he proceeds of their first "wash-up."

On an upturned whisky-case, before a big table composed of boards
roughly nailed together and resting on trestles, sits the Manager of the
League, Mr. Jack Scarlett, and before him lie the proceeds of the
"wash-up."

The room is full of tobacco-smoke, and the hubbub of many voices drowns
the thin voice of the League's Secretary, who sits beside the Manager
and calls for silence.

But Jack is on his feet and, above the many voices, roars, "Order!"

"Quiet."

"Sit down."

"Stop that row."

"Order for the boss of the League."

Before long all is still, and the lucky owners of the gold which lies in
bags upon the table, listen eagerly for the announcement of the returns.

"Gentlemen,"--Scarlett's face wears a pleasant smile, which betokens
a pleasant duty--"as some of you are aware, the result of our first
wash-up is a record for the colony. It totals 18,000 oz., and this, at
the current price of Bush Robin gold--which I ascertained in Timber Town
during my last visit--gives us a return of L69,750."

Here Jack is interrupted by tremendous cheering.

"Of this sum," he continues, when he can get a hearing, "your Committee
suggests the setting aside, for the payment of liabilities and current
expenses, the sum of L9750, which leaves L60,000 to be divided amongst
the members of the League."

Upon this announcement being made, an uproar ensues, an uproar of
unrestrained jubilation which shakes the shingle roof, and the noise of
which reaches far down the street of Canvas Town and across the flats,
where clay-stained diggers pause amid their dirt-heaps to remark in
lurid language that the toffs are having "an almighty spree over their
blanky wash-up."

"I rise to make a propothition," says a long, thin, young Gold Leaguer,
with a yellow beard and a slight lisp. "I rise to suggest that we send
down to Reiley's for all hith bottled beer, and drink the health of our
noble selves."

The motion is seconded by every man in the room rising to his feet and
cheering.

Six stalwart Leaguers immediately go to wait upon the proprietor of The
Golden Reef, and whilst they are transacting their business their mates
sing songs, the choruses of which float through the open windows over
the adjacent country. The dirt-stained owners of the Hatters' Folly
claim hear the members of the League asking to be "wrapped up in an old
stable jacket," and those working in the Four Brothers' claim lear