"'Had it long,' says he.
"'Some months now,' says I.
"'What's them notches on it for?' says he.
"'I don't know. It don't belong to me.'
"'Whose is it then?' asks he, getting interested.
"'Oh,' says I, 'there's quite a history belonging to that stick.'
"'What sort of a history?'
"'Well,' says I, 'it's like this. My sister, she was staying at Toowoomba up Queensland way; she's the sister of the landlady at the 'Royal.' Well, one day a new chum named Wyckliffe came there to stop. She told me he seemed a decent sort, but he left early for out West the next morning, and he never came back, poor fellow! for he was drowned—so the papers say. Any rate, he left some old clothes at the 'Royal,' and this stick was found amongst them, and she keeps it, for she said he was such a nice fellow.'
"'But it's yours now,' says he.
"'No such luck,' says I. 'She don't know I have it out, else there'd be a row.'