Devils Luck by J.N

his mates called him “Devil’s Luck”

He was getting old — was on the wrong side of fifty. And he feared, as only a sturdy spirit can fear, the benevolent asylum. So he made up his mind to give up speculating and to save. His idea was to buy a little bit of land, build a hut on it, and raise sufficient food to satisfy his humble wants. The unlucky man always regrets that he did not take to something else. If he is a miner, he says, “Why didn’t I go on the land?” If he is a cocky, he says, “Why the dickens didn’t I try my luck at the diggings?” There is a fortune for every one of us if we strike the right thing. But most of us don’t, and — you know the rest!

“Devil’s Luck” would frequently express at meal times his aspirations to his mates.

Image – Chat GPT

“By Jove,” said Bill Long, on one of these occasions, “I’ve got a bit of land that will suit you to a T.” Here, Bill winked, and the rest of the boys looked hard into space. Bill Long had bought the bit of land referred to, which was situated two or three miles out of Milchester, in the old rush days. It was half swamp, half stony ridge, and it was known as Long’s Estate. The idea of Bill trading this off on poor ‘Luck’ was decidedly humorous. But, for obvious reasons, the boys had no desire to prematurely manifest their keen sense of humor. On the contrary, one after the other solemnly averred that the land in question was the very piece “Devil’s Luck” wanted.

“I will give you fifteen quid for it,” said Luck, “and chance it.”

“A bargain,” cried Long. “Poor Luck strode off to his camp for the money. And then — well, then the boys simply rolled over and over and roared. Miners have a keen sense of humor. On the following Saturday afternoon, Luck went out to see his ‘estate’. He was mortally disappointed. He knew little about land, but he knew enough to convince him at once that his fifteen quid had been thrown away. And then he began to have a vague sensation of suppressed laughter and sly winks.

“I have been had,” he muttered to himself, “not only by Long, but by the whole damned lot of them.” He sat down on the edge of a rock — utterly disgusted. “What an ass I have been,” he muttered to himself. A man does not hesitate to call himself an ass when he is absolutely alone. He knows that the only person present will refuse to accept the accuracy of the description.

In sheer vexation of spirit, he picked up little bits of stone and threw them petulantly at nothingness. He had been playing at this fool’s game for some time when he imagined he saw one little bit shine in the sunlight. “New chum gold, I suppose,” he said, moving forward and picking it up. He looked at it carefully. Rubbed his eyes and looked again. He then gazed vacantly in the direction of the universe, performed something between a whistle and a hiss, and whispered into an invisible ear:

“Gold, by God”

Early next morning, he was out with pick and shovel. He had struck it rich at last. He came home about 8 o’clock in the evening with a new light in his eyes and two or three hundred pounds worth of loose gold in his pockets. He entered Mulligan’s pub just as Long was making a whole barful of them roar with his account of how he had sold his estate. “Fifteen bally sovereigns,” he roared, “and the whole bally thing not worth a tanner.”

While the boys were laughing at this sally Luck entered. “How do, old man?” cried Long. “How do? Damn me if I won’t shout. We’ll drink to the prosperity of your new venture. I know I’ve let you have it dirt cheap.” (Loud laughter.) “But I’ll shout for all that.” After they had drunk prosperity to Luck’s venture, Long said:

“Honor bright, old man, what do you think of your bargain?”

“I reckon it’s the best bargain I ever made in my life,” said Luck earnestly. This was too much for Long and his mates, and the pub literally shook with their laughter. It was the joke of the evening, and miners, as previously observed, have a keen sense of humor.

A fortnight after, Luck sold his claim for £10,000.

Long, if not a wiser, is certainly a sadder man. “Great Scott!” he is sometimes heard to exclaim, “to think that I was a blanky millionaire for twenty bloomin’ years and never knew it!”

Source:
The Westralian Worker (Kalgoorlie, WA), 20 December 1901, p. 1
Ref:  australianculture.org