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    Chapter 13

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    Chapter 14
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    The timid man yearns for full value and asks a tenth. The bold man
    strikes for double value and compromises on par.
    --Pudd'nhead Wilson's New Calendar.

    One is sure to be struck by the liberal way in which Australasia spends
    money upon public works--such as legislative buildings, town halls,
    hospitals, asylums, parks, and botanical gardens. I should say that
    where minor towns in America spend a hundred dollars on the town hall and
    on public parks and gardens, the like towns in Australasia spend a
    thousand. And I think that this ratio will hold good in the matter of
    hospitals, also. I have seen a costly and well-equipped, and
    architecturally handsome hospital in an Australian village of fifteen
    hundred inhabitants. It was built by private funds furnished by the
    villagers and the neighboring planters, and its running expenses were
    drawn from the same sources. I suppose it would be hard to match this in
    any country. This village was about to close a contract for lighting its
    streets with the electric light, when I was there. That is ahead of
    London. London is still obscured by gas--gas pretty widely scattered,
    too, in some of the districts; so widely indeed, that except on moonlight
    nights it is difficult to find the gas lamps.

    The botanical garden of Sydney covers thirty-eight acres, beautifully
    laid out and rich with the spoil of all the lands and all the climes of
    the world. The garden is on high ground in the middle of the town,
    overlooking the great harbor, and it adjoins the spacious grounds of
    Government House--fifty-six acres; and at hand also, is a recreation
    ground containing eighty-two acres. In addition, there are the
    zoological gardens, the race-course, and the great cricket-grounds where
    the international matches are played. Therefore there is plenty of room
    for reposeful lazying and lounging, and for exercise too, for such as
    like that kind of work.

    There are four specialties attainable in the way of social pleasure. If
    you enter your name on the Visitor's Book at Government House you will
    receive an invitation to the next ball that takes place there, if nothing
    can be proven against you. And it will be very pleasant; for you will
    see everybody except the Governor, and add a number of acquaintances and
    several friends to your list. The Governor will be in England. He
    always is. The continent has four or five governors, and I do not know
    how many it takes to govern the outlying archipelago; but anyway you will
    not see them. When they are appointed they come out from England and get
    inaugurated, and give a ball, and help pray for rain, and get aboard ship
    and go back home. And so the Lieutenant-Governor has to do all the work.
    I was in Australasia three months and a half, and saw only one Governor.
    The others were at home.

    The Australasian Governor would not be so restless, perhaps, if he had a
    war, or a veto, or something like that to call for his reserve-energies,
    but he hasn't. There isn't any war, and there isn't any veto in his
    hands. And so there is really little or nothing doing in his line. The
    country governs itself, and prefers to do it; and is so strenuous about
    it and so jealous of its independence that it grows restive if even the
    Imperial Government at home proposes to help; and so the Imperial veto,
    while a fact, is yet mainly a name.

    Thus the Governor's functions are much more limited than are a Governor's
    functions with us. And therefore more fatiguing. He is the apparent
    head of the State, he is the real head of Society. He represents
    culture, refinement, elevated sentiment, polite life, religion; and by
    his example he propagates these, and they spread and flourish and bear
    good fruit. He creates the fashion, and leads it. His ball is the ball
    of balls, and his countenance makes the horse-race thrive.

    He is usually a lord, and this is well; for his position compels him to
    lead an expensive life, and an English lord is generally well equipped
    for that.

    Another of Sydney's social pleasures is the visit to the Admiralty House;
    which is nobly situated on high ground overlooking the water. The trim
    boats of the service convey the guests thither; and there, or on board
    the flag-ship, they have the duplicate of the hospitalities of Government
    House. The Admiral commanding a station in British waters is a magnate
    of the first degree, and he is sumptuously housed, as becomes the dignity
    of his office.

    Third in the list of special pleasures is the tour of the harbor in a
    fine steam pleasure-launch. Your richer friends own boats of this kind,
    and they will invite you, and the joys of the trip will make a long day
    seem short.

    And finally comes the shark-fishing. Sydney Harbor is populous with the
    finest breeds of man-eating sharks in the world. Some people make their
    living catching them; for the Government pays a cash bounty on them. The
    larger the shark the larger the bounty, and some of the sharks are twenty
    feet long. You not only get the bounty, but everything that is in the
    shark belongs to you. Sometimes the contents are quite valuable.

    The shark is the swiftest fish that swims. The speed of the fastest
    steamer afloat is poor compared to his. And he is a great gad-about, and
    roams far and wide in the oceans, and visits the shores of all of them,
    ultimately, in the course of his restless excursions. I have a tale to
    tell now, which has not as yet been in print. In 1870 a young stranger
    arrived in Sydney, and set about finding something to do; but he knew no
    one, and brought no recommendations, and the result was that he got no
    employment. He had aimed high, at first, but as time and his money
    wasted away he grew less and less exacting, until at last he was willing
    to serve in the humblest capacities if so he might get bread and shelter.
    But luck was still against him; he could find no opening of any sort.
    Finally his money was all gone. He walked the streets all day, thinking;
    he walked them all night, thinking, thinking, and growing hungrier and
    hungrier. At dawn he found himself well away from the town and drifting
    aimlessly along the harbor shore. As he was passing by a nodding
    shark-fisher the man looked up and said----

    "Say, young fellow, take my line a spell, and change my luck for me."

    "How do you know I won't make it worse?"

    "Because you can't. It has been at its worst all night. If you can't
    change it, no harm's done; if you do change it, it's for the better,
    of course. Come."

    "All right, what will you give?"

    "I'll give you the shark, if you catch one."

    "And I will eat it, bones and all. Give me the line."

    "Here you are. I will get away, now, for awhile, so that my luck won't
    spoil yours; for many and many a time I've noticed that if----there, pull
    in, pull in, man, you've got a bite! I knew how it would be. Why, I
    knew you for a born son of luck the minute I saw you. All right--he's

    It was an unusually large shark--"a full nineteen-footer," the fisherman
    said, as he laid the creature open with his knife.

    "Now you rob him, young man, while I step to my hamper for a fresh bait.
    There's generally something in them worth going for. You've changed my
    luck, you see. But my goodness, I hope you haven't changed your own."

    "Oh, it wouldn't matter; don't worry about that. Get your bait. I'll
    rob him."

    When the fisherman got back the young man had just finished washing his
    hands in the bay, and was starting away.

    "What, you are not going?"

    "Yes. Good-bye."

    "But what about your shark?"

    "The shark? Why, what use is he to me?"

    "What use is he? I like that. Don't you know that we can go and report
    him to Government, and you'll get a clean solid eighty shillings bounty?
    Hard cash, you know. What do you think about it now?"

    "Oh, well, you can collect it."

    "And keep it? Is that what you mean?"


    "Well, this is odd. You're one of those sort they call eccentrics, I
    judge. The saying is, you mustn't judge a man by his clothes, and I'm
    believing it now. Why yours are looking just ratty, don't you know; and
    yet you must be rich."

    "I am."

    The young man walked slowly back to the town, deeply musing as he went.
    He halted a moment in front of the best restaurant, then glanced at his
    clothes and passed on, and got his breakfast at a "stand-up." There was
    a good deal of it, and it cost five shillings. He tendered a sovereign,
    got his change, glanced at his silver, muttered to himself, "There isn't
    enough to buy clothes with," and went his way.

    At half-past nine the richest wool-broker in Sydney was sitting in his
    morning-room at home, settling his breakfast with the morning paper. A
    servant put his head in and said:

    "There's a sundowner at the door wants to see you, sir."

    "What do you bring that kind of a message here for? Send him about his

    "He won't go, sir. I've tried."

    "He won't go? That's--why, that's unusual. He's one of two things,
    then: he's a remarkable person, or he's crazy. Is he crazy?"

    "No, sir. He don't look it."

    "Then he's remarkable. What does he say he wants?"

    "He won't tell, sir; only says it's very important."

    "And won't go. Does he say he won't go?"

    "Says he'll stand there till he sees you, sir, if it's all day."

    "And yet isn't crazy. Show him up."

    The sundowner was shown in. The broker said to himself, "No, he's not
    crazy; that is easy to see; so he must be the other thing."

    Then aloud, "Well, my good fellow, be quick about it; don't waste any
    words; what is it you want?"

    "I want to borrow a hundred thousand pounds."

    "Scott! (It's a mistake; he is crazy . . . . No--he can't be--not
    with that eye.) Why, you take my breath away. Come, who are you?"

    "Nobody that you know."

    "What is your name?"

    "Cecil Rhodes."

    "No, I don't remember hearing the name before. Now then--just for
    curiosity's sake--what has sent you to me on this extraordinary errand?"

    "The intention to make a hundred thousand pounds for you and as much for
    myself within the next sixty days."

    "Well, well, well. It is the most extraordinary idea that--sit down--you
    interest me. And somehow you--well, you fascinate me; I think that that
    is about the word. And it isn't your proposition--no, that doesn't
    fascinate me; it's something else, I don't quite know what; something
    that's born in you and oozes out of you, I suppose. Now then just for
    curiosity's sake again, nothing more: as I understand it, it is your
    desire to bor----"

    "I said intention."

    "Pardon, so you did. I thought it was an unheedful use of the word--an
    unheedful valuing of its strength, you know."

    "I knew its strength."

    "Well, I must say--but look here, let me walk the floor a little, my mind
    is getting into a sort of whirl, though you don't seem disturbed any.
    (Plainly this young fellow isn't crazy; but as to his being remarkable
    --well, really he amounts to that, and something over.) Now then, I
    believe I am beyond the reach of further astonishment. Strike, and spare
    not. What is your scheme?"

    "To buy the wool crop--deliverable in sixty days."

    "What, the whole of it?"

    "The whole of it."

    "No, I was not quite out of the reach of surprises, after all. Why, how
    you talk! Do you know what our crop is going to foot up?"

    "Two and a half million sterling--maybe a little more."

    "Well, you've got your statistics right, any way. Now, then, do you know
    what the margins would foot up, to buy it at sixty days?"

    "The hundred thousand pounds I came here to get."

    "Right, once more. Well, dear me, just to see what would happen, I wish
    you had the money. And if you had it, what would you do with it?"

    "I shall make two hundred thousand pounds out of it in sixty days."

    "You mean, of course, that you might make it if----"

    "I said 'shall'."

    "Yes, by George, you did say 'shall'! You are the most definite devil I
    ever saw, in the matter of language. Dear, dear, dear, look here!
    Definite speech means clarity of mind. Upon my word I believe you've got
    what you believe to be a rational reason, for venturing into this house,
    an entire stranger, on this wild scheme of buying the wool crop of an
    entire colony on speculation. Bring it out--I am prepared--acclimatized,
    if I may use the word. Why would you buy the crop, and why would you
    make that sum out of it? That is to say, what makes you think you----"

    "I don't think--I know."

    "Definite again. How do you know?"

    "Because France has declared war against Germany, and wool has gone up
    fourteen per cent. in London and is still rising."

    "Oh, in-deed? Now then, I've got you! Such a thunderbolt as you have
    just let fly ought to have made me jump out of my chair, but it didn't
    stir me the least little bit, you see. And for a very simple reason: I
    have read the morning paper. You can look at it if you want to. The
    fastest ship in the service arrived at eleven o'clock last night, fifty
    days out from London. All her news is printed here. There are no
    war-clouds anywhere; and as for wool, why, it is the low-spiritedest
    commodity in the English market. It is your turn to jump, now . . . .
    Well, why, don't you jump? Why do you sit there in that placid fashion,

    "Because I have later news."

    "Later news? Oh, come--later news than fifty days, brought steaming hot
    from London by the----"

    "My news is only ten days old."

    "Oh, Mun-chausen, hear the maniac talk! Where did you get it?"

    "Got it out of a shark."

    "Oh, oh, oh, this is too much! Front! call the police bring the gun
    --raise the town! All the asylums in Christendom have broken loose in the
    single person of----"

    "Sit down! And collect yourself. Where is the use in getting excited?
    Am I excited? There is nothing to get excited about. When I make a
    statement which I cannot prove, it will be time enough for you to begin
    to offer hospitality to damaging fancies about me and my sanity."

    "Oh, a thousand, thousand pardons! I ought to be ashamed of myself, and
    I am ashamed of myself for thinking that a little bit of a circumstance
    like sending a shark to England to fetch back a market report----"

    "What does your middle initial stand for, sir?"

    "Andrew. What are you writing?"

    "Wait a moment. Proof about the shark--and another matter. Only ten
    lines. There--now it is done. Sign it."

    "Many thanks--many. Let me see; it says--it says oh, come, this is
    interesting! Why--why--look here! prove what you say here, and I'll put
    up the money, and double as much, if necessary, and divide the winnings
    with you, half and half. There, now--I've signed; make your promise good
    if you can. Show me a copy of the London Times only ten days old."

    "Here it is--and with it these buttons and a memorandum book that
    belonged to the man the shark swallowed. Swallowed him in the Thames,
    without a doubt; for you will notice that the last entry in the book is
    dated 'London,' and is of the same date as the Times, and says, 'Ber
    confequentz der Kreigeseflarun, reife ich heute nach Deutchland ab, aur
    bak ich mein leben auf dem Ultar meines Landes legen mag'----, as clean
    native German as anybody can put upon paper, and means that in
    consequence of the declaration of war, this loyal soul is leaving for
    home to-day, to fight. And he did leave, too, but the shark had him
    before the day was done, poor fellow."

    "And a pity, too. But there are times for mourning, and we will attend
    to this case further on; other matters are pressing, now. I will go down
    and set the machinery in motion in a quiet way and buy the crop. It will
    cheer the drooping spirits of the boys, in a transitory way. Everything
    is transitory in this world. Sixty days hence, when they are called to
    deliver the goods, they will think they've been struck by lightning. But
    there is a time for mourning, and we will attend to that case along with
    the other one. Come along, I'll take you to my tailor. What did you say
    your name is?"

    "Cecil Rhodes."

    "It is hard to remember. However, I think you will make it easier by and
    by, if you live. There are three kinds of people--Commonplace Men,
    Remarkable Men, and Lunatics. I'll classify you with the Remarkables,
    and take the chances."

    The deal went through, and secured to the young stranger the first
    fortune he ever pocketed.

    The people of Sydney ought to be afraid of the sharks, but for some
    reason they do not seem to be. On Saturdays the young men go out in
    their boats, and sometimes the water is fairly covered with the little
    sails. A boat upsets now and then, by accident, a result of tumultuous
    skylarking; sometimes the boys upset their boat for fun--such as it is
    with sharks visibly waiting around for just such an occurrence. The
    young fellows scramble aboard whole--sometimes--not always. Tragedies
    have happened more than once. While I was in Sydney it was reported that
    a boy fell out of a boat in the mouth of the Paramatta river and screamed
    for help and a boy jumped overboard from another boat to save him from
    the assembling sharks; but the sharks made swift work with the lives of

    The government pays a bounty for the shark; to get the bounty the
    fishermen bait the hook or the seine with agreeable mutton; the news
    spreads and the sharks come from all over the Pacific Ocean to get the
    free board. In time the shark culture will be one of the most successful
    things in the colony.
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