MR. HECTOR O'FLAHERTY FINDS SOMETHING IN THE PAPER.
Ezra Girdlestone had taken up his quarters in two private rooms at the
_Central Hotel_, Kimberley, and had already gained a considerable
reputation in the town by the engaging "abandon" of his manners, and by
the munificent style in which he entertained the more prominent citizens
of the little capital. His personal qualities of strength and beauty
had also won him the respect which physical gifts usually command in
primitive communities, and the smart young Londoner attracted custom to
himself among the diggers in a way which excited the jealousy of the
whole tribe of elderly Hebrews who had hitherto enjoyed a monopoly of
the trade. Thus, he had already gained his object in making himself
known, and his name was a familiar one in every camp from Waldeck's
Plant to Cawood's Hope. Keeping his headquarters at Kimberley, he
travelled perpetually along the line of the diggings. All the time he
was chafing secretly and marvelling within himself how it was that no
whisper of the expected news had arrived yet from England.
One sunny day he had returned from a long ride, and, having dined,
strolled out into the streets, Panama hat upon head and cigar in mouth.
It was the 23rd of October, and he had been nearly ten weeks in the
colony. Since his arrival he had taken to growing a beard. Otherwise,
he was much as we have seen him in London, save that a ruddier glow of
health shone upon his sunburned face. The life of the diggings appeared
to agree with him.
As he turned down Stockdale Street, a man passed him leading a pair of
horses tired and dusty, with many a strap and buckle hanging down behind
them. After him came another leading a second pair, and after him
another with a third. They were taking them round to the stables.
"Hullo!" cried Ezra, with sudden interest; "what's up?"
"The mail's just in."
"Mail from Capetown?"
"Yes."
Ezra quickened his pace and strode down Stockdale Street into the Main
Street, which, as the name implies, is the chief thoroughfare of
Kimberley. He came out close to the office of the _Vaal River
Advertiser and Diamond Field Gazette_. There was a crowd in front of
the door. This _Vaal River Advertiser_ was a badly conducted newspaper,
badly printed upon bad paper, but selling at sixpence a copy, and
charging from seven shillings and sixpence to a pound for the insertion
of an advertisement. It was edited at present by a certain P. Hector
O'Flaherty, who having been successively a dentist, a clerk, a
provision merchant, an engineer, and a sign painter, and having failed
at each and every one of these employments, had taken to running a
newspaper as an easy and profitable occupation. Indeed, as managed by
Mr. O'Flaherty, the process was simplicity itself. Having secured by
the Monday's mail copies of the London papers of two months before, he
spent Tuesday in cutting extracts from them with the greatest
impartiality, chopping away everything which might be of value to him.
The Wednesday was occupied in cursing at three black boys who helped to
put up the type, and on the Thursday a fresh number of the _Vaal River
Advertiser and Diamond Field Gazette_ was given to the world.
The remaining three days were devoted by Mr. O'Flaherty to intoxication,
but the Monday brought him back once more to soda water and literature.
It was seldom, indeed, that the _Advertiser_ aroused interest enough to
cause any one to assemble round the Office. Ezra's heart gave a quick
flutter at the sight, and he gathered himself together like a runner who
sees his goal in view. Throwing away his cigar, he hurried on and joined
the little crowd.
"What's the row?" he asked.
"There's news come by the mail," said one or two bystanders.
"Big news."
"What sort of news?"
"Don't know yet."
"Who said there was news?"
"Driver."
"Where is he?"
"Don't know."
"Who will know about it?"
"O'Flaherty."
Here there was a general shout from the crowd for O'Flaherty, and an
irascible-looking man, with a red bloated face and bristling hair came
to the office door.
"Now, what the divil d'ye want?" he roared, shaking a quill pen at the
crowd. "What are ye after at all? Have ye nothing betther to do than to
block up the door of a decent office?"
"What's the news?" cried a dozen voices.
"The news, is it?" roared O'Flaherty, more angrily than ever; "and can't
ye foind out that by paying your sixpences like men, and taking the
_Advertoiser_? It's a paper, though Oi says it as shouldn't, that would
cut out some o' these _Telegraphs_ and _Chronicles_ if it was only in
London. Begad, instead of encouraging local talent ye spind your toime
standing around in the strate, and trying to suck a man's news out of
him for nothing."
"Look here, boss," said a rough-looking fellow in the front of the
crowd, "you keep your hair on, and don't get slinging words about too
freely, or it may be the worse for you and for your office too.
We heard as there was big news, an' we come down to hear it, but as to
gettin' it without paying, that ain't our sort. I suppose we can call
it square if we each hands in sixpence, which is the price o' your
paper, and then you can tell us what's on."
O'Flaherty considered for a moment. "It's worth a shillin' each," he
said, "for it plays the divil with the circulation of a paper whin its
news gits out too soon."
"Well, we won't stick at that," said the miner. "What say you, boys?"
There was a murmur of assent, and a broad-brimmed straw hat was passed
rapidly from hand to hand. It was half full of silver when it reached
O'Flaherty. The _Advertiser_ had never before had such a circulation,
for the crowd had rapidly increased during the preceding dialogue, and
now numbered some hundreds.
"Thank ye, gintlemen," said the editor.
"Well, what's the news?" cried the impatient crowd.
"Sure I haven't opened the bag yet, but I soon will. Whativer it is
it's bound to be there. Hey there, Billy, ye divil's brat, where's the
mail bag?"
Thus apostrophized, a sharp little Kaffir came running out with the
brown bag, and Mr. O'Flaherty examined it in a leisurely manner, which
elicited many an oath from the eager crowd.
"Here's the _Standard_ and the _Times_," he said, handing the various
papers out to his subordinate. "Begad, there's not one of ye knows the
expinse of k'aping a great paper loike this going, forebye the brains
and no profit at the ind of it. Here's the _Post_ and the _News_. If
you were men you'd put in an advertisement ivery wake, whether ye needed
it or not, just to encourage literature. Here's the _Cape Argus_--it'll
be in here whativer it is."
With great deliberation Mr. Hector O'Flaherty put on a pair of
spectacles and folded the paper carefully round, so as to bring the
principal page to the front. Then he cleared his throat, with the
pomposity which is inseparable with most men from the act of reading
aloud.
"Go it, boss!" cried his audience encouragingly.
"'Small-pox at Wellington'--that's not it, is it? 'Germany and the
Vatican'--'Custom House Duties at Port Elizabeth'--'Roosian Advances in
Cintral Asia' eh? Is that it--'Discovery of great Diamond Moines?'"
"That's it," roared the crowd; "let's hear about that." There was an
anxious ring in their voices, and their faces were grave and serious as
they looked up at the reader upon the steps of the office.
"'Diamond moines have been discovered in Roosia,'" read O'Flaherty,
"'which are confidently stated to exceed in riches anything which has
existed before. It is ginerally anticipated that this discovery, if
confirmed, will have a most prejudicial effect upon the African trade.'
That's an extract from the London news of the _Argus_."
A buzz of ejaculations and comments arose from the crowd. "Isn't there
any more about it?" they cried.
"Here's a later paper, boss," said the little Kaffir, who had been
diligently looking over the dates.
O'Flaherty opened it, and gave a whistle of astonishment.
"Here's enough to satisfy you," he said. "It's in big toipe and takes
up noigh the whole of the first page. I can only read ye the headings,
for we must get to work and have out a special edition. You'll git
details there, an' it'll be out in a few hours. Look here at the fuss
they've made about it." The editor turned the paper as he spoke, and
exhibited a series of large black headings in this style:--
RUSSIAN DIAMOND FIELDS.
EXTRAORDINARY DISCOVERY BY AN ENGLISHMAN.
THREATENED EXTINCTION OF THE CAPE INDUSTRY.
GREAT FALL IN PRICES.
OPINIONS OF THE LONDON PRESS.
FULL DETAILS.
"What d'ye think of that?" cried O'Flaherty, triumphantly, as if he had
had some hand in the matter. "Now I must git off to me work, and you'll
have it all before long in your hands. Ye should bliss your stars that
ye have some one among ye to offer ye the convanience of the latest
news. Good noight to ye all," and he trotted back into his office with
his hat and its silver contents in his hand.
The crowd broke up into a score of gesticulating chattering groups, and
wandered up or down the street. Ezra Girdlestone waited until they had
cleared away, and then stepped into the office of the _Advertiser_.
"What's the matter now?" asked O'Flaherty, angrily. He was a man who
lived in a state of chronic irritation.
"Have you a duplicate of that paper?"
"Suppose I have?"
"What will you sell it for?"
"What will you give?"
"Half a sovereign."
"A sovereign."
"Done!" and so Ezra Girdlestone walked out of the office with full
details in his hand, and departed to his hotel, where he read the
account through very slowly and deliberately. It appeared to be
satisfactory, for he chuckled to himself a good deal as he perused it.
Having finished it, he folded the paper up, placed it in his breast
pocket, and, having ordered his horse, set off to the neighbouring
township of Dutoitspan with the intention of carrying the news with him.
Ezra had two motives in galloping across the veldt that October night.
One was to judge with his own ears and eyes what effect the news would
have upon practical men. The other was a desire to gratify that
sinister pleasure which an ill-natured man has in being the bearer of
evil tidings. They had probably heard the report by this time, but it
was unlikely that any details had reached them. No one knew better than
young Girdlestone that this message from Europe would bring utter ruin
and extinction to many a small capitalist, that it would mean the
shattering of a thousand hopes, and the advent of poverty and misery to
the men with whom he had been associating. In spite of this knowledge,
his heart beat high, as his father's had done in London, and as he
spurred his horse onwards through the darkness, he was hardly able to
refrain from shouting and whooping in his exultation.
The track from Kimberley to Dutoitspan was a rough one, but the moon was
up, and the young merchant found no difficulty in following it. When he
reached the summit of the low hill over which the road ran, he saw the
lights of the little town sparkling in the valley beneath him. It was
ten o'clock before he galloped into the main street, and he saw at a
glance that the news had, as he expected, arrived before him. In front
of the Griqualand Saloon a great crowd of miners had assembled, who were
talking excitedly among themselves. The light of the torches shone down
upon herculean figures, glaring shirts, and earnest bearded faces.
The whole camp appeared to have assembled there to discuss the
situation, and it was evident from their anxious countenances and
subdued voices, that they took no light view of it.
The instant the young man alighted from his horse he was surrounded by a
knot of eager questioners. "You've just come from Kimberley," they
cried. "What is the truth of it, Mr. Girdlestone? Let us know the
truth of it."
"It's a bad business, my friends," he answered, looking around at the
ring of inquiring faces. "I have been reading a full account of it in
the _Cape Argus_. They have made a great find in Russia. There seems
to be no doubt at all about the matter."
"D'ye think it will send prices down here as much as they say?"
"I'm afraid it will send them very low. I hold a lot of stones myself,
and I should be very glad to get rid of them at any price. I fear it
will hardly pay you to work your claims now."
"And the price of claims will go down?"
"Of course it will."
"Eh, mister, what's that?" cried a haggard, unkempt little man, pushing
his way to the front and catching hold of Ezra's sleeve to ensure his
attention. "Did ye say it would send the price o' claims down?
You didn't say that, did you? Why, in course, it stands to reason that
what happened in Roosia couldn't make no difference over here.
That's sense, mates, ain't it?" He looked round him appealingly, and
laughed a little nervous laugh.
"You try," said Ezra coldly. "If you get one-third of what you gave for
your claim you'll be lucky. Why, man, you don't suppose we produce
diamonds for local consumption. They are for exporting to Europe, and
if Europe is already supplied by Russia, where are you to get your
market?"
"That's it?" cried several voices.
"If you take my advice," Ezra continued, "you'll get rid of what you
have at any loss, for the time may be coming when you'll get nothing at
all."
"Now, look at that!" cried the little man, throwing out his hands.
"They call me Unlucky Jim, and Unlucky Jim I'll be to the end of the
chapter. Why, boss, me and Sammy Walker has sunk every damned cent
we've got in that claim, the fruit o' nine years' hard work, and here
you comes ridin' up as cool as may be, and tells me that it's all gone
for nothing."
"Well, there are others who will suffer as well as you," said one of the
crowd.
"I reckon we're all hit pretty hard if this is true," remarked another.
"I'm fair sick of it," said the little man, passing his grimy hand
across his eyes and leaving a black smear as he did so. "This ain't the
first time--no, nor the second--that my luck has played me this trick.
I've a mighty good mind to throw up my hand altogether."
"Come in and have some whisky," said a rough sympathizer, and the
unlucky one was hustled in through the rude door of the Griqualand
Saloon, there to find such comfort as he might from the multitudinous
bottles which adorned the interior of that building. Liquor had lost
its efficacy that evening, however, and a dead depression rested over
the little town. Nor was it confined to Dutoitspan. All along the
diggings the dismal tidings spread with a rapidity which was
astonishing. At eleven o'clock there was consternation at Klipdrift.
At quarter-past one Hebron was up and aghast at the news. At three in
the morning a mounted messenger galloped into Bluejacket, and before
daybreak a digger committee was sitting at Delporte's Hope discussing
the situation. So during that eventful night down the whole long line
of the Vaal River there was ruin and heartburning and dismay, while five
thousand miles away an old gentleman was sleeping calmly and dreamlessly
in his comfortable bed, from whose busy brain had emanated all this
misery and misfortune.
Perhaps the said old gentleman might have slumbered a little less
profoundly could he have seen the sight which met his son's eyes on the
following morning. Ezra had passed the night at Dutoitspan, in the hut
of a hospitable miner. Having risen in the morning, he was dressing
himself in a leisurely, methodical fashion, when his host, who had been
inhaling the morning breeze, thrust his head through the window.
"Come out here, Mr. Girdlestone," he cried. "There's some fun on.
One of the boys is dead drunk, and they are carrying him in."
Ezra pulled on his coat and ran out. A little group of miners were
walking slowly up the main street. He and his host were waiting for the
procession to pass them with several jocose remarks appropriate to the
occasion ready upon their lips, when their eyes fell upon a horrible
splotchy red track which marked the road the party had taken. They both
ran forward with exclamations and inquiries.
"It's Jim Stewart," said one of the bearers. "Him that they used to
call Unlucky Jim."
"What's up with him?"
"He has shot himself through the head. Where d'ye think we found him?
Slap in the middle o' his own claim, with his fingers dug into the
gravel, as dead as a herring."
"He's a bad plucked 'un to knock under like that," Ezra's companion
remarked.
"Yes," said the croupier of the saloon gambling table. "If he'd waited
for another deal he might have held every trump. He was always a soft
chap, was Jim, and he was saying last night as how this spoiled the last
chance he was ever like to have of seeing his wife and childer in
England. He's blowed a fine clean hole in himself. Would you like to
see it, Mr. Girdlestone?" The fellow was about to remove the
blood-stained handkerchief which covered the dead man's face, but Ezra
recoiled in horror.
"Mr. Girdlestone looks faint like," some one observed.
"Yes," said Ezra, who was white to his very lips. "This has upset me
rather. I'll have a drop of brandy." As he walked back to the hut, he
wondered inwardly whether the incident would have discomposed his
father.
"I suppose he would call it part of our commercial finesse," he said
bitterly to himself. "However, we have put our hands to the plough, and
we must not let homicide stop us." So saying, he steadied his nerves
with a draught of brandy, and prepared for the labours of the day.