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The Story of Wild Will Enderby

Chapter X. Harry Grey Resolves to Wait

page 117

Chapter X. Harry Grey Resolves to Wait.

Thus it happened that Wild Will Enderby came to Otago. By Hope sustained, he endured wet and cold and toil, and all the manifold privations of the miner's life. He wrought from dewy morn till dusky eve, ever delving for the treasures which still eluded his pursuit. At Gabriel's and Wetherstone's—at Waitahuna and Waipori—he sought in vain for the golden grains which should win for him the smiles of the cruel idol whom he so blindly worshipped. Then the Dunstan rush broke out; and as—solitary and heart-sick—he travelled thitherward, it so chanced that he fell in with Mr. George Washington Pratt, to whom, as "Harry Grey," he told his story.

"I loved that woman!"—cried. Will, in conclusion. "My God!—how dearly I loved her! And see—how she has broken faith with me."

With the words he held out to the Senior Partner a much worn and mutilated newspaper—(it was the Melbourne "Argus," so dearly rescued from the river)—and pointed to the announcement of Florence Melmoth's marriage with Justin McCarthy.

"Well, Mr. William Enderby," said the Senior Partner composedly, "do you know it jest strikes me page 118that you're a mighty poor judge of womankind anyway. Can't you see that that darned handsome she-painter has been fooling of you right through? Seems to me you may thank your stars that you ain't her bonded slavey, nor like to be; for such women as that don't make first-class wives nohow. Why, see here;—I'd sooner have one smile from that little blue-eyed cousin of yours, than a whole heap of slavering kisses from the other. And you 'ain't been on the square with Miss Mabel neither. No, sir! you've been playing it pretty low down on the gal; that's a fact."

"I see it all now. I have been a fool—an ass, and I am rightly punished for my folly. I don't know what is left for me except to pitch myself into the Molyneux, and so have done with it."

"Don't you think you might as well 'wait for the waggon' that we'll 'all take a ride' in some day, whether we like it or not? It's all a matter of taste, pardner; but to my mind you'll be more comfortable lying high and dry on the bank, than if you were feeding the eels in that watery ditch, below."

Will did not reply on the instant. Starting from his seat, he strode hastily to and fro, seeking by mere motion, to subdue his nervous agitation. The Senior Partner, meanwhile silently revolved his plug. Presently Will halted, and through his clenched teeth ground forth the sudden exclamation—

"Curse her!"

"Amen!" quoth Mr. George W. Pratt. "Right you are, pardner, nothing like blowing off steam, now and then, when the safety-valve is overweighted."

"I'll work on now," said Will (as we must hence-page 119forth call him). "I'll work on till I've made my pile; and I'll send her back her fifty pounds, and tell her what I think of her—the jade!"

"Make your pile, and welcome, pardner. The quicker the better, seeing I shall make mine jest about the same period. But don't you work to spite Ma'am Florence. Do it to pleasure Miss Mabel, jest as I'm doing it to please my Ruth. And as to the fifty notes—well, I told you I hadn't been muchly at school; but if I can't cipher that up, I'm a Dutchman. That money never came from the governess—you can bet your life on that."

"What?—do you think so?"

"Think so? No, sirree! I don't think so; I am sure of it. Your good old uncle, or else your aunt sent that money; not a cold-blooded plaster-of-Paris image, like that darned widow you're so mighty sweet on."

New light seemed to dawn on Will Enderby.

"By Jove! I believe you are right," he said. "I never thought of that before. Yes, she has fooled me throughout. She drove me to New Zealand to get me out of the way; and then—Aye, I know her now. Pratt, you have cleared away the mist which has too long blinded me. But stay, suppose this announcement (and he struck the offending paper violently) suppose this announcement should be a lie! That fellow M'Carthy may have inserted it himself to delude me. Such things have been done, you know."

"Still hankering after the flesh-pots of Egypt! Well, pardner, there's no fool like a fool in love. And you are the softest young punkin ever George W. Pratt page 120set eyes upon. Jehoshaphat! Well; take your own way. But if I were you (which I'm specially thankful I ain't), somehow, I should feel like writing home, right away, jest to know how matters actually stood."

"You are right, old friend. I will write. But by Heaven! I won't believe that Florence Melmoth is false—I will hope against my fears, till I receive an answer from Melbourne."

"And in the meantime, do you suppose you'll pitch yourself into the Molyneux? Or do you suppose you'll procrastinate it to a more favourable opportunity? The river's rather dirty jest now. Better wait!"

And he waited.