HONEST STEVE.
Richard Handfield groaned, and looked with a kind of dismay at the
gold.
There lay the fulfilment of his extravagant hopes--there lay the
promise of his precious nugget, which he would not sell for ten
thousand pounds--there lay his dreams of the future, the happiness of
his life, the compensation for past suffering--two miserable specks of
gold, not worth twopence! He clutched at his hair, and sitting upon
the inverted tub, rested his chin in his palms, and despaired.
What was the use of working? He was marked out by misfortune, and it
was labour thrown away to struggle against it. It pursued him, and
mocked him with false hopes. Of what use was it for him to continue to
struggle?
A pretty thing! That he should so lower himself for such a result
he,--a gentleman! That he should slave, walk till his feet were
blistered, work till his hands were like the hands of a common man,
sweat in the sun till the skin peeled off his face, mix with common
men, herd with common natures, be "hail, fellow" with creatures so far
beneath him--and all for this! The two little specks of gold lay in
the bright tin dish, and seemed to mock him with their yellow light.
He wished he could have hurt them as they hurt him. He would have
liked to dash them to the ground and tread them into the rock with his
iron heel, till he made them groan as they made him groan!
Welsh Tom took the matter much more philosophically. If it had not
been that he saw Richard's distress, and sympathised with him, he
would have been inclined to smile at the two-pennyworth of gold which
lay in the dish. Your true heroes are those who accept the inevitable,
and who, knowing they are defeated, still retain their courage. It is
easy to be brave when fortune is with you--then, the virtue of bravery
is of the milk-and-water kind. But to be brave when fortune is against
you is god-like. Welsh Tom did not blame mankind and all the world
because he was unfortunate. It was a fair fight he was fighting with
nature for her treasures. Well, he was unsuccessful that was all. He
would try again.
All the gold-diggers but one had strolled away when they saw the
result of the washing. The one who remained was Honest Steve, the man
who had offered to give twenty ounces of gold for a third share in the
claim. Looking up, Richard Handfield saw him.
"Would you give twenty ounces for a third share now?" Richard asked,
in a bitter tone.
"Not likely," was the reply.
What was the sudden fear that came upon him as the stranger spoke?
Richard tried to shake it off, not quite successfully. Psha! What was
there in the man to be afraid of?
"Not likely," the stranger repeated. "It was a good job for me you
didn't take my twenty ounces, mate. I laid it out to better advantage,
I think."
Honest Steve spoke this in a tone which invited further inquiry. But
as neither Richard nor the Welshman said anything just then, he
volunteered a piece of gratuitous information.
"I bought a claim on the gutter," he said.
Now, this was interesting; and the Welshman asked, "Are you on the
gold?"
"Not yet. I'm in a bit of a fix. I haven't a mate. I am looking out
for one now."
"Ah," Richard said, querulously, thinking of their last two shillings
which they had spent that morning in whisky. "I suppose you want some
one to give you twenty ounces for a share."
"No," Honest Steve said, carelessly. "I would like a mate or even two
mates, and go fair shares, and stand all the risk myself, for the
claim is sure to turn out well."
"That's magnanimous," Richard said, contemptuously. He hated
ostentatious generosity. The insolence of his tone might have fired
any man with resentment, but it did not appear to make any impression
upon Honest Steve.
"I tell you what it is," he said, quietly and respectfully, addressing
himself especially to Richard, "I like the way you two work together,
and I should be glad if you would let me go mates with you."
Both matter and manner were mollifying to Richard. They were eminently
respectful, as if Honest Steve knew and admitted Richard's
superiority. He took the Welshman aside, and said,
"Well, Tom, what do you think?"
"I don't like him," Tom said.
It is a singular proof of the contrariety of human nature, that no
sooner did the Welshman say he did not like Honest Steve than
Richard's dislike began to melt away.
"I did not know you were prejudiced, Tom," he said.
"I'm not prejudiced, but there is something about him that tells me
not to mate with him."
"What is it?"
"I can't say. It is beyond me. The people round about where I was born
and bred are a little superstitious."
"That's it! Superstition is always unreasonable. Look here, Tom. The
claim we hold is a duffer, isn't it?"
"I think so."
"His claim may be a golden one. Why should we throw a chance away? If
he did not believe it to be good, he wouldn't have given twenty ounces
for it."
The Welshman saw that Richard was in favour of the stranger's
proposition; he was in the habit of practising unselfishness--it was
his nature to do so. It _would_ be a pity, perhaps, to throw away the
chance. Yet Honest Steve's generosity puzzled him. Never mind, he
would do as his mate wished.
"All right, Dick!" he said. "We will join him."
They returned to where Honest Stove was standing. He had been watching
them furtively as they held their conference.
"Well, Steve," said Welsh Tom, "we will go mates with you.'"
"Good!" said Honest Steve. "Let us shake hands upon it."
They shook hands; a cold shiver chilled the Welshman's marrow as
Honest Steve's hand rested in his.
"Dick," he whispered, as they proceeded towards their new claim, "I
feel as if some one was walking over my grave!"