"Oh, it's enough, if you're all right yourself—I was thinking of Ellis' place. I've got the twins here now. They're kinsmen of yours, the Ellises—and of mine, too. We're all related, in clans and cliques and gangs, out here in this colony. Your mother belongs to the Ellis clan.—Well, now. Ellis' place is a fine home farm, and not too far. Only he's got a family of fine young lambs, my step-sister's children into the bargain. And y'see, if y're a wolf in sheep's clothing—for you look mild enough—why, I oughtn't be sending you among them. Young lasses and boys bred and reared out there in the bush, why—. Come now, son—y' father protected you by silence.—But you're not in court, and you needn't heed me. Tell me straight out what you were expelled from your Bedford school for."
Jack was silent for a moment, rather pale about the nose. "I was nabbed," he said in a colourless voice, "at a fight with fists for a purse of sovereigns, laid either side. Plenty of others were there. But they got away, and the police nabbed me for the school colours on my cap. My father was just back from Ceylon, and he stood by me. But the Head said for the sake of example and for the name of the school I'd better be chucked out. They were talking about the school in the newspapers. The Head said he was sorry to expel me."
Mr. George blew his nose into a large yellow red-spotted handkerchief, and looked for a few moments into the distance.
"Seems to me you let yourself be made a bit of a cat's paw of," he said dubiously.
"I suppose it's because I don't care," said Jack.
"But you ought to care.—Why don't y'?"
There was no answer.
"You'll have to care some day or other," the old man continued.
"Do you know, sir, which hotel I shall go to?" asked Jack.
"You'll go to no hotel. You'll come home with me.—But mind y'. I've got my two young nieces, Ellis' twins, couple of girls, Ellis' daughters, where I'm going to send you. They're at my house. And there's my other niece, Mary, who I'm very fond of. She's not an Ellis, she's a Rath, and an orphan, lives with her Aunt Matilda, my sister. They don't live with me. None of 'em live with me. I live alone, except for a good, plain cook, since my wife died.—But I tell you, they're visiting me. And I shall look to you to behave yourself, now: both here and at Wandoo, which is Ellis' station. I'll take you there in the morning.—But y'see now where I'm taking you: among a pack of innocent sheep that's probably never seen a goat to say Boh! to—or Baa! if you like—makes no difference. We don't raise goats in Western Australia, as I'm aware of.—But I'm telling you, if you're a wolf in sheep's clothing—. No, you needn't say anything. You probably don't know what you are, anyhow. So come on. I'll tell somebody to bring your bags—looks a rare jorum to me—and we'll walk."