Over the Sliprails | Page 6

years ago. She
was in Sydney last time I heard of her. It ain't no affair of mine,
anyways."
"And is there any woman about the place at all, driver?" inquired a
professional wanderer reflectively.
"No -- not that I knows on. There useter be a old black gin come
pottering round sometimes, but I ain't seen her lately."
"And excuse me, driver, but is there anyone round there at all?"
enquired the professional wanderer, with the air of a conscientious
writer, collecting material for an Australian novel from life, with an eye
to detail.
"Naw," said the driver -- and recollecting that he was expected to be
civil and obliging to his employers' patrons, he added in surly apology,
"Only the boss and the stableman, that I knows of." Then repenting of
the apology, he asserted his manhood again, and asked, in a tone
calculated to risk a breach of the peace, "Any more questions,
gentlemen -- while the shop's open?"
There was a long pause.
"Driver," asked the Pilgrim appealingly, "was them horses lost at all?"
"I dunno," said the driver. "He said they was. He's got the looking after
them. It was nothing to do with me."
. . . . .
"Twelve drinks at sixpence a drink" -- said the Joker, as if calculating
to himself -- "that's six bob, and, say on an average, four shouts -- that's
one pound four. Twelve beds at eighteenpence a bed -- that's eighteen
shillings; and say ten bob in various drinks and the stuff we brought
with us, that's two pound twelve. That publican didn't do so bad out of

us in two hours."
We wondered how much the driver got out of it, but thought it best not
to ask him.
. . . . .
We didn't say much for the rest of the journey. There was the usual
man who thought as much and knew all about it from the first, but he
wasn't appreciated. We suppressed him. One or two wanted to go back
and "stoush" that landlord, and the driver stopped the coach cheerfully
at their request; but they said they'd come across him again and allowed
themselves to be persuaded out of it. It made us feel bad to think how
we had allowed ourselves to be delayed, and robbed, and had sneaked
round on tiptoe, and how we had sat on the inoffensive Pilgrim and his
mate, and all on account of a sick wife who didn't exist.
The coach arrived at Dead Camel in an atmosphere of mutual suspicion
and distrust, and we spread ourselves over the train and departed.

A Gentleman Sharper and Steelman Sharper

Steelman and Smith had been staying at the hotel for several days in
the dress and character of bushies down for what they considered a
spree. The gentleman sharper from the Other Side had been hanging
round them for three days now. Steelman was the more sociable, and,
to all appearances, the greener of the two bush mates; but seemed rather
too much under the influence of Smith, who was reserved, suspicious,
self-contained, or sulky. He almost scowled at Gentleman Sharper's
"Good-morning!" and "Fine day!", replied in monosyllables and turned
half away with an uneasy, sullen, resentful hump of his shoulder and
shuffle of his feet.
Steelman took Smith for a stroll on the round, bald tussock hills
surrounding the city, and rehearsed him for the last act until after
sundown.
Gentleman Sharper was lounging, with a cigar, on the end of the
balcony, where he had been contentedly contemplating the beautiful
death of day. His calm, classic features began to whiten (and sharpen)
in the frosty moonlight.
Steelman and Smith sat on deck-chairs behind a half-screen of ferns on
the other end of the balcony, smoked their after-dinner smoke, and

talked in subdued tones as befitted the time and the scene -- great,
softened, misty hills in a semicircle, and the water and harbour lights in
moonlight.
The other boarders were loitering over dinner, in their rooms, or gone
out; the three were alone on the balcony, which was a rear one.
Gentleman Sharper moved his position, carelessly, noiselessly, yet
quickly, until he leaned on the rail close to the ferns and could overhear
every word the bushies said. He had dropped his cigar overboard, and
his scented handkerchief behind a fern-pot en route.
"But he looks all right, and acts all right, and talks all right -- and
shouts all right," protested Steelman. "He's not stumped, for I saw
twenty or thirty sovereigns when he shouted; and he doesn't seem to
care a damn whether we stand in with him or not."
"There you are! That's just where it is!" said Smith, with some logic,
but in a tone a wife uses