He stood by the box as five bags, all similar to the one Peters first produced, were placed in it. Then he closed the lid carefully, passed a piece of string round it, and sealed it with the Birralong date-stamp.
"That's as safe as the Queensland National," he exclaimed, as he stood up with pride on his face and faced the three lucky diggers.
"It ought to be, unless Birralong has changed," Tony answered, with a short laugh. "Now, suppose we give the Rest a chance?"
Marmot looked round and smiled. Then he went to the back door, closed and bolted it, and came on to the verandah where they were, closing and locking the door after him, and suspending on a nail a notice-board, always ready, and bearing the legend, "Gone to Rest."
"Looks well," Peters said, eyeing the notice.
"Ah, that's his work," Marmot answered, looking at Tony. "He cut the 'the' out, and I've never had time to write another."
He came down from the verandah, mounted the pack-horse, sitting far back behind the pack like an Arab on a donkey, and once more headed the procession from the store to the Rest—a procession which grew in size as it passed down the township road, and collected the units of the male population from their various habitations.
"How's old Slaughter getting on?" Tony asked Marmot, after greeting Smart and Cullen.
"Oh, him?" Marmot answered evasively, as he glanced over at Murray, who, however, did not manifest any interest in the matter.
"I didn't see him last time I was in," Tony went on. "How is the old chap keeping? Still a whale on——"