‘Take another glass of beer,’ said the Commissioner, ‘and finish the bread and cheese. I’m going to dine. And now what do you want me to do?’
‘You’ll find me five hundred pound, Commissioner; less won’t do. It’s a long way to travel, but that says nothin’. That’ll about fix up the lease deposits—the rations, cart and horses—and what’s wanted for me and a mate. That’s all I’ll take _if_ I can get a good one that can work and hold his tongue. I’ll transfer half my share in the lease to you, and a better day’s work you never done in your life. You see this—it’s nothing to what’s below. I covered the reef up. Sixteen foot wide, good walls, thick with gold, reg’lar jeweller’s shop.’
‘Well, of course, you know, I’ve heard all this before. Heard it all, and more too. Seen specimens as good as these, and better; and what did it all come to? Duffered out inside of three months, and never paid for candles.’
‘I’ve been diggin’ nigh hard thirty year—been a “forty-niner,” and so help me, God Almighty! I never dropped across a show like this afore—or within miles of it—for the real, solid stuff.’
‘Well, but five hundred pounds is a large sum. I’m not a rich man, you all know. It gives me enough to do to pay the butcher and baker. I should have to give security over everything I possess to raise it. Mr. Bright, the banker, would not advance it without security, to save my life, I had almost said. He dared not do it, for one thing.’
‘Now, look here, Commissioner! did you ever know me tell a lie? I drink a bit, sometimes, but’—and here the wasted form was straightened with an effort, and the hollow eyes gazed into the magistrate’s face with an intensity almost appalling—‘no living man can say that Jack Waters told a lie, or hid the truth. When I say I _saw_ and _touched_, by the Lord Almighty! what ’ud make you and me, and a dozen more, rich for life, won’t you believe me?’ and here, as if exhausted by the temporary excitement, the old man sank upon his knees, and raising his hands, as if in prayer, cried aloud, ‘For God’s sake, Commissioner! for the sake of your wife and children, go into this thing with me, or you’ll repent it to the last day of your life.’
Arnold Banneret gazed at the kneeling figure, stood for one minute in earnest thought, and then said: ‘All right, I’ll risk it. We’d better call it “The Last Chance,” for if it fails, I’m a ruined man.’