The Tale of Timber Town

The lad stood with his hands in his pockets, and blew a long, shrill whistle. “Of all the tight corners I was ever in,” he said, “this takes the cake. I’ll want a rise in wages – look at the responsibility, boss.”

The goldsmith laughed. “All right,” he said. “You shall have ten shillings a week extra while I’m away; and if we have luck, Jake, I’ll make it a pound.”

“Right-oh! I’ll take all the responsibility that comes along. I’ll get fat on it. And when you come back, you’ll find the business doubled, and the reputation of B. Tresco increased. It’ll probably end in you taking me in as partner – but I don’t care: it’s all the same to me.”

The goldsmith made an attempt to box the boy’s ear, but Jake dodged his blow.

“That’s your game, is it?” exclaimed the young rogue. “Bash me about, will you? All right – I’ll set up in opposition!”

He didn’t wait for the result of this remark, but with a sudden dart he passed like a streak of lightning through the doorway, and fled into the street.

CHAPTER XVII

Rachel’s Wiles

Rachel Varnhagen walked down the main street of Timber Town, with the same bustling gait, the same radiant face, the same air of possessing the whole earth, as when the reader first met her. As she passed the Kangaroo Bank she paused, and peered through the glass doors; but, receiving no responsive glance from the immaculately attired Isaac, who stood at the counter counting out his money, she continued her way towards her father’s place of business, where she found the rotund merchant in a most unusual state of excitement.

“Now, vat you come bothering me this morning, Rachel? Can’t you see I’m pizzy?”

“I want a cheque, father.”

“You get no cheque from me this morning, my child. I’ve got poor all of a sudden. I’ve got no cheques for nopody.”

“But I have to get things for the house. We want a new gourmet boiler – you know you won’t touch currie made in a frying-pan – a steamer for potatoes, and half-a-dozen table-knives.”

“Don’t we haff no credit? What goot is my name, if you can’t get stew-pans without money? Here I am, with no invoices, my orders ignored as if I was a pauper, and my whole piz’ness at a standstill. Not one single letter do I get, not one. I want a hundred thousand things. I send my orders months and months ago, and I get no reply. My trade is all going to that tam feller, Crookenden! And you come, and ask me for money. Vhen I go along to the Post Master, he kvestion me like a criminal, and pring the Police Sergeant as if I vas a thief. I tell him I nefer rob mail-bags. I tell him if other peoples lose letters, I lose them too. I know nothing aboudt it. I tell him the rascal man is Crookenden and Co. – he should take him to prison: he contracts for mails and nefer delivers my letters. I tell him Crookenden and Co. is the criminal, not me. Then he laff, but that does not gif me my letters.”

During this harangue, Rachel had stood, the mute but pretty picture of astonishment.

“But, father,” she said, “I want to go to the bank. I want to speak to Isaac awfully, and how can I go in there without some excuse!”

“I’ll gif you the exguse to keep out! I tell you somethings which will make you leave that young man alone. He nefer loaf you, Rachel – he loaf only my money.”

“Father! this worry about the mail has turned you silly.”

“Oh, yes, I’m silly when I throw the ink-pot at him. I’ve gone mad when I kick him out of my shop. You speak to that young man nefer again, Rachel, my tear; you nefer look at him. Then, by-and-by, I marry you to the mos’ peautiful young man with the mos’ loafly moustache and whiskers. You leaf it to your poor old father. He’ll choose you a good husband. When I was a young man I consult with my father, and I marry your scharming mamma, and you, my tear Rachel, are the peautiful result. Eh? my tear.”

The old man took his daughter’s face between his fat hands, and kissed her on both cheeks.

“You silly old goose,” said Rachel, tenderly, “you seem to think I have no sense. I’m not going to marry Isaac yet– there can’t be any harm in speaking to him. I’m only engaged. Why should you be frightened if I flirt a little with him? You seem to think a girl should be made of cast-iron, and just wait till her father finds a husband for her. You’re buried up to your eyes in invoices and bills of lading and stupid, worrying things that drive you cranky, and you never give a thought to my future. What’s to become of me, if I don’t look out for myself? Goodness knows! there are few enough men in the town that I could marry; and because I pick out one for myself, you storm and rage as if I was thinking of marrying a convict.”

“Young Zahn is worse: he is the worst rogue I ever see. He come in here to bully me into making him my partner. He threatens to tell my piz’ness to Crookenden and Co. I tell him, ‘You do it, my poy. I schange my account, and tell your manager why.’ That young man’s too smart: soon he find himself in gaol. If my tear little Rachel marries a criminal, what would become of her poor old father? My tear, my tarling, you make me die with grief! But wait till the right young man comes along, then I gif you my blessing and two thousand pounds. But I gif you not von penny if you marry young Zahn.”

The tears were now standing in Rachel’s pretty eyes, and she looked the picture of grief.

“I never do anything, but you blame me,” she sobbed. “When I wish to do a thing, you always say it’s bad. You don’t love me!” And she burst into a flood of tears.

“Rachel! Rachel! I gafe you the gold watch; and that bill came to thirty-three pounds. I gif you everything, and when I tell you not to run after a bad young feller, you say I nefer loaf you. Rachel, you are cruel; you make your father’s heart bleed; you stab me here” – he pointed with his fat forefinger to the middle of his waistcoat – “you stab me here” – he placed his finger on his forehead. “You show no loaf, no consideration. You make me most unhappy. You’re a naughty girl!”

The old fellow was almost crying. Rachel put her arms about his neck, and pressed his corpulent person with affection.

“Father, I’ll be good. I know I’m very bad. But I love you, father. I’ll never cause you any sorrow again. I’ll do everything you tell me. I won’t gad about so much; I’ll stop at home more. I will, father; I really will.”

“My tear Rachel! My loafly!” The old man was holding his pretty daughter at arm’s length, and was gazing at her with parental fondness. “You are my peautiful, tear, goot, little girl.”

Again her arms were flung round his neck. Again she kissed his bristly cheeks with her ruby-red lips. “You are an old dear,” she exclaimed. “You’re the kindest old governor going.”

“You loaf your old father?”

“Of course I do. But I do– I do so want a small cheque. I must have it for the house.”

“You’ll always loaf your father, Rachel?”

“Always.” She renewed her affectionate embraces.

“You shall have a little one – not so big as when my ship comes home, not so big as I’d like, but enough to show that I loaf you, Rachel.”

He let her lead him to his desk, and there he sat and wrote a cheque which Rachel took gladly. She gave him one more kiss, and said, “You dear, good, kind old party; your little Rachel’s awfully pleased,” and gaily tripped from the dingy office into the sunny street.

CHAPTER XVIII

Digging

Moonlight and Scarlett were glad with the delight of success, for inside their tent, which was pitched beside Bush Robin Creek, lay almost as much gold as one of them could conveniently carry to Timber Town.

They had searched the rocky sides of the gorge where they had first found gold, and its ledges and crevices had proved to be exceedingly rich. Next, they had examined the upper reaches of the creek, and after selecting a place where the best “prospects” were to be found, they had determined to work the bottom of the river-bed. Their “claim” was pegged off, the water had been diverted, and the dam had been strengthened with boulders taken from the river-bed, and now, having placed their sluice-boxes in position, they were about to have their first “washing up.”

As they sat, and ate their simple fare – “damper” baked on the red-hot embers of their fire, a pigeon which Scarlett had shot that morning, and tea – their conversation was of their “claim.”

“What do you think it will go?”

“The dirt in the creek is rich enough, but what’s in the flat nobody can say. There may be richer gold in some of the higher terraces than down here. I’ve known such cases.”

At the place where they were camped, the valley had been, at some distant period, a lake which had subsided after depositing a rich layer of silt, through which the stream had cut its way subsequently. Over this rich alluvial deposit the forest had spread luxuriantly, and it was only the skill of the experienced prospector that could discover the possibilities of the enormous stretches of river silt which Nature had so carefully hidden beneath the tangled, well-nigh impenetrable forest.

“The river is rich,” continued Moonlight, “that we know. Possibly it deposited gold on these flats for ages. If that is so, this valley will be one of the biggest ‘fields’ yet developed. What we must do first is to test the bottom of the old lake; therefore, as soon as we have taken the best of the gold out of the river, I propose to ‘sink’ on the terraces till I find the rich deposit.”

“Perhaps what we are getting now has come from the terraces above,” said Jack.

“I think not.”

“Where does it come from then?”

“I can’t say, unless it is from some reef in the ranges. You must not forget that there’s the lower end of the valley to be prospected yet – we have done nothing below the gorge.”

Talking thus, they ate their “damper” and stewed pigeon, and drank their “billy” tea. Then they lit their pipes, and strolled towards the scene of their labours.

The place chosen for the workings was selected by circumstance rather than by the diggers. At this particular point of its course there had been some hesitation on the part of the river in choosing its bed, and with but a little coaxing it had been diverted into an old channel – which evident signs showed to be utilised as an overflow in time of flood – and thus by a circuitous route it found its way to the mouth of the gorge.