"No bad news, I hope, lad," spoke Mackay, kindly.
Bob struggled with his emotion for a moment without success, then handed the pages to his interrogator in silence. Mackay read them over carefully, with a face showing keen concern; indeed, he seemed even more moved than Bob when he had finished. "Ay, ay," he said huskily, "he was a good man, an' there's too few o' his sort in the world. But you'll dae what your mother bids you. You will put up that cross afore you leave Australia. I'll—I'll help you to find the place." Then he turned abruptly to Jack, who had read his letter, and was now gazing at the envelope with profound content.
"You've been gloatin' over your billy doo for some time, Jack," he said lightly. "I don't suppose your news has affected your appetite."
Jack flushed, and made haste to secrete his precious missive; but in his hurry the envelope fell to the floor, and it was observed that it bore the same peculiar postmark as Bob's. The boy grabbed it up in confusion, while the big man laughed. Whereupon Jack waxed indignant.
"What about your own billet-doux?" he asked mischievously. "I think I noticed you got a letter too."
"Here it is, young Lochinvar, here it is," and Mackay flung an open sheet at the youth. "Read it, read it; don't mind me. I'm sort o' pleased to mak' it known that somebody thinks o' me."
Obeying his request, Jack cleared his throat and read aloud the following:—
"Dear Mr. Mackay.—
"I have just heard that you are about to start out on a journey into the interior, and I thought I would remind you of a little account I have against you for several items you sent for last week. The amount is £10 17s. 6d. I'll let you off the odd sixpence, but please send your cheque for the remainder before you start. The Never Never is such an uncertain country—to get out of. Best wishes.
"Yours sincerely,
"J. Rannigan."
"Now, that is what I call a thoughtful letter," commented Jack, when he had finished.