“Yes. Seems odd, doesn’t it?”
“I’ve got some good news to break to you, Roland, so prepare for the shock. I’m going back to Australia, now at once, the day after to-morrow.”
“The deuce you are! Tired of us already?”
“Tired of you! My dear old chap, how long have I been over here? Just a year. And about ten months out of the twelve has been spent here. Tired of you! Why, the shoe’s on the other hoof, I think.”
“That’s bosh, Hubert. We’ve had very jolly times here together. But why are you off? Business?”
“That’s it. As part proprietor and director of the Kulgurra and Dawkins Reef Company I’ve made my pile, and can go on making it. But, the fact is, this sort of life is turning me too soft again. Besides, I have a hankering after a certain amount of Bush life from time to time. They say every fellow gets it once he has known it. I must get back there and hustle around again.”
“I daresay you’re right after all. Olive will be sorry. But, Hubert, when you are back in the old country again, you know where your home is?”
“Rather, old chap. How things come round, eh? The last place I should ever have thought of in that connection would have been this jolly old place. But now.”
“There’s an unwelcome sort of song to you, Hubert,” said Roland drily, as an unmistakable infantile squall sounded from an upper room, for they had regained the house now. “One more between you and this. And he’s sound in wind and limb; extra so, in fact.”
“Oh, skittles, old man,” laughed the other. “And as to that, I’ll be more of a millionaire than you are, if things go on as they’ve begun. No, no. You’re the man for this place, and I hope you’ll live another hundred years—you and Olive—to run it, and my six-month-old godson, now equalling up there, after you.”