The conversation was ended by a declaration on the part of Caldigate that they would take a week to think over Mr. Crinkett’s kind proposition, and that they might as well occupy the time by taking a look at Ahalala.  A place that had been so much praised and so much abused must be worth seeing.  ‘Who’s been a-praising it,’ asked Crinkett, angrily, ’unless it’s that fool Jones?  And as for waiting, I don’t say that you’ll have the shares at that price next week.’  In this way he waxed angry; but, nevertheless, he condescended to recommend a man to them, when Caldigate declared that they would like to hire some practical miner to accompany them.  ‘There’s Mick Maggott,’ said he, ’knows mining a’most as well as anybody.  You’ll hear of him, may be, up at Henniker’s.  He’s honest; and if you can keep him off the drink he’ll do as well as anybody.  But neither Mick nor nobody else can do you no good at Ahalala.’  With that he led them out of the gate, and nodding his head at them by way of farewell, left them to go back to Mrs. Henniker’s.

To Mrs. Henniker’s they went, and there, stretched out at length on the wooden veranda before the house, they found the hero of the potatoes,—­the man who had taken them down to Crinkett’s house.  He seemed to be fast asleep, but as they came up on the boards, he turned himself on his elbow, and looked at them.  ‘Well, mates,’ he said, ’what do you think of Tom Crinkett now you’ve seen him?’

‘He doesn’t seem to approve of Ahalala,’ said Dick.

’In course he don’t.  When a new rush is opened like that, and takes away half the hands a man has about him, and raises the wages of them who remain, in course he don’t like it.  You see the difference.  The Old Stick-in-the-Mud is an established kind of thing.’

‘It’s a paying concern, I suppose,’ said Caldigate.

’It has paid;—­not a doubt about it.  Whether it’s played out or not, I’m not so sure.  But Ahalala is a working-man’s diggings, not a master’s, such as Crinkett is now.  Of course Crinkett has a down on Ahalala.’

‘Your friend Jack Brien didn’t seem to think much of the place,’ said Dick.

’Poor Jack is one of them who never has a stroke of luck.  He’s a sort of chum who, when he has a bottle of pickles, somebody else is sure to eat ’em.  Ahalala isn’t so bad.  It’s one of them chancy places, of course.  You may and you mayn’t, as I was a-saying before.  When the great rush was on, I did uncommon well at Ahalala.  I never was the man I was then.’

‘What became of it?’ asked Caldigate with a smile.

’Mother Henniker can tell you that, or any other publican round the country.  It never will stick to me.  I don’t know why, but it never will.  I’ve had my luck, too.  Oh, laws!  I might have had my house, just as grand as Polly Hooker this moment, only I never could stick to it like Tom Crinkett.  I’ve drank cham—­paign out of buckets;—­I have.’

‘I’d rather have a pot of beer out of the pewter,’ said Caldigate.