little bag was placed between them, the
day's spoils added to it, and the tired friends were soon asleep.