The gold was better even than when we were there. A lot of men who were poor enough when we were there had made fortunes The field never looked better, and the hard-driving, well paid, jolly mining life was going on just the same as ever; everyone making money fast—spending it faster—and no one troubling themselves about anything except how much the washdirt went to the load, and whether the sinking was through the false bottom or not.

When I first came I had a notion of mating in with some diggers, but when I saw how quiet everybody took it, and what thousands of strangers there were all over the place, I gave myself out for a speculator in mining shares from Melbourne. So I shaved off most of my beard, had my hair cut short, and put on a tall hat. I thought that would shift any sort of likeness there might be to my old self, and, though it was beastly uncomfortable, I stuck to it all the time.

I walked about among the stables and had a good look at all the horses that were in training. Two or three good ones, as usual, and a lot of duffers. If Rainbow wasn’t beat on his condition, he had pace and weight-carrying for the best of them. I hardly thought he could lose it, or a bigger stake in better company. I was that fond of the horse I thought he was good enough for an English Derby.

Well, I kept dark, you be sure, and mooned about, buying a share at a low price now and then just to let ‘em see I had money and meant something. My name was Mr. Bromford, and I lived at Petersham, near Sydney.

The day before the races there was a lot of excitement in the town. Strangers kept pouring in from everywhere round about, and all the hotels were crammed full. Just as I was wondering whether Starlight was going to turn up till next day I saw a four-in-hand drag rattle down the street to the principal inn, and a crowd gather round it as three gentlemen got out and went into the inn.

“You’ll see after all our luggage, will you, ostler?” says one of them to the groom,“and whatever you do don’t forget my umbwella!”

Some of the diggers laughed.

“Know those coves?” I said to a man that stopped at the same house as I did.

“Don’t you know? Them’s the two Mr. Dawsons, of Wideview, great sporting men, natives, and ever so rich. They’ve some horses to run to-morrow. That’s a new chum from England that’s come up with ‘em.”