Over the Sliprails | Page 7

in argument (which tone, by the way,
especially if backed by logic or common sense, makes a man wild
sooner than anything else in this world of troubles).
Steelman jerked his chair half-round in disgust. "That's you!" he
snorted, "always suspicious! Always suspicious of everybody and
everything! If I found myself shot into a world where I couldn't trust
anybody I'd shoot myself out of it. Life would be worse than not worth
living. Smith, you'll never make money, except by hard graft -- hard,
bullocking, nigger-driving graft like we had on that damned railway
section for the last six months, up to our knees in water all winter, and
all for a paltry cheque of one-fifty -- twenty of that gone already. How
do you expect to make money in this country if you won't take anything
for granted, except hard cash? I tell you, Smith, there's a thousand
pounds lost for every one gained or saved by trusting too little. How
did Vanderbilt and ----"
Steelman elaborated to a climax, slipping a glance warily, once or twice,
out of the tail of his eye through the ferns, low down.
"There never was a fortune made that wasn't made by chancing it."
He nudged Smith to come to the point. Presently Smith asked, sulkily:
"Well, what was he saying?"
"I thought I told you! He says he's behind the scenes in this gold boom,
and, if he had a hundred pounds ready cash to-morrow, he'd make three
of it before Saturday. He said he could put one-fifty to one-fifty."

"And isn't he worth three hundred?"
"Didn't I tell you," demanded Steelman, with an impatient ring, and
speaking rapidly, "that he lost his mail in the wreck of the `Tasman'?
You know she went down the day before yesterday, and the divers
haven't got at the mails yet."
"Yes. . . . But why doesn't he wire to Sydney for some stuff?"
"I'm ----! Well, I suppose I'll have to have patience with a born natural.
Look here, Smith, the fact of the matter is that he's a sort of black-sheep
-- sent out on the remittance system, if the truth is known, and with
letters of introduction to some big-bugs out here -- that explains how he
gets to know these wire-pullers behind the boom. His people have
probably got the quarterly allowance business fixed hard and tight with
a bank or a lawyer in Sydney; and there'll have to be enquiries about
the lost `draft' (as he calls a cheque) and a letter or maybe a cable home
to England; and it might take weeks."
"Yes," said Smith, hesitatingly. "That all sounds right enough. But" --
with an inspiration -- "why don't he go to one of these big-bug
boomsters he knows -- that he got letters of introduction to -- and get
him to fix him up?"
"Oh, Lord!" exclaimed Steelman, hopelessly. "Listen to him! Can't you
see that they're the last men he wants to let into his game? Why, he
wants to use THEM! They're the mugs as far as he is concerned!"
"Oh -- I see!" said Smith, after hesitating, and rather slowly -- as if he
hadn't quite finished seeing yet.
Steelman glanced furtively at the fern-screen, and nudged Smith again.
"He said if he had three hundred, he'd double it by Saturday?"
"That's what he said," replied Steelman, seeming by his tone to be
losing interest in the conversation.
"And . . . well, if he had a hundred he could double that, I suppose."
"Yes. What are you driving at now?"
"If he had twenty ----"
"Oh, God! I'm sick of you, Smith. What the ----!"
"Hold on. Let me finish. I was only going to say that I'm willing to put
up a fiver, and you put up another fiver, and if he doubles that for us
then we can talk about standing in with him with a hundred -- provided
he can show his hundred."
After some snarling Steelman said: "Well, I'll try him! Now are you

satisfied?" . . .
"He's moved off now," he added in a whisper; "but stay here and talk a
bit longer."
Passing through the hall they saw Gentleman Sharper standing
carelessly by the door of the private bar. He jerked his head in the
direction of drinks. Steelman accepted the invitation -- Smith passed on.
Steelman took the opportunity to whisper to the Sharper -- "I've been
talking that over with my mate, and ----"
"Come for a stroll," suggested the professional.
"I don't mind," said Steelman.
"Have a cigar?" and they passed out.
When they returned Steelman went straight to the room he occupied
with Smith.
"How much stuff have we got, Smith?"
"Nine pounds seventeen and threepence."
Steelman gave an exclamation of