"Of all the ol' sweeps!" said Tom. "Tell you what, you look like a lumper, absolutely nothing but a lumper."
"And what do you think you look like, you distorted scavenger!"
Tom grinned uncomfortably.
They got out of the station at Perth without having paid any railway fare.
The first place they went to was Mr. George's office. Jack pushed Tom through the door, and stood himself in the doorway fingering his greasy felt hat. Tom dropped his, picked it up, hit it against his knee.
Mr. George, neat in pale-grey suit and white waistcoat, glared at them briefly.
"Now then, my men, what can I do f' ye?"
"Why——" began Tom, grinning sheepishly.
"Trouble about a mining right?—mate stolen half y' gold dust?—want stake a claim on somebody else's reserve?—Come, out with it. What d' you want me to do for ye, man?"
"Why——" Tom began, more foolishly grinning than ever. Mr. George looked shrewdly at him, then at Jack. Then he sat back smiling.