 CHAPTER 52. PART I. The old attachment was revived. Robinson had always a great regard for George, and after nursing and bringing him through a dangerous illness, this feeling doubled. And as for George, the man who had brought him a letter from Susan 160 miles became such a benefactor in his eyes that he thought nothing good enough for him. In a very few days George was about again and on his pony, and he and Robinson and Carlo went a-shepherding. One or two bullocks had gone to Jericho while George lay ill, and the poor fellow's heart was sore when he looked at his diminished substance and lost time. Robinson threw himself heart and soul into the business and was of great service to George, but after a bit he founded a dull life. George saw this and said to him, You would do better in a town. I should be sorry to lose you, but if you take my advice you will turn your back on unlucky George and try the paintbrush in Bethurst. For Robinson had told him all about it, and painted his front door. Can't afford to part from honesty, was the firm reply. George breathed again. Robinson was a great comfort to the weak, solitary, and now desponding man. One day for a change they had a thirty-mile walk to see a farmer that had some beasts to sell a great bargain. He was going to boil them down if he could not find a customer. They found them all just sold. Just my luck, said George. When it came home another way, returning home George was silent and depressed. Robinson was silent, but appeared to be swelling with some grand idea. Every now and then he shot ahead under its influence. When they got home and were seated at supper he suddenly put this question to George. Did you ever hear of any gold being found in these parts? No. Never. What? Not in any part of the country? No. Never. Well that is odd. I am afraid it is a very bad country for that. I to make it in, but not to find it in. What do you mean? George, said the other, lowering his voice mysteriously, in our walk today we pass places that brought my heart into my mouth, for if this was only California those places would be pockets of gold. But you see it is not California, but Australia, where all the world knows there is nothing of what your mind is running on. What say knows, say thinks, has it ever been searched for gold? I'll be bound it has, or if not with so many eyes constantly looking on every foot of soil a speck or two would have come to light. One would think so, but it is astonishing how blind folks are till they are taught how to look and where to look, which is the mind that sees things George, not the eye. Ah, so George with a sigh, this chat puts me in mind of the grove. Do you mind how you used to pester everybody to go out to California? Yes, and I wish we were there now. And all your talk used to be gold, gold, gold. As well say it is think it. That is true. Well, we shall be very busy all day tomorrow, but in the afternoon dig for gold an hour or two, then you will be satisfied. But it's no use digging here. It was full five and 20 miles from here, the likely looking place. Then why didn't you stop me at the place? Why, replied Robinson, sourly, because his reverence did so snub me whenever I got upon that favorite topic that it really had got out of the habit. I was ashamed to say, George, let us stop on the road and try for gold with our fingernails. I knew I should only get laughed at. Well, said George sarcastically, since the goldmine is 25 miles off and our work is round about the door. Suppose we pen sheep tomorrow and dig for gold when there is nothing better to be done. Robinson sighed. Unbucalical, to the last degree, was the spirit in which our bohemian tended the flocks next morning. His thoughts were deeper than the soil. And every evening up came the old topic. Oh, how sick George got of it. At last one night he said, my lad, I should like to tell you a story. But I suppose I shall make a bundle of it. Shant cut the furrow clean, I am doubtful. Never mind. Try. Well, then, once upon a time there was an old chap that had heard or read about treasures being found in odd places, a pot full of guineas or something, and it took root in his heart till nothing would serve him, but he must find a pot of guineas, too. He used to poke about all the old ruins, grubbing away, and would have taken up the floor of the church, but the church wardens would not have it. One morning he comes down and says to his wife, It is all right, old woman, I have found the treasure. No, have you, though? Says she. Yes, he says, least ways it is as good as found, it is only waiting till I have had my breakfast, and then I will go out and fetch it in. La, John, but how did you find it? It was revealed to me in a dream, says he, as grave as a judge. And where is it? asked the old woman. You are a tree in our own orchard. No farther, says he. Oh, John, how long you are at breakfast today. Up they both got and into the orchard. Now, which tree is it under? John, he scratches his head, blessed if I know. Why you old nanny, says the mistress, didn't you take the trouble to notice? That I did, said he. I saw it plain enough which tree it was in my dream, but now they all muddle it all, there are so many of them. Got your stupid old heads, says she. Why didn't you put a nick on the right one at the time? Robinson burst out laughing. George chuckled. Oh, said he, there were a pair of them for wisdom. You may take your oath of that. Well, says he, I must dig till I find the right one. The wife she loses heart at this, for there was eighty apple trees and a score of cherry trees. Mind you, don't cut the roots, says she, and she heaves a sigh. John, he gives them bad language, root and branch. What signifies cut or no cut, the old faggots? They don't bear me a bushel of fruit the whole lot. They used to bear two sacks apiece in father's time, dratum. Well, John, says the old woman, smoothing him down. Father used to give them a deal of attention. Taint that, taint that, says he, quick and spiteful like. They have got old like ourselves and good for firewood. Out pickaxe and spade, and digs three foot round one, and finding nothing but mold goes as another. Makes a little mound all round him, too. No guinea pot. Well, the village let him dig three or four quiet enough, but after that curiosity was awakened. And while John was digging, and that was all day, there was mostly seven or eight watching through the fence and passing jests. After a bit of fashion came a flinging a stoner to it, John. Then John, he brought out his gun, loaded with a dust shot along with his pick and spade. And the first stone came, he fired in that direction, and then loaded again. So they took that hint, and John dug on in peace, till about the fourth Sunday, and then the parson had a slap at him in church. Folks were not to heap up to themselves, treasures on earth, was all his discourse. Well, but, said Robinson, this one was only heaping up mold. So it seemed when he had dug the five score holes, for no pot of gold didn't come to light. Then the neighbors called the orchard Jacob's Folly. His name was Jacob's, John Jacob's. Now then, wife, says he, suppose you and I look out for another village to live in, for their jibes are more than I can bear. Old woman begins to cry. Been here so long, brought me home here, John, when we were first married. John, and I was a comely lass, and you, the smartest young man I ever saw, to my fancy anyway, couldn't sleep or eat my vitals in any house but this. Oh, couldn't eat? Well then, we must stay. Perhaps it will blow over. Like everything else, John, but dear John, do you fill in those holes? The young folk come far and wide on Sundays to see them. Wife, I haven't the heart, says he. You see, when I was digging for the treasure I was always a going to find, it kept my heart up. But take out shovel and fill them in. I just leave dying off white of egg on Sunday. So for six blessed months, the heaps were out in the heat and frost till the end of February. And then when the weather broke, the old man takes heart and fills them in. And the village soon forgot Jacob's folly because it was out of sight. Comes April and out bursts the trees. Wife, says he, our bloom is richer than I've known it this many a year. It is richer than our neighbors. Bloom dies and then out come about a million little green things, quite hard. I, I, said Robinson, I see. Michael mass day. The old trees were staggering in the branches down to the ground with the crop. 30 shillings on every tree one with another. And so on for the next year and the next. Sometimes more, sometimes less, according to the year. Trees were old and wanted a change. His letting in the air to them and turning the subsoil up to the frost and sun had renewed their youth. So by that he learned that tillage is the way to get treasure from the earth. Men are ungrateful at times, but the soil is never ungrateful. It always makes a return for the pains we give it. Well, George, said Robinson, thank you for your story. It is a very good one. And after it, I'll never dig for gold in a garden. But now suppose a bare rock or an old river's bed or a mass of shingles or pipe clay. Would you dig or manure them for crops? Why, of course not. Well, those are the sort of places in which nature has planted a yellower crop and a richer crop than tillage ever produced. And I believe there are plums of gold not 30 miles from here in such spots waiting only to be dug out. Well, Tom, I have wasted a parable, that is all. Good night. I hope to sleep and be ready for a good day's work tomorrow. You shall dream of digging up gold here if you like. I'll never speak of it again, said Robinson doggedly. If you want to make a man a bad companion, interdict altogether the topic that happens to interest him. Robinson ceased to vent his chimera. So it swelled and swelled in his heart and he became silent, absorbed, absent and out of spirits. Ah, thought George, poor fellow, he's very dull. He won't stay beside me much longer. This conviction was so strong that he hesitated to close with an advantageous offer that came to him from his friend, Mr. Winchester. That gentleman had taken a lease of a fine run some 30 miles from George. He had written George that he was to go and look at it and if he liked it better than his own, he was to take it. Mr. Winchester could make no considerable use of either for some time to come. George hesitated. He felt himself so weak-handed with only Robinson who might leave him and a shepherd lad he'd just hired. However, his hands were unexpectedly strengthened. One day as the two friends were washing a sheep an armed savage suddenly stood before them. Robinson dropped the sheep and stood on his defense but George cried out, no, no, it is Jackie. Why Jackie, where on earth have you been? And he came warmly toward him. Jackie fled to a small eminence and made war-like preparations. You stop you a good while and I speak, who you? Who am I? Stupid. Why, who should I be but George Fielding? I see you won George Fielding but I not know you, dist George Fielding. George die, I see him die, you alive. You please you call dog Carlo, Carlo wise dog. Well, I never, he, Carlo, Carlo. Up came Carlo, full pelt. George padded him, Carlo wagged his tail and pranced about in the shape of a reaping hook. Jackie came instantly down, showed his ivories and admitted his friend's existence on the word of the dog. Jackie, a good deal glad because you not dead now. When black fellow die, he never live anymore. Black fellow, stupid fellow, I think I like white fellow a good deal better than black fellow. Now I stay with you a good while. George's hands thus strengthened. He wrote and told Mr. Winchester he would go to the new ground which as far as he could remember was very good and would inspect it and probably make the exchange with thanks. It was arranged that in two days time the three friends should go together, inspect the new ground and build a temporary hut there. Meantime Robinson and Jackie make great friends. Robinson showed him one or two sleight of hand tricks that stamped him at once a superior being in Jackie's eyes. And Jackie showed Robinson her thing or two. He threw his boomerang and made it travel a couple of hundred yards and return and hover over his head like a bird and settle at his feet. But he was shy of throwing his spear. Keep spear for when I'm angry, not throw him straight now. Don't you believe that Tom said, George? Fact is the little Varmit can't hit anything with him. Now look at that piece of bark leaning against that tree. You don't hit it. Come try Jackie. Jackie yawned and threw a spear carelessly. It went close by but did not hit it. Didn't I tell you so said George? I'd stand before him in his spears all day with nothing but a cricket stump in my hand and never be hit and never brag neither. Jackie showed his ivories. When I down at Sydney, white man put up a little word and a bit of white money for Jackie. Then Jackie throw straight a good deal. Now, hark to that. Black skin or white skin is all the same. We can't do our best till we are paid for it. Don't you encourage him, Tom? I won't have it. The two started early one fine morning for the new ground, distant full 30 miles. At first starting Robinson was in high glee. His nature delighted and changed. But George was sad and silent. Three times he had changed his ground and always for the better. But to what end? These starts in early morning for fresh places used once to make him buoyant, but not now. All that was over. He persisted doggedly and did his best like a man, but in his secret heart not one grain of hope was left. Indeed it was but the other day he had written to Susan and told her it was not possible he could make a thousand pounds. The difficulties were too many and then his losses had been too great. And he told her he felt it was scarcely fair to keep her to her promise. You would waste all your youth, Susan dear, waiting for me. And he told her how he loved her and should never love another, but left her free. To add to his troubles he had scarcely well of the fever when he caught a touch of rheumatism and the stalwart young fellow limped along by Robinson's side and instead of his distancing Jackie as he used in better days, Jackie rattled on ahead and having got on the trail of a possum, announced his intention of hunting it down and then following the human trail. Me catch you before the sun go and bring possum. Then we eat a good deal and off glided Jackie after his possum. The pair plotted and limped on in gloomy silence. For at a part of the road where they emerged from green meadows on rocks and broken ground, Robinson's tongue had suddenly ceased. They plotted on one sad and stiff, the other thoughtful. Anyone meeting the pair would have pitied them. Ill success was stamped on them. Their features were so good, their fortunes so unkind. Their clothes were sadly worn, their beards neglected, their looks thoughtful and sad. The convert to honesty stole more than one look at the noble figure that limped beside him and the handsome face in which gentle, uncomplaining sorrow seemed to be a tenant for life. And to the credit of our nature be it said that his eyes filled and his heart yearned. Oh honesty said he, you are ill paid here. I have been well paid for my little bit of you, but here is a life of honesty and a life of ill luck and bitter disappointment. Poor George, poor dear George, leave you never while I have hands to work and a brain to devise. They now began slowly to mount a gentle slope that ended in a long black snake-like hill. When we get to that hill we shall see my new pastor, said George. New or old, I doubt, will be all the same. And he sighed and relapsed into silence. Meantime Jackie had killed his possum and was now following their trail at an easy trot. Leaving the two sad ones with worn clothes and heavy hearts plotting slowly and stiffly up the long rough slope, our story runs on before it gains the rocky platform they are making for and looks both ways, back toward the sad ones and forward over a grand long sweeping valley. This pasture is rich in proportion as it recedes from this huge backbone of rock that comes from the Stony Mountains and pieces and divides the meadows as a cape the sea. In the foreground the grass suffers from its stern neighbor. It is cut up here and there by the channels of defunct torrents and dotted with fragments of rock, some of which seem to have pierced the bosom of the soil from below. Others have been detached at different epochs from the parent rock and rolled into the valley. But these wounds are only discovered on inspection. At a general glance from the rocky road into the dale the prospect is large, rich, and laughing. Farer pastures are to be found in that favored land, but this sparkles at you like an emerald roughly set and where the backbone of rock gives a sudden twist bursts out all at once broad smiling in your face, a land flowing with milk and every bush a thousand nosegays. At the angle above mentioned, which commanded a double view, a man was standing watching some object or objects not visible to his three companions. They were working some yards lower down by the side of a rivulet that brawled and bounded down the hill. Every now and then an inquiry was shouted up to that individual who was evidently a sort of scout or sentinel. At last one of the men in the ravine came up and bade the scout go down. I'll soon tell you whether we shall have to knock off work and he turned the corner and disappeared. He shaded both his eyes with his hands for the sun was glaring. About a mile off he saw two men coming slowly up by a zigzag path toward the very point where he stood. Presently the men stopped and examined the prospect each in his own way. The taller one took a wide survey of the low ground and calling his companion to him appeared to point out to him some beauty or peculiarity of the region. Our scout stepped back and called down to his companions, shepherds. He then strolled back to his post with no particular anxiety. Arrived there his uneasiness seemed to revive. The shorter of the two strangers had lagged behind his comrade and the watcher observed that he was carrying on a close and earnest inspection of the ground in detail. He peered into the hollows and loitered in every ravine. This gave singular offence to the keen eye that was now upon him. Presently he was seen to stop and call his taller companion to him and point with great earnestness first to something at their feet then to the backbone of rocks and it so happened by mere accident that his finger took nearly the direction of the very spot where the observer of all his movements stood. The man started back out of sight and called in a low voice to his comrade, him here. They came straggling up with troubled and lowering faces. Lie down and watch them, said the leader. The men stooped and crawled forward to some stunted bushes behind which they lay down and watched in silence the unconscious pair who were now about two furloughs distant. The shorter of the two still loitered behind his companion and inspected the ground with particular interest. The leader of the band, who went by the name of Black Will, muttered a curse upon his inquisitiveness. The others assented all but one, a huge fellow whom the others addressed as Jem. Nonsaid said Jem, dozens passed this way and are none the wiser. I replied Black Will, with their noses in the air, but that is a notice-taking fellow. Look at him with his eyes forever on the rocks or in the gullies, or there if he is not picking up a stone and breaking it. Ha ha, laughed Jem incredulously, how many thousand have picked up stones and broke them all and never know what we know? He has been in the same oven as we retorted the other. Here one of the others put in his word. That is not likely, Captain, but if it were so there are no two ways. A secret is no secret if all the world is to know it. You remember our oath, Jem, said the leader sternly. Why should I forget it more than another? replied the other angrily. Have you all your knives? asked the Captain gloomily. The men nodded ascent. Crossed them with me as we did when we took our oath first. The men stretched out each a brawny arm and a long sharp knife, so that all the points came together in a focus, and this action suited well with their fierce and animal features, their long-neglected beards, their matted hair, and their gleaming eyes. It took the prologue to some deed of blood. This done, at another word from their ruffianly leader, they turned away from the angle in the rock and plunged hastily down the ravine, but they had scarcely taken thirty steps when they suddenly disappeared. In the neighborhood of the small stream I've mentioned was a cavern of a regular shape that served these men for a habitation and place of concealment. Nature had not done all. The stone was soft and the natural cavity had been enlarged and made a comfortable retreat enough for the hardy men whose home it was. A few feet from the mouth of the cave on one side grew a stout bush that added to the shelter and the concealment, and on the other the men themselves had placed two or three huge stones, which, from the attitude the rogues had given them, appeared, like many others, to have rolled thither years ago from the rock above. In this retreat the whole band were now silently couched. Two of them in the mouth of the cave, black will, and another lying flat on their stomachs watching the angle of the road for the two men who must pass that way and listening for every sound. Black will was carefully and quietly sharpening his knife on one of the stones and casting back every now and then a meaning glance to his companions. The pertinacity with which he held to his idea began to tell on them, and they sat in an attitude of sullen and terrible suspicion, but Jem wore a look of contemptuous incredulility. However small a society may be, if it is a human one, jealousy shall creep in. Jem grudged black will his captaincy. Jem was intellectually a bit of a brute. He was a stronger man than will, and therefore thought it hard that merely because will was a keener spirit, will should be over him. Half an hour passed thus, and the two travelers did not make their appearance. Not even coming this way at all, said Jem. Hush, replied Will sternly, hold your tongue. They must come this way and they can't be far off. Jem, you can crawl out and see where they are if you are clever enough to keep that great body out of sight. Jem resented this doubt cast upon his adroitness and crawled out among the bushes. He had scarcely got 20 yards when he halted and made a signal that the man were in sight. Soon afterward he came back with less precaution. They are sitting eating their dinner close by, just on the sunny side of the rock, shepherds as I told you, got a dog. Go yourself if you don't believe me. The leader went to the spot, and soon after returned and said quietly, Pals, I dare say he is right. Lies still till they've had their dinner. They're going farther, no doubt. Soon after this he gave a hasty signal of silence. For George and Robinson at that moment came round the corner of the rock and stood on the road, not 50 yards above them. Here they paused as the valley burst on their view and George pointed out its qualities to his comrade. It is not first rate, Tom, but there is good grass and patches and plenty of water. Robinson, instead of replying or giving his mind to the prospect, said to George, why, where is he? Who? The man that I saw standing at this corner a while ago. He came round this way, I'll be sworn. He's gone away, I suppose. I never saw anyone for my part. I did, though. Gone away, how could he go away? The road is in sight for miles and not a creature on it. He's vanished. I don't see him anyway, Tom. Of course you don't. He's vanished into the bowels of the earth. I don't like gentlemen that vanish into the bowels of the earth. How suspicious you are. Bush rangers again, I suppose. They're always running in your mind, them in gold. You know the country, George. Here, take my stick. And he handed George a long stick with a heavy iron feral. If a man is safe here, he owes it to himself, not to his neighbor. Then why do you give me your weapon? Said George with a smile. I haven't, was the reply. I carry my sting out of sight, like a humble bee. And Mr. Robinson winked mysteriously, and the process seemed to relieve his mind and soothe his suspicions. He then fell to inspecting the rocks. And when George pointed out to him the broad and distant pasture, he said, in an absent way, yes. And turning round, George found him with his eyes glued to the ground at his feet and his mind in a deep reverie. George was vexed and said somewhat warmly, why, Tom, the place is worth looking at now. We are come to it, surely. Robinson made no direct reply. George, he said thoughtfully, how far have you got towards your thousand pounds? Oh, Tom, don't ask me. Don't remind me. How can I ever make it? No market within a thousand miles of any place in this confounded country. Forced to boil down sheep into tallow and sell them for the price of a wild duck. I have left my Susan and I have lost her. Oh, why did you remind me? So much for the farming leg. Don't you be downhearted. There's better cards in the pack than the five of spades. And the farther I go and the more I see of this country, the sureer I am. There is a good day coming for you and me. Listen, George, when I shut my eyes for a moment now where I stand and then open them, I'm in California. Dreaming? No, why to wake? Wider than you are now. George, look at these hills. You could not tell them from the golden range of California. But that is not all. When you look into them, you find they are made of the same stuff, too. Granite, mica, and quartz. Now, don't you be cross? No, no, why should I? Show me, said George, trying out of kind-heartedness to take an interest in this subject, which had so often wearied him. Well, here are two of them. That great dark bit out there is mica. And all this that runs in a vein, like, is quartz. Quartz and mica are the natural home of gold, and some gold is to be found at home still. But the main of it has been washed out and scattered like seed all over the neighboring clays. You see, George, the world is a thousand times older than most folks think, and water has been working upon gold thousands and thousands of years before ever a man stood upon the earth. I, or a dog, either, Carlo, for as wise as you look squatting out there, thinking of nothing and pretending to be thinking of everything. Well, drop gold, said George, and tell me what this is. And he handed Robinson the small fossil. Robinson eyed it with wonder and interest. Where on earth did you find this? Hard buy, what is it? Plenty of these in California. What is it? Why, I'll tell you, it is a pal old joey. You don't say so. Looks like a shell. Sit down a moment, George, and let us look at it. He bids me drop gold and then goes and shows me a proof of gold that never deceived us out there. You are mad. How can this be a sign of gold? I tell you, it's a shell. And I tell you that where these things are found among mica, quartz, and granite, there is gold to be found if men of the wit, the patience, and the skill look for it. I can't tell you why. The laws of gold puzzle deeper heads than mine, but so it is. I seem to smell gold all around me here. And Robinson flushed all over, so powerfully did the great idea of gold seated here on his native throne grapple and agitate his mind. Tom said the other doggedly, if there is as much gold on the ground of New South Wales as will make me a wedding ring, I am a Dutchman. And he got up calmly and jerked the pale old joey a tremendous way into the valley. This action put Robinson's blood up. George cried he, springing up like fire bringing his foot down sharp upon the rock floor. If I don't stand upon gold, I'm damned. And a wild but true inspiration seemed to be upon the man. A stranger could hardly have helped believing him, but George had heard a good deal of this, though the mania had never gone quite so far. He said quickly, come let us get down into the pasture. Not I replied Robinson, come George, prejudice is for babies, experience for men. Here's an unknown country with all the signs of gold thicker than ever. I've got a calabash, stay and try for gold in this gully. It looks to me just like the mouth of a purse. Not I, I will then. Why not? I don't think you will find anything in it, but anyway you will have better chance when I'm not by to spoil you. Luck is all against me. If I want rain comes drought. If I want sun, look for a deluge. If there is money to be made by a thing, I'm out of it. To be lost, I'm in it. If I love to vixen, she'd drop into my arms like a meddler. I love an angel and that is why I shall never have her, never. From a game of marbles to the game of life, I never had a grain of luck like other people. Leave me, Tom, and try if you can find gold. You will have a chance, my poor fellow, if unlucky George is not aside you. Leave you, George, not if I know it. You are to blame if you don't. Turn your back on me as I did on you in England. Never. I'd rather not find gold than part with honesty. There, I'm coming. Let us go. Quick, come. Let us leave here. And the two men left the road and turned their faces and their steps across the ravine. End of chapter 52, part one. Chapter 52, part two. Of it is never too late to mend. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Mary Maxwell. It is never too late to mend by Charles Reed. Chapter 52, part two. During all this dialogue, the men in the cave had strained both eyes and ears to comprehend the speakers. The distance was too great for them to catch all the words, but this much was clear from the first, that one of the men wished to stay on the spot for some purpose and the other to go on. But presently, as the speakers warmed, a word traveled down the breeze that made the four ruffians start and turn red with surprise, and the next moment darkened with anger and apprehension. The word came again and again. They all heard it. Its open vowel gave it a sonorous ring. It seemed to fly farther than any other word the speaker uttered, or perhaps when he came to it, he spoke it louder than smaller words, or the hearer's ears were watching for it. The man interchanged terrible looks, and then they grasped their knives and watched their leader's eye for some deadly signal. Again and again, the word G-O-L-D came like an anolian note into the secret cave, and each time I sought eye and read the unlucky speaker's death warrant there. But when George prevailed and the two men started for the valley, the men in the cave cast uncertain looks at one another, and he, we have called Jem, drew a long breath and said brutally, yet with something of satisfaction, you have saved your bacon this time. The voices now drew near and the men crouched close, for George and Robinson passed within 15 yards of them. They were talking now about matters connected with George's business, for Robinson made a violent effort and dropped his favorite theme to oblige his comrade. They passed near the cave and presently their backs were turned to it. Goodbye, my lads, whispered Jem, and curse you for making us lose a good half hour, muttered another of the gang. The words were scarce out of his mouth before a sudden rustle was heard and there was Carlo. He had pulled up in mid-career and stood transfixed with astonishment, literally pointing the gang. It was, but for a moment, he did not like the looks of the men at all. He gave a sharp bark that made George and Robinson turn quickly round and then he went on hunting. A kangaroo shouted, Robinson, it must have got up near that bush. Come and look, if it is, we will hunt it down. George turned back with him, but on reflection he said, no, Tom, we have a long road to go. Let us keep on, if you please. And they once more turned their backs to the cave, whistled Carlo, and stepped briskly out toward the valley. A few yards before them was the brook I've already noticed. It was about three yards broad at this spot. However, Robinson, who was determined not to make George lose any more time, took the lead and giving himself the benefit of a run, cleared it like a buck. But as he was in the air, his eye caught some object on this side the brook and making a little circle on the other side, he came back with ludicrous precipitancy and jumping short landed with one foot on shore and one in the stream. George burst out laughing. Do you see this, cried Robinson? Yes, somebody has been digging a hole here, said George very coolly. Come higher up, cried Robinson, all in a flutter. Do you see this? Yes, it is another hole. It is. Do you see this wet too? I see there has been some water spilled by the brook side. What kind of work has been done here? Have they been digging potatoes, farmer? Don't be foolish, Tom. Is it any kind of work you know? Here's another trench dug. No, it is nothing in my way. That is the truth. But it is work the signs of which I know as well as you know a plowed field from a term pike road. Why, what is it then? It is gold washing. You don't say so, Tom. This is gold washing, as beginners practice it in California and Mexico and Peru and wherever gold dust is found. They have been working with a pan. They haven't got such a thing as a cradle in this country. Come lower down, this was yesterday's work. Let us find today's. The two men now ran down the stream busy as dogs hunting and otter. A little lower down, they found both banks of the stream pitted with holes about two feet deep and the sides drenched with water from it. Well, if it is so, you need not look so pale. Why, dear me, how pale you are, Tom. You would be pale, Gasp, Tom, if you could see what a day this is for you and me, I and for all the world, Old England especially. George in a month, there will be 5,000 men working around this little spot. I come, cried he, shouting wildly at the top of his voice. There is plenty for all. Gold, gold, gold, I have found it. I, Tom Robinson, I've found it and I grudge it to no man. I, a thief that was, make a present of it to its rightful owner and that is all the world. Here, gold, gold, gold. Though George hardly understood his companion's words, he was carried away by the torrent of his enthusiasm and even as Robinson spoke, his cheeks in turn flushed and his eyes flashed and he grasped his friend's hands warmly and cried, gold, gold, blessings on it if it takes me to Susan, gold, gold. The poor fellow's triumph and friendly exaltation lasted but a moment. The words were scarce out of Robinson's mouth when to his surprise, George started from him, turned very pale, but at the same time lifted his iron shod stick high in the air and clenched his teeth with desperate resolution. Four men with shaggy beards and wild faces and murderous eyes were literally upon them, each with a long glittering knife raised in the air. At that fearful moment, George learned the value of a friend that had seen adventure and crime, rapid and fierce and unexpected as the attack was, Robinson was not caught off his guard. His hand went like lightning into his bosom and the assailants in the very act of striking were met in the face by the long, glistening barrels of a rifle revolver. While the cool wicked eye behind it showed them nothing was to be hoped in that quarter from flurry or haste or indecision. The two men nearest the revolver started back and the other two neither recoiled nor advanced but merely hung fire. George made a movement to throw himself upon them but Robinson seized him fiercely by the arm. He said steadily but sternly, keep cool young man, no running among their knives while they are four, strike across me and I shall guard you till we have thinned. Will you, said Black Will, hear pals, the four assailants came together like a fan for a moment and took a whisper from their leader. They then spread out like a fan and began to encircle their antagonists so as to attack on both sides at once. Back to the water, George, cried Robinson quickly, to the broad part here. Robinson calculated that the stream would protect his rear and that safe he was content to wait and profit by the slightest error of his numerous assailants. This, however, was to a certain degree a miscalculation. For the huge ruffian we have called gem sprang boldly across the stream higher up and prepared to attack the men behind the moment they should be engaged with his comrades. The others no sooner saw him in position than they rushed desperately upon George and Robinson in the form of a crescent. And as they came on, gem came flying knife in hand to plunge it into Robinson's back. As the front assailants neared them, true to his promise, Robinson fired across George and the outside man received a bullet in his shoulder blade and turning round like a top fell upon his knees. Unluckly, George wasted a blow at this man which sung idly over him. He dropping his head and losing his knife and his powers at the very moment. By this means Robinson, the moment he had fired his pistol, had no less than three assailants. One of these, George, struck behind the neck so furiously with a backhand stroke of his iron-shod stick that he fell senseless at Robinson's feet. The other, met in front by the revolver, recoiled, but kept Robinson at bay while gem sprang on him from the rear. This attack was the most dangerous of all. In fact, neither Robinson nor George had time to defend themselves against him even if they had seen him, which they did not. Now, as gem was in the very act of making his spring from the other side of the brook, a spear glanced like a streak of light past the principal combatants and pierced gem through and through the fleshy part of the thigh and there stood Jackie at forty yards distance with the hand still raised from which the spear had flown and his emu-like eye glittering with the light of battle. Gem, instead of bounding clear over the stream, fell heavily into the middle of it and lay writhing and floundering at George's mercy, who, turning in alarm at the sound, stood over him with his long, deadly staff, whirling and swinging round his head in the air. While Robinson placed one foot firmly on the stuntman's right arm and threatened the leader black will with his pistol, and at the same moment with a wild and piercing yell, Jackie came down in leaps like a kangaroo. His tomahawk flourished over his head, his features entirely changed and the thirst of blood written upon every inch of him. Black will was preparing to run away and leave his wounded companions, but at sight of the fleet's savage, he stood still and roared out for mercy. Quarter, quarter, cried black will. Down on your knees cried Robinson in a terrible voice. The man fell on his knees and in that posture, Jackie would certainly have knocked out his brains but that Robinson pointed the pistol at his head and forbade him, and Carlo, who had arrived tasteily at the sound of battle in great excitement, but not with clear ideas, seeing Jackie, whom he always looked on as a wild animal, opposed in some way to Robinson, seized him directly by the leg from behind and held him howling in a vice. Hold your cursed noise, all of you, Lord Robinson. Do you ask, quarter? Quarter, cried black will. Quarter, gurgled gem. Quarter, echoed more faintly the wounded man. The other was insensible. Then throw me your knives. The man hesitated. Throw me them this instant or they threw down their knives. George, take them and tie them up in your wipe. George took the knives and tied them up. Now pull that big brute out of the water or he'll drown himself. George and Jackie pulled gem out of the water with the spear sticking in him. The water was discolored with his blood. Pull the spear out of him. George pulled and gem roared with pain, but the spearhead would not come back through the wound. Then Jackie came up and broke the light shaft off close to the skin and grasping the head drew the remainder through the wound forward and grinned with a sense of superior wisdom. By this time, the man whom George had felled sat up on his beam ends, winking and blinking and confused, like a great owl at sunrise. Then Robinson, who had never lost his presence of mind and had now recovered his sanghoid, made all four captives sit around together on the ground in one little lot. While I show you the error of your ways, said he, I could forgive a rascal, but I hate a fool. You thought to keep such a secret as this all to yourselves, you dunces. The very birds in the air would carry it. It never was kept secret in any land and never will. And you would spill blood sooner than your betters should know it, ya niny compoops. What the worse are you for our knowing it? If a thousand knew it today, would that lower the price of gold a penny an ounce? No, all the harm they could do you would be this, that some of them would show you where it lies thickest and then you'd profit by it. You'd better tie that leg of yours up. You have lost blood enough, I should say, by the look of you. Haven't you got a wipe? Here, take mine. You deserve it, don't you? No man's luck hurts his neighbor at this work. How clever you were. You have just pitched on the unlikeliest place in the whole gully and you wanted to kill the man that would have taught you which are the likelier ones. I shall find 10 times as much gold before the sun sets as you will find in a week by the side of that stream. Why it hasn't been running above a thousand years or two, I should say, by the look of it. You've got plenty to learn, you bloody minded greenhorns. Now I'll tell you what it is, continued Robinson, getting angry about it. Since you are for keeping dark what little you know, I'll keep you dark and in 10 minutes my pal here and the very nigger shall know more about gold-finding than you know. So be off for I'm going to work. Come, march. Where are we to go, mate? said the leader sullenly. Do you see that rage about three miles west? Well, if we catch you on this side of it, we will hang you like wild cats. On the other side of it, do what you like and try all you know, but this gully belongs to us now. You wanted to take something from us that did not belong to you, our blood. So now we take something from you that didn't belong to us a minute or two ago. Come, missile, and no more words or any pointed the tail of his discourse with his revolver. The men rose and was sullen, rueful, downcast looks moved off in the direction of the boundary, but one remained behind. The man was gem. Well, captain, I wish you would let me join in with you. What for? Well, captain, you've lent me your wipe and I think a deal of it, for it's what I did not deserve, but that is not all. You were the best man and I like to be under the best man if I must be under anybody. Robinson hesitated a moment. Come here, said he. The man came in front of him. Look me in the face. Now, give me your hand. Quick, no thinking about how. The man gave him his hand readily. Robinson looked into his eyes. What is your name? Gem. Gem, we take you on trial. Gem's late companions, who perfectly comprehended what was passing, turned and hooted the deserter. Gem, whose ideas of repartee were primitive, turned and hooted them in reply. While the men were retreating, Robinson walked thoughtfully with his hands behind him, backward and forward, like a great admiral on his quarter deck, enemy to leeward. Every eye was upon him and watched him in respectful, inquiring silence. Knowledge is power. This was the man now, the rest children. What tools have you? There's a spade and a trowel in that bush, Captain. Fetch them, George. Hadn't you a pan? No, Captain, we used a calabash. You will find it lower down. George, after a little search, found all these objects and brought them back. Now, cried Robinson, these greenhorns have been washing in a stream that runs now. But perhaps in the days of Noah was not a river at all. But you look at that old bed of stream down out there. That was a much stronger stream than this in its day, and it ran for more than a hundred thousand years before it dried up. How can you tell that, said George, resuming some of his incredulity? Look at those monstrous stones in it here, there and everywhere. It has been a powerful stream to carry such masses with it as that, and it has been running many thousand years. For see how deep it has eaten into its rocky sides here and there? That was a river, my lads, and washed gold down for hundreds of thousands of years before ever Adams stood on the earth. The men gave a hurrah, and George and Jackie prepared to run and find the treasure. Stop, cried Robinson, you are not at the gold yet. Can you tell in what parts of the channel it lies thick and where there isn't enough to pay the labor of washing it? Well, I can. Look at that bend where the round pebbles are collected so. There was a strong eddy there. Well, under the ridge of that eddy is 10 times as much gold lying as in the level parts. Stop a bit again. Do you know how deep or how shallow it lies? Do you think you can find it by the eye? Do you know what clays it sinks through as if it were a sieve and what stops it like an iron door? Your quickest way is to take Captain Robinson's time, and that is now. He snatched the spade and giving full vent to the ardor he had so long suppressed with difficulty, plunged down the little declivity that led to the ancient stream and drove his spade into its shingle, the debris of centuries of centuries. George sprang after him, his eyes gleaming with hope and agitation. The black followed in wonder and excitement and the wounded gem limped last and unable through weakness to work, seated himself with glowing eyes upon that ancient river's bank. Away with all this gravel and shingle, these are all newcomers. The real bed of the stream is below all this and we must go down to that. Trowel and spade and tomahawk went furiously to work and soon cleared away the gravel from the surface of three to four feet. Beneath this, they found a bed of gray clay. Let us wash that, Captain, said gem eagerly. No, gem was the reply. That is the way novices waste their time. This gray clay is porous, too porous to hold gold. We must go deeper. Tomahawk, spade, and trowel went furious to work again. Give me the spade, said George, and he dug and shoveled out with herculean strength and amazing ardor. His rheumatism was gone and nerves came back from that very hour. Here is a white clay. Let me see it. Pipe clay, go no deeper, George. If you were to dig 100 feet, you would not find an ounce of gold below that. George rested on his spade. What are we to do then? Try somewhere else? Not till we have tried here first. But you say there is nothing below this pipe clay. No more there is. Well then. But I didn't say there is nothing above it. Well, but there is nothing much above it except the gray without this small streak of brownish clay, but that is not an inch thick. George, in that inch, lies all the gold we are likely to find. If it is not there, we have only to go elsewhere. Now, while I get watered, you stick your spade in and cut the brown clay away from the white it lies on. Don't leave a spot of the brown sticking to the white. The lower part of the brown clay is the like list. A shower having fallen the day before, Robinson found water in a hole not far distant. He filled his calabash and returned. Meantime, George and Jackie had got together nearly a barrel full of the brown or rather chocolate colored clay, mixed slightly with the upper and lower strata, the grain white. I want Yon Calabash and Georges as well. Robinson filled George's calabash two thirds full of the stuff and pouring some water upon it said good naturedly to Gem. There, you may do the first washing if you like. Thank you, Captain, said Gem, who proceeded instantly to stir and dissolve the clay and pour it carefully away as it dissolved. Jackie was sent for more water and this, when used as described, had left the clay reduced to about one sixth of its original bulk. Now, Captain cried Gem in great excitement. No, it's not now, Captain, yet, said Robinson. Is that the way you do panwashing? He then took the calabash from Gem and gave him Jackie's calabash two thirds full of clay to treat like the other. And this being done, he emptied the dry remains of one calabash into the other and gave Gem a third lot to treat likewise. This done, you will observe, he had in one calabash the results of three first washings. But now he trusted Gem no longer. He took the calabash and said, you look faint. You are not fit to work. Besides, you have not got the right twist of the hand yet, my lad. Poor Fermi, George. Robinson stirred and began to dissolve the three remainders and every now and then, with an artful turn of the hand, he sent a portion of the muddy liquid out of the vessel. At the end of this washing, there remained scarce more than a good handful of clay at the bottom. More water was poured on this. Now, said Robinson, we shall know this time and if you see but one spot of yellow among it, we are all gentlemen and men of fortune. He dissolved the clay and twisted and turned the vessel with great dexterity and presently the whole of the clay was liquefied. Now, said Robinson, all your eyes upon it and if I spill anything I ought to keep, you tell me. He said this concededly but with evident agitation. He was now pouring away the dirty water with the utmost care so that anything, however small, that might be heavier than clay should remain behind. Presently he paused and drew a long breath. He feared to decide so great a question. It was but for a moment. He began again to pour the dirty water away very slowly and carefully. Every eye was driving into the vessel. There was a dead silence. Robinson poured with great care. There was now little more than a wine glass full left. Dead silence. Suddenly a tremendous cry broke from all these silent figures at the same instant. A cry, it was a yell. I don't know what to compare it to but imagine that a score of wolves had hunted a horse for two centuries, up and down, round and round, sometimes losing a yard, sometimes gaining one on him and at last after a thousand disappointments and fierce alternations of hope and despair, the horse had suddenly stumbled and the wild glutton had pounced on him at last. Such a fierce yell of triumph burst from four human bosoms now. Hurrah! We are the greatest men above ground. If a hundred emperors and kings died today, their places could be filled tomorrow but the world could not do without us and our find. We are gentlemen. We are noblemen. We are whatever we like to be. Hurrah! cried Robinson. Hurrah! cried George. I see my Susan's eyes in you, you beauty. Hurrah! wind gem feebly. Let me see how much there is and clutching the callibash he fainted at that moment from loss of blood and fell forward insensible, his face in the vessel that held the gold and his hands grasping it so tight that great force had to be used to separate them. They lifted gem and set him up again and sprinkled water in his face. The man's thick lip was cut by the side of the vessel and more than one drop of blood trickled down its side and mingled with the gold dust. No comment was made on this at the time. They were so busy. There, he's coming too and we've no time to waste in nursing the sick. Work, they sprang up onto the work again. It was not what you have seen pass for work in Europe. It was men working themselves for once as they make horses work forever. Work, it was battle. It was humanity fighting and struggling with nature for her prime treasure, so esteemed. How they dug and scraped and fought tooth and spade and nail and trowel and tomahawk for gold. Their shirts were wet through a sweat, yet they felt no fatigue. Their trousers were sheets of clay, yet they suffered no sense of dirt. The wounded man recovered a portion of his strength and thirsting for gold brought feeble hands but indomitable ardor to the great cause. They dug, they scraped, they bowed their backs and wrought with fury and inspiration unparalleled. And when the sun began to decline behind the hills these four human mutes felt injured. They lifted their eyes a moment from the ground and cast a fretful look at the great tranquil luminary. Are you really going to set this afternoon the same as usual when we need your services so? Would you know why that wolfish yell of triumph? Would you see what sight so electrified those gloating eyes and panting bosoms? Would you realize that discovery, which in six months peopled that barren spot with thousands of men from all the civilized tribes upon earth? And in a few years must and will make despised Australia a queen among the nations. Nations who must and will come at the best thing they have, wealth, talent, cunning, song, pencil, pen, tongue, arm, and lay them all at her feet for this one thing. Would you behold this great discovery, the same in appearance and magnitude as it met the eyes of the first discoverers picked with a knife from the bottom of a calabash, separated at last by human art and gravity's great law from the meaner dust it had lurked in for a million years. Then turn your eyes hither for here it is, knife-handled drawing. End of chapter 52, part two. Chapter 53 of It is Never Too Late to Mend. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Mary Lou in New York City. It's Never Too Late to Mend by Charles Reed, chapter 53. Mr. Meadows dispatched his work in Shropshire twice as fast as he had calculated and returned home with two forces battling inside him, love and prudence. The battle was decided for him. William Fielding's honest but awkward interference had raised in Susan Merton a desire to separate her sentiments from his by showing Mr. Meadows a marked respect. She heard of his arrival and instantly sent her father to welcome him home. Old Merton embraced the commission for he happened to need Meadows advice and assistance. The speculations into which he had been led by Mr. Clinton after some fluctuations were a gloomy look, which could only be temporary, said that gentleman. Still a great loss would be incurred by selling out of them at a period of depression and Mr. Clinton advised him to borrow a thousand pounds and hold on till things brightened. Mr. Meadows smiled grimly, dear, dear, what a pity my money is locked up. Go to lawyer Crawley, use my name. He won't refuse my friend for I could do him an ill turn if I chose. I will, you are a true friend. You will look in and see us, of course, market day. Why not? Meadows did not resume his visits at Grasmere without some twinges of conscience and a prudent resolve not to anchor his happiness upon Susan Merton. That man might come here any day with his thousand pounds and take her from me, said he. He seems by his letters to be doing well and they say any fool can make money in the colonies. Well, if he comes home respectable and well to do, I'll go out. If I am not to have the only woman I ever loved or cared for, let thousands and thousands of miles of sea lie between me and that pair. But still he wheeled about the flame. Air long matters took a very different turn. The tone of George's letters began to change. His repeated losses of bullocks and sheep were all recorded in his letters to Susan and these letters were all read with eager anxiety by Meadows a day before they reached Grasmere. The respectable man did not commit this action without some iron passing through his own soul. Nemo repente torpissimus. The first letter he opened, it was like picking a lock. He writhed and blushed and his uncertain fingers fumbled with another's property as if it had been red hot. The next cost him some shame too, but the next less and soon these little spasms of conscience began to be lost in the pleasure the letters gave him. It is clear he will never make a thousand pounds out there and if he doesn't, the old farmer won't give him Susan, won't shant, he shall be too deep in my debt to venture on it even if he was minded. Meadows exalted over the letters and as he exalted they stabbed him. For by the side of the records of his ill fortune the exam never failed to pour out his love and confidence in his Susan and to acknowledge the receipt of some dear letter from her which Meadows could see by Georges must have assured him of undiminished or even increased affection. Thus did sin lead to sin by breaking a seal which was not his and reading letters which were not his Meadows filled himself with the warmest hopes of possessing Susan one day and got to hate George for the stabs the young man innocently gave him. At last he actually looked on George as a sort of dog in the manger who could not make Susan happy yet would come between her heart and one who could. All weapons seemed lawful against such a mere pest as this a dog in the manger. Meadows started with nothing better nor worse in a commonplace conscience. A vicious habit is an iron that soon sears that sort of article. When he had opened and read about four letters his moral nature turned stone blind of one eye and now he was happier on the surface than he had been ever since he fell in love with Susan. Sure now that one day or another she must be his he waited patiently enjoyed her society twice a week got everybody into his power and bided his time. And one frightful thing in all this was that his love for Susan was not only a strong but in itself a good love. I mean it was a love founded on esteem. It was a passionate love and yet a profound and tender affection. It was the love which under different circumstances has often weaned men and I women too from a frivolous selfish and sometimes vicious life. This love Meadows thought and hoped would hallow the unlawful means by which he must crown it. In fact he was mixing vice and virtue. The snow was to whiten the pitch not the pitch blackened the snow. Thousands had tried this before him and will try it after him. Oh that I could persuade them to mix fire and gunpowder instead. Men would bless me for this when all else I have written has been long, long forgotten. He felt good all over when he sat with Susan and thought how there's his means would enable that angel to satisfy her charitable nature and win the prayers of the poor as well as the admiration of the wealthy. If ever a woman was cherished, she shall be. If ever a woman was happy, she shall be. And as for him, if he had done wrong to win her he would more than compensated afterward. In short, he had been for more than 20 years selling, buying, swapping, driving every conceivable earthly bargain. So now he was proposing one to heaven. At last came a letter in which George told Susan of the fatal moraine among his sheep of his fever that had followed immediately of the further losses while he lay ill and concluded by saying that he had no right to tie her to his misfortunes and that he felt it would be more manly to set her free. When he read this Meadows exultation broke all bounds. Aha! cried he. Is it come to that at last? Well, he is a fine fellow after all and looks at it the sensible way. And if I can do him a good turn in business, I always will. The next day he called at Grasmere. Susan met him all smiles and was more cheerful than usual. The watchful man was delighted. Come, she does not take it to heart. He did not guess that Susan had cried for hours and hours over the letter and then had sat quietly down and written a letter and begged George to come home and not add separation to their other misfortunes and that it was this decision and having acted upon it that had made her cheerful. Meadows argued in his own favor and now made sure to win. The next week he called three times at Grasmere instead of twice and asked himself how much longer he must wait before he should speak out. Prudence said, a little more patience. And so he still hid in his bosom the flame that burned him the deeper for this unnatural smothering. But he drank deep, silent drafts of love and reveled in the bright future of his passion. It was no longer hope, it was certainty. Susan liked him. Her eye brightened at his coming. Her father was in his power. There was nothing between them but the distant shadow of arrival. Sooner or later she must be his. So past three calm, delicious weeks. End of chapter 53, chapter 54 of, it is never too late to mend. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by MLC 13 in New York City. It is never too late to mend by Charles Reed, chapter 54. Meadows sat one day in his study receiving Crawley's report. Old Mr. Merton came yesterday. I made difficulties as instructed. He's to come back tomorrow, said Crawley. Meadows looked up. He shall have the 800. That makes 2,400. Why his whole stock won't cover it. Ha! I don't understand it, sir. It's too deep for me. What is the old gentleman doing? Hunting will of the wisp, throwing it away in speculations that are colored bright for him by a man who wants to ruin him. Aha! cackled Crawley. And do him no harm. Ah, how far is it to the bottom of the sea, sir? If you please. I'm sure you know, Mr. Levi, and you. Crawley, said Meadows, suddenly turning the conversation. The world calls me close-fisted. Have you found me so? Liberal is running water, sir. I sometimes say, how long will this last before such a great man breaks Peter Crawley and flings him away and takes another? Then Crawley sighed. Then your game is to make yourself necessary to me. I wish I could, said Peter, with mock candor. Sir, he crept on, if the most ardent zeal, if punctuality, secrecy, and unscrupulous fidelity hold your gammon, are we writing a book together? Answer me this in English. How far dare you go with me? As far as your purse extends, only, only what? Only your thermometer is going down already, I suppose. No, sir, but what I meant is, I meant I shouldn't like to do anything too bad. What do you mean by too bad? Punishable by law. It is not your conscience you fear, then, asked Meadows gloomily. Oh, dear, no, sir, only the law. I envy you. There is but one crime punishable by law, and that I shall never counsel you to do. Only one. Too deep, sir, too deep. Which is that? The crime of getting found out. What a great man, how far would I go with you to the end of the earth? I have but one regret, sir. And what is that? That I am not thought worthy of your confidence, that after so many years I am still only, I mean an honored instrument and not a humble friend. Crawley, said Meadows, solemnly, let well alone, don't ask my confidence, for I am often tempted to give it to you, and that would be all one, as if I put the blade of a razor in your naked hand. I don't care, sir. You are up to some game as deep as a coal pit, and I go on working and working all in the dark. I give anything to be in your confidence. Anything is nothing, put it in figures, sneered Meadows, incredulously. I'll give 20% off all you give me if you will let me see the bottom. The bottom, the reason, sir, the motive, the why, the wherefore, the what it is all to end in, the bottom. Why not say you would like to read John Meadows' heart? Don't be angry, sir. It is presumption, but I can't help it. Deduct 20% for so great an honor. Why the fool is in earnest. He is. We have all got our little vanity, and I like to be thought worthy of confidence. Huh. And then I can't sleep for puzzling. Why should you stop every letter that comes here from Australia? Oh, bless me how neglectful I am. Here is a letter from there, just come, to think of me bringing it and then forgetting. Give it me directly. There it is. And then why on earth are we ruining old Mr. Merton without benefiting you? And you seem so friendly with him. And indeed, you say he is not to be harmed, only ruined. It makes my headache. Why, what is the matter, Mr. Meadows, sir? What is wrong? No ill news, I hope. I wish I'd never brought the letter. That will do, Crawley, said Meadows faintly. You may go. Crawley rose with a puzzled air. Come here tomorrow evening at nine o'clock, and you shall have your wish. All the worse for you, added he. And all the worse for me. Now go, without one word. Crawley retired, dumbfounded. He saw the Iron Man had received some strange, unexpected, and terrible blow. But for a moment, he suppressed curiosity and went off on tiptoe, saying almost in a whisper, tomorrow night at nine, sir. Meadows spread George's letter on the table and leaned on his two hands over it. The letter was written some weeks after the last despondent one. It was full of modest but warm and buoyant exultation. Heaven had been very good to Susan and him. Robinson had discovered gold, gold in such abundance and quality as beat even California. The thousand pounds so late disparate of was now a certainty. Six months' work with average good fortune would do it. Robinson said 5,000 a piece was the least they ought to bring home, but how could he, George, wait so long as that? And Susan, dear, if anything could make this wonderful luck sweeter, it is to think that I owe it to you and to your goodness. It was you who gave Tom that letter and bade me be kind to him and keep him by me for his good. He has repaid me by making us two, man and wife, please God. See what a web life is. Tom and I often talk of this, but Tom says it is Pars and Eden I have to thank for it and the lessons he learned in the prison. But I tell him if he goes so far back as that he should go farther and thank Farmer Meadows. For he it was that sent Tom to the prison where he was converted and became as honest a fellow as any in the world and a friend to your George as true as steel. The letter concluded as it began with thanks to heaven and bidding Susan expect his happy return in six months after this letter. In short, the letter was one hurrah tempered with simple piety and love. Meadows turned cold as death in reading it at the part where Farmer Meadows was referred to as the first link in the golden chain. He dashed it to the ground and raised his foot to trample on it, but for bore lest he should dirty a thing that must go to Susan. Then he walked the room in great agitation. Too late, George Fielding, he cried aloud, too late, I can't shift my heart like a weathercock to suit the changes in your luck. You have been feeding me with hopes till I can't live without them. I never longed for a thing yet but what I got it and I'll have this though I trample a hundred George Fielding's dead on my way to it. Now let me think. He pondered deeply his great brows knitted and lowered for full half an hour invention and resource poured scheme after scheme through that teeming brain and prudence and knowledge of the world sat in severe and cool judgment on each scheme in turn and dismissed the visionary ones. At last the deep brow began to relax and the eye to kindle and when he rose to ring the bell his face was a signpost with Eureka written on it in nature's vivid handwriting. In that hour he had hatched a plot worthy of Machiavelli, a plot complex yet clear. A servant girl answered the bell. Tell David to saddle Rachel directly. And in five minutes Mr. Meadows with a shirt, a razor, a comb and a map of Australia was galloping by cross lanes to the nearest railway station. There he telegraphed Mr. Clinton to meet him at Peel's coffee house at two o'clock. The message flashed up to town like lightning. The man followed it slowly like the wind. End of chapter 54. Chapter 55 of it is never too late to mend. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Mary Maxwell. It is never too late to mend by Charles Reed. Chapter 55. Meadows found Mr. Clinton at Peel's. Mr. Clinton, I want a man of intelligence to be at my service for 24 hours. I give you the first offer. Mr. Clinton replied that really, he had so many irons in the fire that 24 hours, Meadows put a 50 pound note on the table. Will all your irons iron you out 50 pounds as flat as that? Why him? No, nor five. Come sir, sharp is the word. Can you be my servant for 24 hours for 50 pounds? Yes or no? Why, this is dramatic. Yes. It is half past two. Between this and four o'clock, I must buy a few hundred acres in Australia, a fair bargain. Huh, well, that can be done. I know an old fellow that has land in every part of the globe. Take me to him. In 10 minutes, they were in one of those dingy, narrow alleys in the city of London that looked the abode of decent poverty and they could afford to buy grasping or square for their stables. And Mr. Clinton introduced his friend to a blear-eyed merchant in a large room papered with maps. The windows were encrusted. Mustard and crest might have been grown from them. Beauty in clean linen collar and wristbands would have shown here with intolerable luster, but the blear-eyed merchant did not come out bright by contrast. He had taken the local color. You could see him and that was all. He was like a partridge in a furrow, a snuff-colored man, coat rusty all but the collar and that greasy. Poor as its color was, his linen had thought it worth emulating. Blackish nails, cotton-wipe, little bald place on head, but didn't shine for the same reason the windows didn't. Mr. Clinton approached this dirty money, this rusty coin, in the spirit of flunkish. Sir, said he, in a low reverential tone, this party is disposed to purchase a few hundred acres in the colonies. Mr. Rich looked up from his desk and pointed with a sweep of his pen to the walls. There are the maps. The Red Crosses are my land. They are numbered. Refer to the margin of map and you will find the acres and the latitude and longitude calculated to a fraction. When you have settled in what part of the world you buy, come to me again. Time is gold. And the blear-eyed merchant wrote and sealed and filed and took no notice of his customers. They found Red Crosses in several of the United States, in Canada, in Borneo, in nearly all the colonies. And as luck would have it, they found one small cross within 30 miles of Bathurst and the margin described it as 500 acres. Mr. Meadows stepped toward the desk. I have found a small property near Bathurst. Bathurst, where is that? In Australia. Suit? If the price suits, what is the price, sir? The books must tell us that. Mr. Rich stretched out his arm and seized a ledger and gave it to Meadows. I have but one price for land and that is 5% profit on my outlay. Book will tell you what it stands me in. You can add 5% to that and take the land away or leave it. With this curt explanation, Mr. Rich resumed his work. It seems you gave five shillings in acre, sir, said Mr. Clinton. Five times 500 shillings, 125 pounds. Interest at 5%, six pounds five. When did I buy it? Asked Mr. Rich. Oh, when did you buy it, sir? Mr. Rich snatched the book a little pettishly and gave it to Meadows. You make the calculation, said he. The figures are all there. Come to me when you have made it. The land had been bought 27 years and some months ago. Mr. Meadows made the calculation in a turn of the hand and announced it. Rich rang a handbell, another snuffy figure with a stoop and a bald head and a pen came through a curtain. Jones, verify that calculation. Penny, half penny, two pence, penny, half penny, two pence. Hmm, hmm, half penny wrong, sir. There is a half penny wrong, cried Mr. Rich to Meadows with the most injured air. There is, sir, said Meadows, but it is on the right side for you. I thought I would make it even money against myself. There are only two ways, wrong and right, was the reply. Jones, make it right. There, that is the price for the next half hour. After business hours today, add a day's interest. And Jones, if he does not buy, write your calculation into the book with date. Save time, next customer comes for it. You need not trouble, Mr. Jones, said Meadows. I take the land. Here is 250 pounds. That is rather more than half the purchase money. Jones, count. When can I have the deeds? 10 tomorrow. Receipt for 250 pounds, said Meadows, falling into the other's key. Jones, write receipt, two five not. Write me an agreement to sell, proposed Meadows. No, you write it. I'll sign it. Jones, enter transaction in the books. Have you anything to do, young gentleman, addressing Clinton? No, sir. Then draw this pen through the two crosses on the map and margin. Good morning, gentlemen. And the money-making machine rose and dismissed them as he had received them with a short, sharp business congee. Ye fare, who turn a shop head over heels, maul 60 yards of ribbon and buy six, which being sent home insatiable becomes your desire to change it for other six, which you had fairly closely and with all the powers of your mind compared with it during the 70 minutes the purchase occupied, let me respectfully inform you that the above business took just eight minutes and that when it was done, twas done. Shakespeare. You have given too much, my friend, said Mr. Clinton. Come to my inn, was all the reply. This is the easy part. The game is behind. After dinner. Now, said Meadows, business, do you know any respectable firm disposed towards speculation in minds? Plenty. And that are looking toward gold? Why, no. Gold is a metal that ranks very low in speculation. Stop, yes. I know one tip-top house that has gone a little way in it, but they have burned their fingers so they will go no farther. You are wrong. They will be eager to go on. First to recover the loss on that article of account and next to show their enemies and in particular, such of them as are their friends, that they didn't blunder. You will go to them tomorrow and ask that they can allow you a commission for bringing them an Australian settler on whose land gold has been found. Now, my good sir, began Mr. Clinton, a little super-siliously. That is not the way to gain the ear of such a firm as that. The better way will be for you to show me your whole design and lead me to devise the best means for carrying it into effect. Up to this moment, Meadows had treated Mr. Clinton with a marked deference, as from yeoman to gentleman. The latter, therefore, was not a little surprised when the other turned sharp on him thus. This won't do. We must understand one another. You think you are the man of talent and I am the clodhopper. Think so tomorrow night, but for the next 24 hours you must keep that notion out of your head where you will bitch my schemes and lose your 50 pounds. Look here, sir. You began life with 10,000 pounds. You have been all your life trying all you know to double it. And where is it? The pounds are pence and the pence on the road to farthings. I started with a whip and a smock froth, and this, touching his head, and I have 50,000 pounds in government securities. Which is the able man of these two? The bankrupt that talks like an angel and loses the game? Or the wise man that quietly wins it and pockets what all the earth are grappling with him for? So much for that. And now, which is master, the one who pays or the one who is paid? I am not a liberal man, sir. I am a man that looks at every penny. I don't give 50 pounds, I sell it. That 50 pounds is the price of your vanity for 24 hours. I take a day's loan of it. You are paid 50 pounds per dim to see that there is more brains in my little finger than in all your carcass. See it for 24 hours or I won't fork out. And don't see it, but obey me as if you did see it. You shant utter a syllable or move an inch that I have not set down for you. Is this too hard? Then accept 10 pounds for today's work and let us part before you bungle your master's game as you have done your own. Mr. Clinton was red with mortified vanity, but 40 pounds, he threw himself back in his chair. This is amusing, said he. Well, sir, I will act as if you were Solomon and I nobody. Of course, under these circumstances, no responsibility rests with me. You are wasting my time with your silly prattle, said Meadows very sternly. Man alive, you never made 50 pounds cash since you were cabbed. It comes to your hand today and even then you must chatter and jaw instead of saying yes and closing your fingers on it like a vice. Yes, shouted Clinton, there. Take that choir, said Meadows sharply. Now I'll dictate the very words you are to say. Learn them off by heart and don't add a syllable or subtract one or no 50 pounds. Meadows, being a general by nature, not horse guards, gave Clinton instructions down to the minutest matters of detail and he whose life had been spent improving he would succeed and failing began to suspect the man who had always succeeded might perhaps have had something to do with his success. Next morning, well-primed by Meadows, Mr. Clinton presented himself to Messers Brothwaite and Stevens and requested a private audience. He inquired whether they were disposed to allow him a commission if they would introduce them to an Australian settler on whose land gold had been discovered. Two members of the firm looked at one another. After a pause, one of them said, commission really must depend on how such a thing turned out. They had little confidence in such statements but would see the settler and put some questions to him. Clinton went out and introduced Meadows. This happened just as Meadows had told him it would. Outside the door, Mr. Meadows suddenly put on a rustic carriage and so came in and imitated natural shyness with great skill. He had to be twice asked to sit down. The firm cross examined him. He told them gold had been discovered within a stone's throw of his land 30 miles from Bathurst, that his friends out there had said go home to England and they will give you a heavy price for your land now, that he did hope to get a heavy price and so be able to live at home. Didn't want to go out there again, that the land was worth money for there was no more to be sold in that part, government land all round and they wouldn't sell for he had tried them. His sharp eye had seen this fact marked on Mr. Rich's map. Well, said the senior partner, we have information that gold has been discovered in that district. The report came here two days ago by the Ann Amelia, but the account is not distinct as yet. We do not hear on whose land it is found, if at all. I presume you have not seen gold found. Could I afford to leave my business out there and come home on a speculation? The eyes of the firm began to clutter. Have you got any gold to show us? Nothing to speak of, sir, only what they chucked me for giving them a good dinner, but they are shoveling it like grains of wheat, I assure you. The firm became impatient. Show us what they gave you as the price of a dinner. Meadows dug into a deep pocket and chased into a corner and caught and produced a little nugget of quartz and gold worth about four pounds, also another of somewhat less value. They don't look handsome, gents, said he, but you may see the stuff glitter here and there and here is some of the dust. I had to buy this, gave them 50 shillings an ounce for it. I wish I had bought a hundred weight, for they tell me it is worth three pound 10 here. May we inspect these specimens? Why not, sir? I'll trust it with you. I wouldn't with everybody, though. The partners retired with the gold, tested it with muriatic acid, weighed it, and after a short, excited interview, one of them brought it back and asked with great nonchalance the price of the land. Meadows hung his head. 20,000 pounds. 20,000 pounds and the partner laughed in his face. I don't wonder you were surprised, sir. I wonder at myself, asking so much, why, before this, if you had offered me 5,000, I would have jumped into your arms as the saying is, but they all say I ought to have 20,000 and they have talked to me till they make me greedy. The partner retired and consulted and the firm ended by offering 10,000. I am right down ashamed to say no, was the answer, but I suppose I must not take it. The firm undertook to prove it was a magnificent offer. Meadows offered no resistance. He thought so too, but he must not take it. Everybody told him it was worth more. At last, when his hand was on the door, they offered him 12,500. He begged to consider it. No, they were preemptory. If he was off, they were off. He looked this way and that way with a frightened air. What shall I do, sir, said he helplessly to Clinton and nudged him secretly. Take it and think yourself very lucky, said that gentleman, exchanging a glance with the firm. Well then, if you say so, I will. You shall have it, gentlemen, 500 acres and two lots, 400 and 100. Clinton, acting on his secret instructions, now sought a private interview with the firm. I am to have a commission, gentlemen. Yes, 50 pounds, but really, we can hardly afford it. Well then, as you give me an interest in it, I say, pin him. Why? Don't you see he's one of those soft fellows who listen to everybody? If he goes away and they laugh at him for not getting more for it, I really could hardly answer for his ever coming back here. The firm came in cheerfully. Well, Mr., Mr., not Mr. so. Crawley, plain John Crawley. We will terminate this affair with you. We will have a contract of sale drawn up and make you in advance. When can you give us the title deeds? In a couple of hours, if the lawyer's at home. By the by, you will not object to draw upon us at three months for one half of the money. No, sir, I should say by the look of you, you were as good as the bank. The other half by check in two hours. The parties signed the contract respectively. Then Meadows and Clinton went off to the five percenter, completed with him, got the title deeds, brought them, received check, and accepted draft. Clinton, by Meadows' advice, went in and done for his commission then and there, and got it. And the Confederates went off and took a hasty dinner together. After dinner, they settled. As you showed me how to get this commission out of them, it belongs to you, said Clinton, sorrowfully. It does, sir, give it to me. I return it to you, sir. Do me the favor to accept it. You are very generous, Mr. Meadows. And here is the other 50 you have earned. Thank you, my good sir. Are you satisfied with the day's work? Amply, sir, your skills and ingenuity brought us through triumphant, said Meadows, resuming the deferential, since he risked nothing by it now. Well, I think I managed it pretty well. By the buy, that gold you showed them. Was it really gold? Certainly. Oh, because I thought, no, sir, you did not. A man of your ability knows I would not risk 10,000 pounds for want of a purchase I could not lose 10 shillings by. War is not a fancy article. Oh, yes, very true. No, of course not. One question more. Where did the gold come from? California. But I mean, how did you get it? I bought it out of a shop window. Those two knowing ones pass twice every day of their lives. Ha, ha, ha. You pass it oftener than that, sir. Excuse me, sir, I must catch the train. But one word before I go. My name must never be mentioned in this business. Very well. It never shall transpire upon my honor. Meadows felt pretty safe. As he put on his great coat, he thought to himself, when the story is blown and laughed over, this man's vanity will keep my name out of it. He won't miss a chance of telling the world how clever he is. My game is to pass for honest, not for clever. No, thank you. Goodbye, sir, was his last word. It is you for hoodwinking them. Ha, ha, ha. Goodbye, farmer, in a patronizing tone. Soon after this, Meadows was in a corner of a railway carriage, 12,450 pounds in his pocket, and the second part of his great complex scheme boiling and bubbling in his massive head. There he sat silent as the grave, his hat drawn over his powerful brows that were knitted all the journey by one who never knitted them in vain. He reached home at eight and sat down to his desk and wrote for more than half an hour. Then he sealed up the paper, and when Crawley came, he found him walking up and down the room. At a silent gesture, Crawley took a chair and sat quivering with curiosity. Meadows walked in deep thought. You demanded my confidence. It is a dangerous secret. For once you know it, you must serve me with red hot zeal or be my enemy and be crushed out of life like a blind worm or an adder, Peter Crawley. I know that, dear sir, assented Peter ruefully. First, how far have you guessed? I guessed Mr. Levi is somehow against us. He is, replied Meadows carelessly. Then that is a bad job. He will beat us. He is as cunning as a fox. Meadows looked up contemptuously, but as he could not afford to let such a sneak as Crawley think of anything short of invincible, he said coolly, he is, and I have measured cunning with a fox. You have? That must have been a tight match. A fox used to take my chickens, one hard winner. An old fox, cautious and sly as the Jew, you rate so high. The men sat up with guns for him. No, a keeper set traps in a triangle for him. No, he had the eye of a hawk, the ear of a hare, and his own nose. He would have the chickens and he would not get himself into trouble. The women complained to me of the fox. I turned a ferret loose into the rabbit hutch and in half a minute there was as nice a young rabbit dead as ever you saw. Looky there now, cried Crawley. I choked the ferret off, but never touched the rabbit. I took the rabbit with a pair of tongs. The others had handled their baits and pug crept around him and nosed the trick. I poured 20 drops of croton oil into the little hole ferret had made in Bunny's head, and I dropped him in the grass near pug's track. Next morning, rabbit had been drawn about 20 yards and the hole in his head was three times as big. Pug went the nearest way to blood, went in at ferret's hole. I knew he would. Yes, sir, yes, yes, yes, and there lay the fox. No signs of him. Then I said, go to the nearest water. Croton oil makes him dry. They went along the brook and on the very bank there lay an old dog fox blown up like a bladder as big as a wolf and as dead as a herring. Now for the Jew. Look at that, and he threw him a paper. Why, this is the judgment on which I arrested Will Fielding. And here's the acceptance. Leave I bought them to take the man out of my power. He left them with old Cohen. I have got them again, you see, and got young Fielding in my power spite of his foxy friend. Capital, sir, capital, cried the admiring crawly. He then looked at the reconquered documents. Ah, he said spitefully how I wish I could alter one of these names, only one. What do you mean? I mean that I'd give 50 pound if I had it, if it was but that brute George Fielding that was in our power instead of this fool William. Meadows opened his eyes. Why? Because he put an affront upon me was the somewhat sulky reply. What was that? Oh, no matter, sir. But it is matter, tell me, I am that man's enemy. Then I am in luck, you are just the enemy I wish him. What was the affront? He called me a petty fogger. Oh, is that all? No, he discharged me from visiting his premises. That was not very polite and threatened to horse whip me the next time I came there. Oh, is that where the shoe pinches? No, it is not, cried Crawley, almost in a shriek, but he altered his mind and did horse whip me then and there, curse him. Meadows smiled grimly. He saw his advantage. Crawley said he quickly. He shall rue the day he lifted his hand over you. You want to see to the bottom of me. Oh, Mr. Meadows, that is too far for the naked eye to see, was the despondent reply. Not when it suits my book, I'm going to keep my promise and show you my heart. Ah, listen in here the secret of my life. Are you listening? What do you think, sir? Was the tremulous answer. I love Miss Merton and for once his eyes sank before Crawley's. Sir, you love a woman? Not as libertines love, nor as boys flirt to pass on. Heaven have mercy on me. I love her with all my heart and soul and brain. I love her with more force than such as you can hate. The deuce you do. I love the sweetheart of the man who lashed you like a dog. Crawley winced and rubbed his hands. And your fortune is made if you help me to win her. Crawley rubbed his hands. Old Merton has promised the woman I love to this George Fielding if he comes back with a thousand pounds. Don't you be frightened, sir, that he will never do. Will he not? Read this letter. Ah, the letter that put you out so. Let me see, mm, mm, found gold, eh, eh, eh. Crawley, most men reading that letter would have given in then and there and not fought against such luck as this. I only said to myself then it will cost me 10,000 pounds to win the day. Well, between yesterday, 11, four noon, and this hour I made the 10,000 pounds. He told him briefly how. Beautiful, sir, what? Did you make the 10,000 out of your own rival's letter? Yes, I taxed the enemy for the expenses of the war. Oh, Mr. Meadows, what a fool, what a villain I was to think Mr. Levi was as great a man as you. I must have been under a hallucination. Crawley, the day that John and Susan Meadows walk out of church, man and wife, I put a thousand pounds into your hand and set you up in any business you like, in any honest business, for from that day our underhand dealings must end. The husband of that angel must never grind the poor or wrong or living creature. If heaven consents to my being happy in this way, the least I can do is to walk straight and straight forward the rest of my days and I will, so help me God. That is fair, I knew you were a great man but I had no idea you were such a good one. Crawley said the other with a sudden gloomy misgiving. I am trying to cheat the devil. I fear no man can do that, and he hung his head. No ordinary man, sir, replied the parasite, but your skill has no bounds. Your plan, sir, at once, that I may cooperate and not thwart your great skill through ignorance. My plan has two hands. One must work here. The other a great many miles from here. If I could but cut myself in two, all would be well. But I can't. I must be one hand, you the other. I work thus. Post office here is under my thumb. I stop all letters from him to her. Presently comes a letter from Australia telling among pork grains, et cetera, how George Fielding has made his fortune and married a girl out there. But who is to write the letter? Can't you guess? Having an idea, she won't believe it. Not at first, perhaps. But when she gets no more letters from him, she will. So she will. So then you will run him down to her. Not such a fool, she would hate me. I shall never mention his name. I make one of my tools hang jail over old Merton. Susan thinks George married. I strike upon her peak and her father's distress. I ask him for his daughter. Offer to pay my father-in-law's debts and start him afresh. Beautiful, beautiful. Susan likes me already. I tell her all I suffered silent while she was on with George. I press her to be mine. She will say no perhaps three or four times, but the fifth she will say yes. She will, you are a great man. And she will be happy. Can't say it. A man that marries a virtuous woman and loves her is no man at all if he can't make her love him. They can't resist our stronger wills except by flight or by leaning upon another man. I'll be back directly. Mr. Meadows returned with a bottle of wine and two glasses. Crawley was surprised. This was a beverage he had never seen his friend drink or offer him. Another thing puzzled him. When Mr. Meadows came back with the wine he had not so much color as usual in his face, not near so much. Crawley said Meadows in a low voice. Suppose while I am working this George Fielding were to come home with money in both pockets. He would kick it all down in a moment. I'm glad you see that. Then you see one hand is not enough. Another must be working far away. Yes, but I don't see, you will see. Drink a glass of wine with me, my good friend. Your health. Same to you, sir. Is it to your mind? Elixir. This is the stuff that sharpens a chap's wits and puts courage in his heart. I brought it for that. You and I have no chickens play on hand. Another glass. Success to your scheme, sir. Crawley, George Fielding must not come back this year with 1,000 pounds. No, he must not. Thank you, sir, your health. Mustn't he shant? But how on earth can you prevent him? That paper will prevent him. It is a paper of instructions. My very brains lie in that paper. Put it in your pocket. In my pocket, sir, highly honored, shall be executed to the letter. What wine! And this is a checkbook. No, is it, though? You will draw on me for 100 pounds per month. No, shall I, though? Sir, you are a king, of which you will account for 50 pounds only. Liberal, sir, as I said before, liberal is running water. You are going a journey. Am I? Well, don't you turn pale for that. I'll come back to you. Nothing but death shall part us. Have a drop of this, sir. It will put blood into your cheek and fire into your heart. That is right. Where am I going, sir? What, don't you know? No, nor do I care, so long as it is in your service I go. Still, it is a long journey. Oh, is it? Your health, then, in my happy return. You are not afraid of the sea or the wind? I am afraid of nothing but your wrath and the law. The sea be hanged, and the wind be blowed. When I see your talent and energy and hold your checkbook in my hand and your instructions in my pocket, I feel to play at football with the world. When shall I start? Tomorrow morning. Tonight, if you like, where am I to go? To Australia. That single word suspended the glass going to Crawley's lips and the chuckle coming from them. A dead silence on both sides followed it. And now two colorless faces looked into one another's eyes across the table. End of chapter 55.