ot too friendly in public," Benjamin smiled his
blandest, "not for at least six months. But any communication sent
me by post will be sure to find me, unless it is intercepted by some
unscrupulous person. For six months, Mr. Crookenden, I bid you adieu."

The merchant sniggered again, and Benjamin walked out of the room.

Then Crookenden rang his bell. To the clerk who answered it, he said:

"You saw that man go out of my office, Mr. Smithers?"

"Yes, sir."

"If ever he comes again to see me, tell him I'm engaged, or not in. I
won't see him--he's a bad stamp of man, a most ungrateful man, a man I
should be sorry to have any dealings with, a man who is likely to get
into serious trouble before he is done, a man whom I advise all my young
men to steer clear of, one of the most unsatisfactory men it has been my
misfortune to meet."

"Yes, sir."

"That's all, Mr. Smithers," said the head of the firm. "I like my young
men to be kept from questionable associates; I like them to have the
benefit of my experience. I shall do my best to preserve them from the
evil influence of such persons as the man I have referred to. That will
do. You may go, Mr. Smithers."

Meanwhile, Benjamin Tresco was striding down the street in the direction
of his shop; his speed accelerated by a wicked feeling of triumph, and
his face beaming with an acute appreciation of the ridiculous scene in
which he had played so prominent a part.

"Hi-yi!" he exclaimed exultingly, as he burst into the little room at
the back of his shop, where the Prospector was waiting for him, "the
man with whips of money would outwit Benjamin, and the man with the
money-bags was forced to shell out. Bill, my most esteemed pal, the rich
man would rob the poor, but that poor man was Benjamin, your redoubtable
friend Benjamin Tresco, and the man who was dripping with gold got,
metaphorically speaking, biffed on the boko. Observe, my esteemed and
trusty pal, observe the proceeds of my cunning."

He threw the whole of his money on the table.

"Help yourself," he cried. "Take as much as you please: all I ask is the
sum of ten pounds to settle a little account which will be very pressing
this evening at eight o'clock, when a gentleman named Rock Cod and his
estimable mate, Macaroni Joe, are dead sure to roll up, expectant."

The digger, who, in spite of his return to the regions of civilisation,
retained his wildly hirsute appearance, slowly counted the notes.

"I make