The other nodded, and they both strolled in the direction of the smoking carriages. Jack gazed after them curiously. It was peculiar that the tall man should have said that he was going to Deepwater, for the only sign of civilization at Deepwater Bay was the College—and he could hardly be going there.
"Anyhow," said Jack out loud, "here's Billy, old Bill Faraday himself, and looking about as cheerful as an exhausted codfish."
He slapped the newcomer on the back; but Billy did not brighten appreciably. He was a tall, rather thin youth, with dark eyes and hair that emphasized the present pallor of his face.
"How are things, Jack?"
"Top-hole, old bean—but, I say, what's the matter?"
"Do I look bad? Fact is, old chap, I've been having a pretty rough passage these hols. The pater died, and I'm feeling—"
"I say! I'm awfully sorry. That band on your arm—I didn't notice."
He gripped his pal's arm in silent sympathy. Billy understood. There were never many words between the two, but their understanding was perfect.
Billy's father had been an eminent naturalist. Beyond that, the boy knew very little of him. That he had made explorations into Central Australia, and had attained to considerable fame in scientific circles, Jack was also aware. Billy, however, was a quiet, reserved sort of chap, and no one ever found out much about him or his people. To most of the fellows at the school, indeed, he was a bit of a mystery.
"Don't let us get in with the crowd," said Billy, nodding to an uproariously-cheerful throng at the train windows. "Try this smoker."