erences were forgotten in the wider common bond. The
lawyer virtually ordered Mahony to "sit in", till he gave the word. By
this time "Porepunkahs" had passed their previous limit, and even paid
a bonus: it was now an open secret that a drive undertaken in an
opposite direction to the first had proved successful; the lead was
scored and seamed with gold. Ocock spoke of the stone, specimens of
which he had held in his hand--declared he had never seen its equal.

But when the shares stood at fifty-three pounds each, Mahony could
restrain himself no longer; and, in spite of Ocock's belief that
another ten days would see a COUP, he parted with forty-five of the
half hundred he held. Leaving the odd money with the lawyer for
re-investment, he walked out of the office the possessor of two
thousand pounds.

It was only a very ordinary late spring day; the season brought its
like by the score: a pale azure sky, against which the distant hills
looked purple; above these a narrow belt of cloud, touched, in its
curves, to the same hue. But to Mahony it seemed as if such a perfect
day had never dawned since he first set foot in Australia. His back was
eased of its burden; and, like Christian on having passed the wall
known as Salvation, he could have wept tears of joy. After all these
years of pinching and sparing he was out of poverty's grip. The
suddenness of the thing was what staggered him. He might have drudged
till his hair was grey; it was unlikely he would ever, at one stroke,
have come into possession of a sum like this.--And that whole day he
went about feeling a little more than human, and seeing people, places,
things, through a kind of beatific mist. Now, thank God, he could stand
on his own legs again; could relieve John of his bond, pay off the
mortgage on the house, insure his life before it was too late. And,
everything done, he would still have over a thousand pounds to his
credit. A thousand pounds! No longer need he thankfully accept any and
every call; or reckon sourly that, if the leakage on the roof was to be
mended, he must go without a new surtout. Best of all, he could now
begin in earnest to save.

First, though, he allowed himself two very special pleasures. He sent
Polly a message on the electric telegraph to say that he would come
down himself to fetch her home. In secret he planned a little trip to
Schnapper Point. At the time of John's wedding he had been unable to
get free; this would be the firs