the gold lies in the rock like suet in mutton.
Gold I’ve seen, and turquoise I’ve kicked out
of the cliffs, and there’s garnets in the sands
of the river, and here’s a chunk of amber
that a man brought me. Call up all the
priests and, here, take your crown.’

“One of the men opens a black hair bag
and I slips the crown on. It was too small
and too heavy, but I wore it for the glory.
Hammered gold it was—five pound weight,
like a hoop of a barrel.

“‘Peachey,’ says Dravot, ‘we don’t want to
fight no more. The Craft’s the trick so help
me!’ and he brings forward that same Chief
that I left at Bashkai—Billy Fish we called
him afterwards, because he was so like Billy
Fish that drove the big tank-engine at Mach
on the Bolan in the old days. ‘Shake hands
with him,’ says Dravot, and I shook hands
and nearly dropped, for Billy Fish gave me
the Grip. I said nothing, but tried him
with the Fellow Craft Grip. He answers,
all right, and I tried the Master’s Grip, but
that was a slip. ‘A Fellow Craft he is!’
I says to Dan. ‘Does he know the word?’
‘He does,’ says Dan, ‘and all the priests
know. It’s a miracle! The Chiefs and
the priest can work a Fellow Craft Lodge