“It’s a roight shmart town thot same Sydney is, as ye know yersilf, Frankie, fer it’s goin’ there ye wur th’ last toime Oi saw yez. Oi wur moighty intheristed in that place, an’ wan day who should Oi mate roight on th’ strata but—— Oi’ll bet ye can’t guess in a thousan’ years, Frankie.”
“Yah,” nodded Hans; “he don’d peen aple to guess in zwei t’ousan’ year.”
“Then I will not try,” said Frank. “Who was it that you met, Barney?”
“It wur th’ girrul ye used ter be so shtuck on at Fardale, me b’y.”
“What, not—not——”
“Inza Burrage!”
“Yah, Inza Porrige,” grinned Hans.
Inza Burrage was a young lady of whom Frank had been very found in former days, and she still held a warm corner in his heart.
“Goodness!” cried Frank. “Inza—in Australia?”
“Sure she wur, me b’y. Ye know th’ last toime ye saw her she wur wid her fayther, an’ th’ ould gintlemon wur thravelin’ fer his hilth on th’ continent.”