This was altogether very disheartening work,
particularly as the expenses of living were not small. There were many,
however, much worse off than ourselves, though here and there a lucky
digger excited the envy of all around him. Many were the tricks
resorted to in order to deceive new-comers. Holes were offered for
sale, in which the few grains that were carefully placed in sight was
all that the buyer gained by his purchase.
A scene of this description was enacted this Friday evening, at a
little distance from us. The principal actors in it were two in number.
One sat a little way from his hole with a heap of soil by his
side, and a large tin dish nearly full of dirt in his hand. As he
swayed the dish to and fro in the process of washing, an immense
number of small nuggets displayed themselves, which fact in a loud tone
he announced to his "mate", at the same time swearing at him for
keeping at work so late in the evening. This digger, who was shovelling
up more dirt from the hole, answered in the same elegant language,
calling him an "idle good-for-nought." Every now and then he threw a
small nugget to the tin-dish-washer, loudly declaring, "he'd not leave
off while them bright bits were growing thick as taters underground."
"Then be d - - d if I don't!" shouted the other;" and I'll sell the hole
for two hundred yeller boys down."
This created a great sensation among the bystanders, who during the
time had collected round, and among whom was a party of three,
evidently "new chums."
"It shall go for a hundred and fifty!" again shouted the washer, giving
a glance in the direction in which they stood.
