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 disapproval with that state of financial affairs. He thought a second. "I know the barman here, and I think he knows me. I'll chew his lug for a bob or may be a quid."
Twenty minutes later he went to Gentleman Sharper's room with ten pounds -- in very dirty Bank of New Zealand notes -- such as those with which bush contractors pay their men.
Two mornings later the sharper suggested a stroll. Steelman went with him, with a face carefully made up to hear the worst.
After walking a hundred yards in a silence which might have been ominous -- and was certainly pregnant -- the sharper said:
"Well . . . I tried the water."
"Yes!" said Steelman in a nervous tone. "And how did you find it?"
"Just as warm as I thought. Warm for a big splash."
"How? Did you lose the ten quid?"
"Lose it! What did you take me for? I put ten to your ten as I told you I would. I landed 50 Pounds ----"
"Fifty pounds for twenty?"
"That's the tune of it -- and not much of a tune, either. My God!
If I'd only had that thousand of mine by me, or even half of it, I'd have made a pile!"
"Fifty pounds for twenty!" cried Steelman excitedly. "Why, that's grand!
And to think we chaps have been grafting like niggers all our lives!
By God, we'll stand in with you for all we've got!"
"There's my hand on it," as they reached the hotel.
"If you come to my room I'll give you the 25 Pounds now, if you like."
"Oh, that's all right," exclaimed Steelman impulsively;
"you mustn't think I don't ----"
"That's all right. Don't you say any more about it. You'd best have the stuff to-night to show your mate."
"Perhaps so; he's a suspicious fool, but I made a bargain with him about our last cheque. He can hang on to the stuff, and I can't.
If I'd been on my own I'd have blued it a week ago. Tell you what I'll do -- we'll call our share (Smith's and mine) twenty quid. You take the odd fiver for your trouble."
"That looks fair enough. We'll call it twenty guineas to you and your mate.
We'll want him, you know."
In his own and Smith's room Steelman thoughtfully counted twenty-one sovereigns on the toilet-table cover, and left them there in a pile.
He stretched himself, scratched behind his ear, and blinked at the money abstractedly. Then he asked, as if the thought just occurred to him: "By the way, Smith, do you see those yellow boys?"
Smith saw. He had been sitting on the bed with a studiously vacant expression. It was Smith's policy not to seem, except by request, to take any interest in, or, in fact, to be aware of anything unusual that Steelman might be doing -- from patching his pants to reading poetry.
"There's twenty-one sovereigns there!" remarked Steelman casually.
"Yes?"
"Ten of 'em's yours."
"Thank yer, Steely."
"And," added Steelman, solemnly and grimly, "if you get taken down for 'em, or lose 'em out of the top-hole in your pocket, or spend so much as a shilling in riotous living, I'll stoush you, Smith."
Smith didn't seem interested. They sat on the beds opposite each other for two or three minutes, in something of the atmosphere that pervades things when conversation has petered out and the dinner-bell is expected to ring.
Smith screwed his face and squeezed a pimple on his throat;
Steelman absently counted the flies on the wall. Presently Steelman, with a yawning sigh, lay back on the pillow with his hands clasped under his head.
"Better take a few quid, Smith, and get that suit you were looking at the other day. Get a couple of shirts and collars, and some socks; better get a hat while you're at it -- yours is a disgrace to your benefactor.
