"I have an idea—but I am not certain—when I am certain, I'll speak."
"You think Fitzgerald killed my friend," said Moreland. "I see it in your face."
Mr. Gorby smiled. "Perhaps," he said, ambiguously. "Wait till I'm certain."
CHAPTER VII.
A WOOL KING.
The old Greek story of Midas, who turned everything he touched into gold, is truer than most people suppose. Medievel superstition changed the human being who possessed such a power into the philosopher's stone, after which so many alchemists went hunting in the dark ages, but we of the nineteenth century have given the miracle of changing everything into gold by the touch, back to its human possessor. We, however, do not ascribe it either to Greek deity or Medieval superstition, but simply call it luck; and he who possesses luck is a happy man, or, at least, he ought to be. Wiseacres who may read this will, of course, repeat the stale proverb that "Riches do not bring happiness." But luck means more than riches—it means happiness in everything which the fortunate possessor may choose to go in for. If he goes into a speculation, it turns out well; if he marries a wife, she is sure to be everything that can be desired; if he aspires to a position, social or political, he attains it with ease—worldly wealth, domestic happiness and good position, all these belong to the men who have luck. Mark Frettlby was one of these fortunate individuals, and his luck was proverbial throughout Australia. If there was any speculation for which Mark Frettlby went in, other men would be sure to follow, and in every case the result turned out as well, and in many cases even better than they expected. He had come out in the early days of the colony with comparatively little money, but his great perseverance and never failing luck had soon changed his hundreds into thousands; and now at the age of fifty-five he did not himself know the extent of his income. He had large stations scattered all over the colony of Victoria, which brought him in a splendid
