This cleared the way tremendously. The gaunt bushman hitched himself a little nearer, and spoke in an insinuating way. “I’m pretty tired of this case meself, I dunno how you feel about it.”
“Tired!” said Peggy. “I’m wore out. Fair wore out,” and she heaved a sigh like an elephant.
That sigh did for old Considine. Hurriedly he unburdened his mind.
“Well, look’ee here, Peggy—I’ve got whips of stuff now, and I’ve got to go to England for it. You come along o’ me again, and we’ll knock all this business on the head. Let the Gordons alone—they’re decent young fellows, the both of ’em—and come along o’ me to England. That young English feller reckons we’d be as good as the Prince of Wales, very near. Will you come, Peggy?”
It is the characteristic of great minds to think quickly, and act promptly. Peggy did both.
“Mick!” she said, calling to her brother in a sharp, authoritative voice: “Mick! I’ve been talking to Paddy here, and we’ve reckoned we’ve had enough of this fooling, and we’re off to England. You go in and tell old Fuzzy-Head” (she meant the Judge) “that I’m tired of this case, and I ain’t goin’ on wid it. Come on, Paddy, will we go and get some tea?”
“Yes, and there’s some tremenjus fine opals in a shop down this way I’ll buy you!” said Considine, as they started to walk away from the Court.
At that moment Blake came out of Court, saw them, and stepped in front of Peggy.
“Who is this man?” he said.
Peggy had never quite forgiven his domineering at Tarrong, and turned on him with a snap.