CHAPTER XXII.
DALBY.
As the 1.50 train was preparing to start, four men stood round the ticket-office. They were the boys and the girls. The former had chosen clothes similar to those Hal had used with so much success, while the latter assumed a dress that might be worn by anyone without being conspicuous.
There is no country in the world where it is more difficult to judge a person by his dress than Australia. You may sit beside a rough, vulgar-looking fellow, with an old cabbage-tree hat and a dirty pair of moles, with all the appearance of a tramp; yet he may be a squatter, who could write a cheque for twenty thousand. To a casual observer, the boys would easily pass as shearers or men on the look-out for work, and the girls would pass as easily for new chums. There were plenty of both classes scattered over the country, and neither party was likely to attract exceptional attention.
"You can only book to Dalby," said the ticket-clerk. "There has been a break-down beyond that point."
"When?" asked Hal.
"Last night. I fancy it is due to some of the shearers, who are out on strike, so, if you are going for a job, you had better look out and join the union."
"We won't trouble them," answered Hal. "We are going for cattle," and he took two second-class tickets for Dalby.
"Two second, Dalby," said Hil, following close behind him.
As the train started May laughed and said: