‘Old boy,’ translated Bellthorp to the others, ‘is ‘tonished.’
‘You have,’ said the stranger, with an airy wave of his hand, ‘the appearance of gentlemen, but, alas! you are but whited sepulchres, fair to look upon, but full of dead men’s bones within.’
‘Jarper,’ said Bellthorp, solemnly, taking Barty’s arm, ‘you’re a tombstone with skeleton inside—come along—old boy is right—set of cads ‘suiting an unprotected gal—good night, sir.’
The others picked up their companion out of the gutter, and the whole lot rolled merrily down the street.
‘And this,’ said the gentleman, lifting up his face to the sky in mute appeal to heaven, ‘this is the generation which is to carry on Australia. Oh, Father Adam, what a dissipated family you have got—ah!—good for a comedy, I think.’
‘Oh!’ cried Kitty, recognising a familiar remark, ‘it’s Mr Wopples.’
‘The same,’ said the airy Theodore, laying his hand on his heart, ‘and you, my dear—why, bless me,’ looking closely at her, ‘it is the pretty girl I met in Ballarat—dear, dear—surely you have not come to this.’
‘No, no,’ said Kitty, quickly, laying her hand on his arm, ‘I will tell you all about it, Mr Wopples; but you must be a friend to me, for I sadly need one.’
‘I will be your friend,’ said the actor, emphatically, taking her arm and walking slowly down the street; ‘tell me how I find you thus.’
‘You won’t tell anyone if I do?’ said Kitty, imploringly.