"How about 48?" I asked. This was one I had picked on, when poring over the multitudinous plans and descriptions I got in Brisbane.
"It's a goodey," he said. "I reckon about the best one left for soil and handiness, but there ain't no mill timber on it."
"Oh, blow the timber! I want a block of land."
"That's the sort," he replied. "Well, look. I can't go out with you to-day, but you go right out to Liston's place. Ye can't miss the way; just foller the wheel tracks. Y'oughter get there by one o'clock, and you'll find a bloke there called Terry O'Gorman. He'll put you right. His block's next 48."
"Good-oh; thanks," I answered. "Comin' in to breakfast?" (as the bell went).
We went in, and during the meal he gave me a lot of information about the district and my future neighbours. He gave me the impression of being a quiet, shrewd, straight sort of a fellow.
Breakfast over, Raynor bade me a cheery good-bye, and I prepared for the tramp. New dungaree pants, new thunder and lightning striped cotton shirt, new tan leggings, sparkling new billy in one hand, and a shot-gun in the other—in case I saw anything to shoot en route—and a black hard felt hat! Verily a Verdant Green among new chums.
The folks at the pub all came out on the verandah to see me off. I thought, English fashion, they were good simple people, and kind to give me a send off. Oh, Lord! I was the simpleton, and they were enjoying the joke. By the way, a week's sojourn here thoroughly eliminated that "superiah" feeling—much to my benefit. In this new life the people were all my superiors, and I mighty soon recognised it.
Off I set. The track led through open forest, skirting the scrub, and if there was ever a better imitation of a switchback, I want to know! Up and down, up and down, mile after mile, until I, unused to such toil, was nearly worn out. However, I came at last to a clear "pocket," where the road branched. "Ha!" I thought, "Raynor said it was only a mile and a half from here," and, turning to the right, entered the scrub. The track was only about sixteen feet wide, cut nearly straight. On either hand the impenetrable jungle of prickly undergrowth and close-packed huge trees towering a hundred feet or more overhead, shutting out the sunlight. It was beautifully cool, but the road, dry hitherto, was now very muddy, and I trudged on ankle deep, three steps forward and one back. Half an hour of this, then suddenly, like a door opening, I was out of the scrub, with a big grassed clearing either side of the road, and several little houses in sight. The second was Liston's, and I reached it in a few minutes. A rosy-cheeked woman, with several fine sturdy youngsters standing shyly behind her, greeted me.
"You'll be Mr. Senex? My name's Liston. Mr. O'Gorman'll be here in a minute. He's just up the paddock with Dad. Come in; I'm sure you're dyin' for a drink o' tea."