For almost a year Tom and Jack had never written home. There didn't seem any reason. In his last letter Tom, suddenly having some sort of qualms, had sent his cheque to his maiden Aunts in York, because he knew, now Gran and Dad were gone, they'd be in shallow water. This off his conscience, he let Wandoo go out of his mind and spirit.
But now wandered in a letter from Aunt Lucy—dreaded name! It was a "thank you, my dear nephew," and went on to say that though she would be the last to repeat things she hoped trouble was not hanging over Mrs. Ellis' head.
Tom looked at Jack——
"We'd best go back," said Jack, reading his eyes.
"Seems like it."
So—the time had come. The "freedom" was over. They were going back.—They caught the old ship "Venus," going south with cattle.
To come back in body is not always to come back in mind and spirit. When Jack saw the white buildings of Fremantle he knew his soul was far from Fremantle. But nothing to be done. The old ship bumped against the wharf, and was tied up. Nothing to do but to step ashore.
They loafed off that ship with a gang of similar unkempt, unshaved, greasy, scoundrelly returners.
"Come an' 'ave a spot!"
"What about it, Tom?"