Hocussed.

In a small inner room in The Lucky Digger sat Benjamin Tresco and the Prospector.

The goldsmith was happy. His glass was before him, between his teeth was the stem of his pipe, and in consequence his face beamed with contentment, pleasure, good humour, and indolence.

The digger, on the other hand, looked serious, not to say anxious, and his manner was full of uneasiness. His glass stood untouched, his half-finished pipe had gone out, and he could not sit still, but began to pace backwards and forwards restlessly. “I’ve put my foot in it,” he said, pulling nervously at his bushy beard. “I’ve quarrelled with the toffs of the town, and the best thing I can do is to make a git. I’ll start for the bush to-morrer.”

“Now you’re talking bunkum,” said Tresco, as the smoke from his pipe wreathed above his head. “I know those men—two bigger rogues never breathed. They simply wanted to fleece you, and instead of that you gave ’em one in the eye. More power to you: it was immense! As for old Mr. Crewe and his crowd, they were on the make too; but they are out of court—there’s no chance of them trying to renew your acquaintance. Now, what you must do is to enjoy yourself quietly, and by-and-by get back to your claim. But, for to-night, we’ll have a good time—a little liquor, a quiet game of cards, a bit of a talk, and perhaps a better understanding.”

“To speak the blanky truth,” said the digger, “you’re the whitest man I’ve met. True, I’ve give myself away a bit, but you’re the only man ain’t tried to do the pump-handle business with me.”

“I’ll buy all the gold you like to bring to town.”

“Right! Here’s my fist: you shall ’ave all I git.”

The two men solemnly shook hands.

“Drink your liquor,” said Tresco. “It’ll do you good.”

The digger drank, and re-lit his pipe.

“Now, what I says is that there’s men I like to put in the way of a good thing.”

“Same here,” said Benjamin.

“An’ I say you’ve dealt honest by me, and I’ll deal fair and open with you.”

“What I should expect,” said Benjamin.

“I’ve found a good thing—more than I could ever want myself, if I lived a hundred years. I intend to do the handsome to a few o’ my pals.”

“I’m one.”

“You’re one. First, I shall go back and do a bit more prospecting, and see if I can better my claim. Then I shall come to town, and let my mates into the know.”

“Just so.”

“By-and-by we’ll slip out o’ town, an’ no man any the wiser. You can’t track me—I’m too smart, by long chalks.”

Tresco’s glass stood empty.

“We’ll drink to it,” he said, and rang the little hand-bell that stood on the table.

Gentle Annie entered, with that regal air common to bar-maids who rule their soggy realms absolutely.

“Well, old gentleman, same old tipple, I suppose,” said she to Tresco.

“My dear, the usual; and see that it’s out of the wood, the real Mackay. And bring in some dice.”

The two men sat quietly till the bar-maid returned.

Tresco rattled the dice, and threw a pair of fours. “No deception,” he said. “Are these the house’s dice, my dear?”

“They’re out of the bar,” replied Gentle Annie.

“Are they in common use for throwing for drinks?”

“What d’you take me for? D’you think I know how to load dice?”

“My dear, this gentleman must know everything’s square when he plays with me. When we ring again, just bring in the usual. Adieu. Au revoir. Haere ra, which is Maori. Parting is such sweet sorrow.”

As the bar-maid disappeared the digger placed a pile of bank-notes on the table, and Tresco looked at them with feigned astonishment. “If you think, mister, that I can set even money again that, you over-estimate my influence with my banker. A modest tenner or two is about my height. But who knows?—before the evening is far spent perhaps my capital may have increased. Besides, there are always plenty of matches for counters—a match for a pound.”

“What shall it be?” asked the digger.

“‘Kitty,’” answered Tresco. “A pound a throw, best of three.”

“I’m agreeable,” said the digger.

“Throw for first ‘go,’” said Tresco.

The digger nodded, took the dice, and threw “eight.”

The goldsmith followed with six, and said, “You go first.”

The Prospector put three pounds in the centre of the table beside Tresco’s stake, and began to play. His highest throw was ten. Tresco’s was nine, and the digger took the pool.

“Well, you got me there,” said the goldsmith. “We’ll have another ‘go.’”

Again the pool was made up, and this time Tresco threw first. His highest throw was “eleven,” which the digger failed to beat.

“She’s mine: come to me, my dear.” Taking the pool, the goldsmith added, “We’re quits, but should this sort of thing continue, I have a remedy—double every alternate ‘Kitty.’”

The game continued, with fluctuations of luck which were usually in the digger’s favour.

But the rattling of the dice had attracted attention in the bar, and, lured by that illusive music, four men approached the room where the gamblers sat.

“No intrusion, I hope,” said the leader of the gang, pushing open the door.

“Come in, come in,” cried Tresco, barely glancing at the newcomers, so intent was he on the game.

They entered, and stood round the table: an ugly quartette. The man who had spoken was short, thick-set, with a bullet head which was bald on the top, mutton-chop whiskers, and a big lump under his left ear. The second was a neat, handsome man, with black, glittering eyes, over which the lids drooped shrewdly. The third was a young fellow with a weak face, a long, thin neck and sloping shoulders; and the fourth, a clean-shaven man of heavy build, possessed a face that would have looked at home on the shoulders of a convict. He answered to the name of Garstang.

“Dolphin,” said he to the man with the lump, “cut in.”

“No, no; let it be Carnac,” said Dolphin, looking at the keen-eyed man, who replied, “I pass it on to young William.”

“Gor’ bli’ me, why to me?” exclaimed the stripling. “I never strike any luck. I hand the chanst back to you, Carny.”

The man with the shrewd eyes sat down at the table, on which he first placed some money. Then he said in a clear, pleasant voice:

“You’ve no objection, I suppose, to a stranger joining you?”

“Not at all, not at all,” said the genial Benjamin.

“If you’re meanin’ me”—the digger glanced at the company generally—“all I’ve got to say is: the man as increases the stakes is welcome.”

They threw, and the digger won.

“That’s the style,” said he, as he took the pool. “That’s just as it oughter be. I shout for the crowd. Name your poisons, gentlemen.” He rang the bell, and Gentle Annie appeared, radiant, and supreme. She held a small tray in one hand, whilst the other, white and shapely, hung at her side. As the men named their liquors, she carefully repeated what they had ordered. When Carnac’s turn came, and she said, “And yours?” the handsome gambler stretched out his arm, and, drawing her in a familiar manner towards him, said, “You see, boys, I know what’s better than any liquor.”

In a moment Gentle Annie had pulled herself free, and was standing off from the sinister-faced man. “Phaugh!” she said with disgust, “I draw the line at spielers.”

“You draw the line at nothing that’s got money,” retorted the owner of the glittering eyes, brutally.

“Gentlemen,” said Gentle Annie, with a touch of real dignity in her manner, “I have your orders.” And she withdrew modestly, without so much as another glance at Carnac.

The play continued till her return. She handed round glasses to all but the handsome gambler.

“And where’s mine?” asked he.

“You forgot to order it,” said she. “I’ll send the pot-boy to wait on you.” In a perfectly affable manner she took the money from the uncouth digger, and then, throwing a disdainful glance at Carnac, she tossed her head defiantly, and went out.

The game continued. Now Tresco’s pile of money was increased, now it had dwindled to a few paltry pounds. The digger looked hot and excited as he, too, lost. Carnac, wearing a fixed, inscrutable smile, won almost every throw.

The gambler’s feverish madness was beginning to seize Tresco as it had already seized his friend, but at last he was stopped by lack of funds.

“How much have you on you, Bill?” he asked of the Prospector.

“How much have I got, eh?” said Bill, emptying his pockets of a large quantity of gold and bank-notes. “I reckon I’ve enough to see this little game through and lend a mate a few pounds as well.”

“I’ll trouble you for fifty,” said Tresco, who scribbled an IOU for the amount mentioned on the back of an envelope, and handed it to the digger.

The man with the lump on his neck had seated himself at the table.

“I think, gents, I’ll stand in,” said he. “You two are pals, and me and Carnac’s pals. Makes things equal.” He placed three pounds in the pool.

“Hold on,” Carnac interrupted. “I propose a rise. Make it £5 a corner—that’ll form a Kitty worth winning—the game to be the total of three throws.”

“Consecutive?” Tresco asked.

“Consecutive,” said the digger. “It avoids a shindy, and is more straightfor’ard.”

A pool of £20 was thus made up, and the play continued.

The innocent youth who answered to the name of William stood behind Tresco’s chair and winked at Garstang, whose loosely-made mouth twitched with merriment.

“Don’t be rash, Dolly,” remarked Young William to the man with the hideous neck, who held the dice box. “Think of your wife an’ kids in Sydney before you make yer throw. You’re spoilin’ my morals.”

“Go outside, and grow virtuous in the passage.” Dolphin made his throws, which totalled twenty-six.

Tresco followed with eighteen. The digger’s and Carnac’s chances still remained.

So lucky on the diggings, so unlucky in town, Bill the Prospector took the box with a slightly trembling hand and rattled the dice. His first throw was twelve, his second eleven. “Even money I beat you,” he said to Dolphin.

“Garn,” replied that polite worthy. “What yer givin’ us? D’you take me for a flat?”

The digger threw, and his score totalled thirty.

“P’r’aps, mister,” he said, turning to Carnac, “you’d like to take me up. Quid to quid you don’t beat me.”

The glittering eyes fixed themselves on the digger. “You’re too generous, sir,” said the gentlemanly Carnac. “Your score is hard to beat. Of course, I mean to try, but the odds are in your favour.”

“I’ll make it two to one,” said the digger.

“Well, if you insist,” replied Carnac, “I’ll accommodate you.” He placed his pound upon the table, and made his first throw—ten.

“Shake ’er up, Carny,” cried Young William. “I back you. No deception, gentlemen; a game which is nothing but luck.”

The suave gambler’s next throw was eleven.

“An even pound you lose, mister,” said William to the digger.

“Done,” cried the Prospector. “Put out the money.”

Carnac threw twelve, said, “The little lady’s mine,” and took the pool.

The digger handed two pounds to the winner and a pound note to Young William who, crumpling his money in his palm, said, “Oysters for supper and a bottle of fizz—there’ll be no end of a spree.”

The monotonous round of the game continued, till Tresco’s borrowed money had dwindled to but five pounds, which was enough for but one more chance with the dice.

The Prospector had fared but little better. What with the money he had staked, and side bets on individual throws, his pile of money had been reduced to half.

“There ain’t nothin’ mean about me,” he said, “but I’d be obliged if some gen’leman would shout.”

Dolphin touched the bell, and said, “I was beginning to feel that way myself.”

A very undersized young man, who had plastered his black hair carefully and limped with one leg, appeared, and said in a very shrill voice, “Yes, gentlemen.”

“Who are you?” asked Dolphin.

“I’m the actin’-barman,” replied the young man, twirling the japanned tray in his hands, and drawing himself up to his full height.

“I should call you the blanky rouseabout,” said Dolphin. “We want the bar-maid.”

“Miss Quintal says she ain’t comin’,” said the important youth. “To tell the truth, she’s a bit huffed with the ’ole lot of yer. What’s your orders, gents?”

He had hardly got the words out of his mouth, when Young William rushed him from the room and along the passage.

Dolphin rang the bell, but no one came to the door till Young William himself reappeared.

“I guess we won’t have no more trouble with that lot,” said he. “I jammed ’im inter a cupboard under the stairs, along with the brooms an’ dustpans. ’Ere’s the key. I’ll take your orders meself, gentlemen.”

“Where’s the lovely bar-maid?” asked Dolphin.

“She’s that took up with a gent that’s got a cast in his eye and a red mustache,” replied William, “that she’s got no time fer this crowd. What’s yours, Garstang? Look slippy. Don’t keep me all night.”

The men named their liquors, and Young William, taking three shillings from Dolphin, returned to the bar.

He was rather a long time away, and when he reappeared Carnac remarked, “You’ve been deuced slow over it—you’ll have to be sharper than that, if you want to be waiter in a hotel, my Sweet William.”

“You’re all very small potatoes in this room, you’re no class—you’re not in it with wall-eyed blokes. Here’s yer drinks.”

He went round the table, and carefully placed each individual’s glass at his elbow; and the game continued.

The pool fell to Carnac, and all Tresco’s money was gone. “Here’s luck,” said the Prospector, lifting his glass to Dolphin; and when he had drunk he put his stake in the middle of the table.

Carnac rattled the dice-box. “Hello!” he said. “Kitty is short by five pounds. Who’s the defaulter?”

“Me, I’m afraid, gentlemen,” said Tresco. “I’m cleaned out. ’Case of stone-broke.”

“What’s this?” exclaimed the digger. “You ain’t got a stiver left? Well, there ain’t nothing mean about me—here y’are.” He roughly divided his money, and pushed one-half across the table to Tresco.

“Hear, hear!” cried Carnac, clapping his hands.

“’Ere, ’ere!” echoed Sweet William. “Very ’an’some, most magnanimous.”

Benjamin reached out his hand for the money, and in so doing overturned his glass, which broke into shivers on the floor.

“Good liquor spilt,” he remarked as he counted the money and drew another IOU for the amount loaned, which was sixty-seven pounds.

The play proceeded. “Here’s to you,” said Dolphin, as he drank to Tresco. “Better luck—you deserve it.”

The digger was filled with the gambler’s fever. His eyes were wild, his face was hot; he drained his glass at a draught, and drummed the table with his fingers.

“Neck or nothin’, Tresco,” he said. “Make it ten pound a corner, and let’s blanky well bust or win. Win, I say—double the stakes, and see if that’ll change our luck.”

“Anything to oblige you, gentlemen,” said Carnac. “Let it be ten pounds, and you can withdraw as soon as you win your money back. It’s a free country: you can have one throw, two, or any number you please. But don’t say you were coerced, if you lose.”

Tresco answered by putting his ten pounds in the pool.

The situation seemed to amuse Young William. He stood behind the goldsmith’s chair, holding his sides to suppress his laughter, and making pantomimic signs to Garstang, who looked on with stolid composure and an evil smile.

The players made their throws, and Carnac won the pool.

“Never mind,” cried the Prospector, with strong expletives. “There’s my stake—let me have another shy. Game to the finish.” He rose to his feet, threw his money down on the table with a bang, reeled as he stood, and sat down heavily.

And so the game went on. No luck came to Tresco, and but a few pounds remained in front of him. “One more Kitty, and that finishes me,” he said, as he placed his stake in the pool.

As usual, he lost.

“Here’s seven pounds left,” he cried. “Even money all round, and sudden death on a single throw.”

The final pool was made up. The digger threw first—a paltry seven. Dolphin followed with five. It was Tresco’s turn to play next, and he threw eleven.

Carnac dallied long with the dice. He was about to throw, when the Prospector rose from his seat and, swaying, caught at the suave gambler’s arm for support. With a rattle the dice-box fell. Carnac uttered an oath. Before the players three dice lay upon the table.

Tresco swore deep and loud, and in a moment had fastened both his hands upon the cheat’s throat. Carnac struggled, the table with all its money fell with a crash, but the sinister Garstang made a swift movement, and before Tresco’s face there glittered the barrel of a revolver.

“Drop him,” said Garstang hoarsely. “Loose hold, or you’re dead.” The goldsmith dropped his man, but Garstang still covered him with his weapon.

“Stow the loot, William,” said Dolphin, suiting the action to the word; and while the two trusty comrades filled their pockets with gold and bank-notes, Carnac slunk from the room. With a heavy lurch the digger tumbled up against the wall, and then fell heavily to the floor.

“Don’t give so much as a squeak,” said Garstang to the goldsmith, “or you’ll lie beside your mate, only much sounder.”

Dolphin and Young William, laden with booty, now retired with all speed, and Garstang, still covering his man, walked slowly backward to the door. He made a sudden step and was gone; the door shut with a bang; the key turned in the lock, and Benjamin Tresco was left alone with the insensible form of Bill the Prospector.

“Hocussed, by Heaven!” cried the goldsmith. “Fleeced and drugged in one evening.”