"Mr. O'Gorman," I bleated, "did anyone ever really live here?"
"Of course," he answered. "I did; camped here wi' Braun six months. And, look, my name's Terry. Blow yer 'mister.'"
I laughed in spite of myself. "Righto, Terry. Well, let's go and view my estate."
We went down a chain or two further, and hit a fine, clear, rushing creek. On the other bank a dense jungle came down to the water, the edge a tangled mass of lawyer-vines climbing half-way up the trees. Terry halted and, with a wave of his hand, invited my attention to that serried bulwark of thorns, prickles and stinging abominations.
"There's your place, Charlie."
My heart was too full. "B-but what am I to do with it?" I wailed.
Here was a fine end to my dreams of fortune-growing spuds!
"Do with it!" he laughed. "Why! Get a brush-hook and axe, and a good load o' tucker, and bog in like a man. I'll give y' a week to give ye a fair start."
I turned away. Never shall I forget the helpless feeling of sickening disillusionment.
"For God's sake, Terry, let's get back," I said. And we went.