The Sweep Winner Part 9

"He must have just gone out. I don't think he liked the sister business."

"Why not?" Glen asked, surprised.

"That remains to be seen," Bill answered, and the remark made Glen thoughtful.

Jim came in again and they had a council of ways and means.

Bill Bigs had a considerable sum of money. He had not half-poisoned the inhabitants of Boonara, and the keepers of the fence, and others, without making a handsome profit on his concoctions. His dealings in hay and provender of various kinds had been another source of income.

Occasional loans, at heavy risks, and corresponding interest, had also brought grist to the mill.

The sale of his shanty to Garry Backham brought him in several hundred pounds, about twice the amount he valued it at, and he had not yet recovered from the surprise at his good luck, or at the fact that Garry had found the ready money in a lump sum. Altogether he had a few thousands at his back.

Glen Leigh had more money than the other two would have thought possible. He had it stowed away in a bank in Sydney, where it had remained, and been added to, ever since he had been on the fence.

Jim Benny had a few pounds which he carried with him.

"I'll look round," said Bill. "I'm the business man. I reckon I'd best stick to my own line and buy a 'house' if I can find a decent one at a fair price."

"It's about the best thing you can do," agreed Glen.

"And if I succeed, you two, and the girl, must put up with me until you find work," went on Bill.

Glen laughed.

"What sort of work?" he asked.

"That's a bit difficult, but two fellows who ride like you can ought to find some sort of occupation. Start a buckjumping show. Give 'em a taste of your quality; that's the game; I've hit on a little gold mine. We can get horses, and it won't cost a deal to run it."

"You mean have a real genuine show of buckjumping, and riding, in Sydney, and other places?" Glen queried.

"Yes, that's the idea."

"How much would it cost to start it?"

"A few hundreds. I'll find the money."

"I must have a share in it, and we'll let Jim come in. He can take it out in hard work," said Glen smiling.

"I'm willing to do anything you wish," Jim declared.

"If I manage to make the necessary arrangements," said Bill, "you'll have to go and find the horses, the very worst buckers you can get.

There must be no faking about it."

"There'll be none where I am concerned," replied Glen, "I'll pick up some rough 'uns, you may depend on that, I say, Bill, I believe you've hit on the right thing."

"I'm sure I have. You're the best rider I ever saw sit a horse," said Bill.

CHAPTER IX

THE CHINAMAN'S SHOP

Bill Bigs met a good many Chinamen, and had dealings with them, always finding them keen business fellows, moderately honest, though some were arrant rogues.

He went out of the coffee house to look round, and saw the fat Chinaman still standing in his doorway like a statue, as though he had not moved since they saw him before entering the house.

The name on the shop was Lin Soo. Probably this was the name of the man at the door; at any rate something prompted Bill to cross the road and look in at the shop window. He saw three tea chests, which he guessed were empty, a couple of Chinese bowls, a vase with strange hideous dragons painted or burnt on, an ivory-handled stick, a hat, a pile of chop-sticks, a bundle of red papers, and a cat slumbering serenely among the miscellaneous collection.

"Is the cat for sale?" he asked the man.

The Chinaman smiled.

"Not for sale. A good cat; he catchee mice, c.o.c.kroaches."

"I didn't know there were any mice here."

"He catchee them if they were here," grinned the man.

"Your name is Lin Soo?"

The Chinaman nodded.

"You speak very good English," said Bill.

"Been in Sydney years," he replied.

"And made a heap of money," said Bill.

"No. Chinaman no chance with the white man," said Lin solemnly.

Bill laughed.

"You yellow heathen, I know better than that. Are you a tea dealer?"

Lin Soo nodded; it was a habit, and when he did so his cheeks flapped and his eyelids fell up and down like trap doors.

"Sell me half a pound of good tea," said Bill.

Lin Soo turned and walked into the shop. Bill followed. He did not want any tea, and Lin Soo knew it.

The Chinaman went behind the counter, leaning on it with his elbows.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"Tea."