The Tale of Timber Town

“Father’s out. He has gone to fetch a steamer in.”

“I’m sorry,” said Jack. “I should like to see him before I go back to the bush.”

Rose sat silent. She was very demure, and her manner was somewhat stiff; therefore, seeing that his experiences had exhilarated him, Jack said, “I’ve had a great day. Two of the prettiest girls I ever saw almost devoured me.”

“Where have you been, Mr. John Scarlett? You want watching.”

Rose’s bashfulness had entirely disappeared, but she was blushing profusely.

“I went out to see the wreck,” said Jack, “and met your little Maori friend.”

“Your life’s preserver.”

“My life’s preserver. She ferried me across an impassable strip of water on a barrel, and almost captured my heart in the saloon.”

“Don’t play any games with Amiria’s heart, or I shall cut you dead. I tell you that plainly.”

“I assure you I have no intention whatever of playing with Amiria’s heart. It was she who played with mine, and nearly won. But I saved myself by flight. It was fortunate I had a good horse.”

Rose laughed. “One would imagine you were hardly big enough to look after yourself. That’s the kind of young man they generally send out from England. Well?”

“As I was coming home I met a digger molesting another friend of mine, a Miss Varnhagen.”

“You’d better be careful – she’s a flirt.”

“Then I rather like flirts. I threw the digger into the river, and took her home. She has the most lovely eyes I ever saw.”

“And she knows how to use them.”

“You’re jealous, I’m afraid. Wouldn’t you want to look at the man who had saved you from an ugly brute, who met you in the dark on a narrow bridge from which you couldn’t possibly escape?”

“Perhaps. But why don’t you feel a little sentimental over the girl who saved you from a watery grave? You’re callous, I’m afraid, Mr. Scarlett.”

“Not at all: I’m merely flattered. It seems a pity I can’t stop in Timber Town, and see more of such girls; but I must be off to-morrow to get more gold. Gold is good, Miss Summerhayes, but girls are better.”

“Fie, fie. Gold and a good girl – that’s perfection.”

“They always go together – I quite understand that.”

“Now you’re frivolling. You’re making yourself out to be blasé and all that. I shall tell my father to forbid you the house.”

“In which case I shall call on Miss Varnhagen.”

“That would be all right – you would meet with the punishment you deserve. Marry the Varnhagen girl, and you will be grey in two years, and bald in five.”

“Well, I’m going to the gold-fields to-morrow.”

“So you said. I hope you will have the same luck as before.”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“What more do you want?”

“Any amount.”

“You’ve got gold: you’ve got feminine adoration. What more is there, except more gold?”

“More feminine adoration.”

“I should have thought you had to-day as much affection as is good for you.”

“You’re in high spirits to-night.”

“I am. It’s jolly to think of people succeeding. It’s jolly to know somebody is growing rich, even if my old father and I are poor, that is too poor for me to go to assembly balls and private dances and things like that. So I sit at home and sew, and make puddings, and grow roses. Heigh-ho! I’m very happy, you know.”

Jack looked at her closely. Her cheeks were pink-and-white, her crisp, brown hair formed a becoming setting to her face, and her blue eyes sparkled as they watched him.

“It seems to agree with you,” he said. “I feel inclined to recommend a course of sewing and cooking to all my plain girl-friends.”

“Mr. Scarlett!”

“I mean it.”

“Then go, and tell Rachel Varnhagen to use your recipe.”

“She’s beautiful already.”

Just at this point of the conversation, there was the sound of heavy steps somewhere in a remote part of the house, and presently the Pilot of Timber Town tramped into the room.

“Hullo!” he exclaimed. “Mr. Scarlett! Making love to my dar’ter, when I thought you was on your way to the diggings? Come, come; you’re losing your opportunities; you’re wasting time in gallivanting, when you might be growing rich. There’s great news abroad. They’ve issued a writ against that chap Tresco for the robbery of those mail-bags.”

“Tresco?” said Scarlett.

“Aye, Tresco the goldsmith. He’s wanted by the police.”

“Then I’m afraid they won’t find him,” said Jack. “He’s safe, I reckon.”

“Indeed. How do you know that?”

“He was in the bush with his prospector friend, when I left Bush Robin Creek. But he robbed no mails, bless you, Pilot. What would he want with other people’s letters?”

“I don’t pretend to know. There’s money in mail-bags, I suppose. Perhaps he was after that.”

“He’s after gold, right enough, and he’ll get it, if I’m not mistaken.”

Jack had risen to go.

“We leave early in the morning,” he said. “I must get some sleep. Good-bye, Pilot; good-bye, Miss Summerhayes.”