The Tale of Timber Town

“I want this yer money now,” said the digger. “In three weeks money’ll be no object to you or me, but what I lent you last night must be paid to-day.”

Tresco went to the door.

“I’ll get it if I can,” he said. “Stay here till I come back, and make yourself at home. You may rely on my best endeavours.” He put on his hat, and went into the street.

Mr. Crookenden sat in his office. He was a tubby man, with eyes like boiled gooseberries. No one could guess from his face what manner of man he might be, whether generous or mean, hot-tempered or good-humoured, because all those marks which are supposed to delineate character were in him obliterated by adipose tissue. You had to take him as you found him. But for the rest he was a merchant who owned a lucrative business and a few small blunt-nosed steamers that traded along the coasts adjacent to Timber Town.

As he sat in his office, glancing over the invoices of the wrecked Mersey Witch, and trying to compute the difference between the value of the cargo and the amount of its insurance, there was a knock at the door, and Benjamin Tresco entered.

“How d’e do, Tresco? Take a chair,” said the man of business. “The little matter of your rent, eh? That’s right; pay your way, Tresco, and fortune will simply chase you. That’s been my experience.”

“Then I can only say, sir, it ain’t bin mine.”

“But, Tresco, the reason of that is because you’re so long-winded. Getting money from you is like drawing your eye-teeth. But, come, come; you’re improving, you’re getting accustomed to paying punctually. That’s a great thing, a very great thing.”

“To-day,” said the goldsmith, with the most deferential manner of which he was capable, “I have not come to pay.”

“Mr. Tresco!”

“But to get you to pay. I want a little additional loan.”

“Impossible, absolutely impossible, Tresco.”

“Owing to losses over an unfortunate investment, I find myself in immediate need of £150. If that amount is not forthcoming, I fear my brilliant future will become clouded and your rent will remain unpaid indefinitely.”

The fat man laughed wheezily.

“That’s very good,” he said. “You borrow from me to pay my rent. A very original idea, Tresco; but don’t you think it would be as well as to borrow from some one else – Varnhagen, for instance?”

“The Jews, Mr. Crookenden; I always try to avoid the Jews. To go to the Jews means to go to the dogs. Keep me from the hands of the Jews, I beg.”

“But how would you propose to repay me?”

“By assiduous application to business, sir.”

“Indeed. Then what have you been doing all this while?”

“Suffering from bad luck.” The ghost of a smile flitted across Benjamin’s face as he spoke.

“But Varnhagen is simply swimming in money. He would gladly oblige you.”

“He did once, at something like 60 per cent. If I remember rightly, you took over the liability.”

“Did I, indeed? Do you know anything of Varnhagen’s business?”

“No more than I do of the Devil’s.”

“You don’t seem to like the firm of Varnhagen and Co.”

“I have no reason to, except that the head of it buys a trinket from me now and then, and makes me ‘take it out’ by ordering through him.”

“Just so. You would like to get even with him?”

“Try me.”

“Are you good in a boat, Tresco?”

The goldsmith seemed to think, and his cogitation made him smile.

“Tolerably,” he said. “I’m not exactly amphibious, but I’d float, I’d float, I believe,” and he looked at his portly figure.

“Are you good with an oar?”

“Pretty moderate,” said Tresco, trying to think which end of the boat he would face while pulling.

“And you’ve got pluck, I hope?”

“I hope,” said the goldsmith.

“To be plain with you, Tresco, I’ve need of the services of such a man as yourself, reliable, silent, staunch, and with just enough of the devil in him to make him face the music.”

Benjamin scratched his head, and wondered what was coming.

“You want a hundred pounds,” said the merchant.

“A hundred and fifty badly,” said the goldsmith.

“We’ll call it a hundred,” said the merchant. “I’ve lost considerably over this wreck – you can understand that?”

“I can.”

“Well, Varnhagen, who has long been a thorn in my side, and has been threatening to start a line of boats in opposition to me, has decided, I happen to hear, to take immediate advantage of my misfortune. But I’ll checkmate him.”

“You’re the man to do it.”

“I hold a contract for delivering mails from shore. By a curious juncture of circumstances, I have to take out the English mail to-morrow night to the Takariwa, and bring an English mail ashore from her. Both these mails are via Sydney, and I happen to know that Varnhagen’s letters ordering his boats will be in the outgoing mail, and that he is expecting correspondence referring to the matter by the incoming mail. He must get neither. Do you understand? – neither.”

Tresco remained silent.

“You go on board my boat – it will be dark; nobody will recognise you. Furthermore I shall give you written authority to do the work. You can find your own crew, and I will pay them, through you, what you think fit. But as to the way you effect my purpose, I am to know nothing. You make your own plans, and keep them to yourself. But bring me the correspondence, and you get your money.”

“Make it £200. A hundred down and the balance afterwards. This is an important matter. This is no child’s play.” The subtle and criminal part of Benjamin’s mind began to see that the affair would place his landlord and mortgagee in his power, and relieve him for evermore from financial pressure. To his peculiar conscience it was justifiable to overreach his grasping creditor, a right and proper thing to upset the shrewd Varnhagen’s plans: a thought of the proposed breach of the law, statutory and moral, did not occur to his mind.

“There may be some bother about the seals of the bags,” said the merchant, “but we’ll pray it may be rough, and in that case nothing is simpler – one bag at least can get lost, and the rest can have their seals damaged, and so on. You will go out at ten to-morrow night, and you will have pretty well till daylight to do the job. Do you understand?”

Benjamin had begun to reflect.

“Doesn’t it mean gaol if I’m caught?”