THE door swung behind them, and truly the young men were fairly dazzled. A spacious room, walled with mirrors, with pillars and panelling, fretwork and tracery, all of burnished gold—even the frescoed ceiling had a gilt cornice—the furniture, the ornate bar, and fairy-like shelves, all were gilt.
And the light that streamed in from the oriel roof was rose-coloured, and gave a halo of glory to the whole.
And behind the bar were three fair maidens, and behind them again the usual range of bottles and decanters.
Only for this familiar sight the lads would have taken the place for the dwelling of some genii or millionaire.
Soft Sam smiled as he saw their astonishment. It pleased him.
“Nice little crib to smoke a pipe, eh? What will you take? A bottle of Foster, my dear, and never believe me again if you are not the prettiest girl in the town! Yes, I call you the Queen of Sydney.”
The barmaid tossed her head contemptuously, served the drinks, and was about to turn away, when her eyes caught those of Huey.
“An old acquaintance! How are you? Come to stop in Sydney?”
And Bertha, for it was Bertha, glorified by the latest fashion in dress and coiffure—Bertha, morocco-bound and gilt-edged—smiled at him, bending her head on one side and looking slantwise with her eyes.
Huey drank in her smile like dew from Heaven; drank it in with a species of intoxication. He answered in words he was ashamed of, so halting and stumbling. Then the three sat down.
“Isn’t she a clinker?” said Sam.
“My word!” added Alec.
Huey said nothing.
“I’ll go and have a word with her,” said Alec, and, rising, he went to the bar, and started a conversation with Bertha.
Huey watched them, expecting with certainty that Bertha would receive the clumsy compliments and remarks of Alec with indifference, if not disgust. What was his surprise to see her answer graciously, and, could he believe his eyes, smile on Alec, with that same soul-devouring smile that she had bestowed on himself. He felt in a moment a great hatred for Alec, and he felt as though this old chum of his had basely robbed him of some dear treasure, and had any one noted Huey’s eyes at that moment, they would have seen a flash of hell-fire from them.
The moment passed,—it was all in a moment, but a bitterness remained, even though as Huey sat there he saw this smile bestowed not on one only, but half-a-dozen other favoured customers.
“Well, boys,” said Soft Sam, “you can stop and see the gals. I’m off. You know where to find me. So long.”
* * * * *
They had had tea at their coffee palace—Huey and Alec.
Huey said he would go upstairs and read. Alec said he would stroll down to Paddy’s Market. But no sooner had Alec gone out than Huey put down his paper, went out in the street, and made a straight line for the Golden Bar. He turned the corner and was about to enter, when he came nearly full-butt on Alec.
There was no explanation. They knew they had lied to each other, and they felt, not ashamed of themselves, but sore that the other should know. They entered together and drank together, and played dominoes to pass the time, while they watched each other and Bertha behind the bar, and she smiled on both of them when they came for drinks, with a uniform sweetness.
And the lads drank love and hate as they sat together, and though they spoke in the usual friendly tone, they knew the old friendliness and mutual confidence was buried for ever.
Where they sat the two young men could hear most of what Bertha said to the numerous customers that came to her. Amongst these was a small crowd of flash young men, full of loud talk and coarse jokes. One of them, leaning on the bar, looked up at Bertha—
“I tell you what it is, my dear. Say the word, and I’ll marry you.”
Bertha turned on him contemptuously—
“Marry you? You must think I want a husband badly. And what have you to marry on?”
“A few thousands.”
“What is that? The man that speaks to me must have twenty thousand to begin with.”
The whole conversation was doubtless a thoughtless jest on both sides, but one pair of ears at least did not take it so. Alec sealed the words in his memory. And the first question he asked Soft Sam when they met him next day was—
“How can I make twenty thousand pounds?”