‘I say,’ he said to a tall, fair young fellow who had just entered, ‘who is this Meddlechip the paper is full of?’
‘Don’t you know?’ said the other, in surprise; ‘he’s one of our richest men, and very generous with his money.’
‘Oh, I see! buys popularity,’ replied Vandeloup, coolly; ‘how is it I’ve never met him?’
‘He’s been to China or Chile—or—something commencing with a C,’ returned the young man, vaguely; ‘he only came back to Melbourne last week; you are sure to meet him sooner or later.’
‘Thanks, I’m not very anxious,’ replied Vandeloup, with a yawn; ‘money in my eyes does not compensate for being bored; where are you going to-night?’
‘“Mikado”,’ answered the other, whose name was Bellthorp; ‘Jarper asked me to go up there; he’s got a box.’
‘How does he manage to pay for all these things?’ asked Vandeloup, rising; ‘he’s only in a bank, and does not get much money.’
‘My dear fellow,’ said Bellthorp, putting his arm in that of Vandeloup’s, ‘wherever he gets it, he always has it, so as long as he pays his way it’s none of our business; come and have a drink.’
Vandeloup assented with a laugh, and they went to the bar.
‘I’ve got a cab at the door,’ he said to Bellthorp, after they had finished their drinks, and were going downstairs; ‘come with me, and I’ll go up to the Princess also; Jarper asked me and I refused, but men as well as women are entitled to change their minds.’
They got into the cab and drove up Collins Street to the Princess Theatre. After dismissing the cab, they went up stairs and found the first act was just over, and the bar was filled with a crowd of gentlemen, among whom Barty and his friends were conspicuous. On the one side the doors opened on to the wide stone balcony, where a number of ladies were seated, and on the other balcony a lot of men were smoking. Leaving Bellthorp with Jarper, Vandeloup ordered a brandy and soda and went out on the balcony to smoke.
The bell rang to indicate the curtain was going to rise on the second act, and the bar and balconies gradually emptied themselves into the theatre. M. Vandeloup, however, still sat smoking, and occasionally drinking his brandy and soda, while he thought over his difficulties, and wondered how he could get out of them. It was a wonderfully hot night, and not even the dark blue of the moonless sky, studded with stars, could give any sensation of coolness. Round the balcony were several windows belonging to the dressing-rooms of the theatre, and the lights within shone through the vivid red of the blinds with which they were covered. The door leading into the bar was wide open, and within everything seemed hot, even under the cool, white glare of the electric lights, which shone in large oval-shaped globes hanging from the brass supports in clusters like those grapes known as ladies’ fingers. In front stretched the high balustrade of the balcony, and as Vandeloup leaned back in his chair he could see the white blaze of the electric lights rising above this, and then the luminous darkness of the summer’s night. Beyond a cluster of trees, with a path, lit by gas lamps, going through it, the lights of which shone like dull yellow stars. On the right arose the great block of Parliament-buildings, with the confused mass of the scaffolding, standing up black and dense against the sky. A pleasant murmur arose from the crowded pavement below, and through the incessant rattle of cabs and sharp, clear cries of the street boys, Gaston could hear the shrill tones of a violin playing the dreamy melody of the ‘One Summer’s Night in Munich’ valse, about which all Melbourne was then raving.
He was so occupied with his own thoughts that he did not notice two gentlemen who came in from the bar, and taking seats a little distant from him, ordered drinks from the waiter who came to attend to them. They were both in evening dress, and had apparently left the opera in order to talk business, for they kept conversing eagerly, and their voices striking on Vandeloup’s ear he glanced round at them and then relapsed into his former inattentive position. Now, however, though apparently absorbed in his own thoughts, he was listening to every word they said, for he had caught the name of The Magpie Reef, a quartz mine, which had lately been floated on the market, the shares of which had run up to a pound, and then, as bad reports were circulated about it, dropped suddenly to four shillings. Vandeloup recognised one as Barraclough, a well-known stockbroker, but the other was a dark, wiry-looking man of medium height, whom he had never seen before.
‘I tell you it’s a good thing,’ said Barraclough, vehemently laying his hand on the table; ‘Tollerby is the manager, and knows everything about it.’
‘Gad, he ought to,’ retorted the other with a laugh, ‘if he’s the manager; but I don’t believe in it, dear boy, I never did; it started with a big splash, and was going to be a second Long Tunnel according to the prospectus; now the shares are only four shillings—pshaw!’
‘Yes, but you forget the shares ran up to a pound,’ replied Barraclough, quickly; ‘and now they are so cheap we can snap them up all over the market, and then—’
‘Well?’ asked the other, with interest.
‘They will run up, old fellow—see?’ and the Broker rubbed his hands gleefully.
‘How are you going to get up a “Boom” on them?’ asked the wiry man, sceptically; ‘the public won’t buy blindly, they must see something.’
‘And so they shall,’ said Barraclough, eagerly; ‘Tollerby is sending down some of the stone.’
‘From the Magpie Reef?’ asked the other, suspiciously.
‘Of course,’ retorted the Broker, indignantly; ‘you did not think it was salted, did you? There is gold in the reef, but it is patchy. See,’ pulling out a pocket-book, ‘I got this telegram from Tollerby at four o’clock to-day;’ he took a telegram from the pocket-book and handed it to his companion.
‘Struck it rich—evidently pocket—thirty ounces to machine,’ read the other slowly; ‘gad! that looks well, why don’t you put it in the papers?’
‘Because I don’t hold enough shares,’ replied the other, impatiently; ‘don’t you understand? To-morrow I go on ‘Change and buy up all the shares at four shillings I can lay my hands on, then at the end of the week the samples of stone—very rich—come down. I publish this telegram from the manager, and the “Boom” starts.’
‘How high do you think the shares will go?’ asked the wiry man, thoughtfully.
Barraclough shrugged his shoulders, and replaced the telegram in his pocket-book.
‘Two or three pounds, perhaps more,’ he replied, rising. ‘At all events, it’s a good thing, and if you go in with me, we’ll clear a good few thousand out of it.’
‘Come and see me to-morrow morning,’ said the wiry man, also rising. ‘I think I’ll stand in.’
Barraclough rubbed his hands gleefully, and then slipping his arm in that of his companion they left the balcony and went back to the theatre.
Vandeloup felt every nerve in his body tingling. Here was a chance to make money. If he only had a few hundreds he could buy up all the Magpie shares he could get and reap the benefit of the rise. Five hundred pounds! If he could obtain that sum he could buy two thousand five hundred shares, and if they went to three pounds, he could clear nearly eight thousand. What an idea! It was ripe fruit tumbling off the tree without the trouble of plucking it. But five hundred pounds! He had not as many pence, and he did not know where to get it. If he could only borrow it from someone—but then he could offer no security. A sense of his own helplessness came on him as he saw this golden tide flowing past