“Yes, by-and-by; not yet. I should like you to have your run about the place for a week or two more—or a month, say. It will not be waste time. You cannot see what is going on about a station like this without learning a great deal that will be invaluable by-and-by. Of course I shall take you with me for a few runs or rides. By the way, did they finish emptying the waggon?”
“Oh yes, father; I saw that done, and kept account of the packages that came over in the Northumbrian. I didn’t know the rest.”
“That was businesslike, and the more so for its being done unasked.”
“But Brookes didn’t like my being there, father.”
“Indeed!” said the doctor slowly. “And the other man—Samson?”
“He liked it, father. We’re capital friends. I like him: he’s such a rum old fellow.”
“Well, you must get to like Brookes too. Now have your run.”
Nic felt better, for the previous day’s trouble had sat upon him like a nightmare. Hurrying to his room he took his gun, and leaving it at the door was guided by the voices to the big store-room, where Mrs Braydon and the girls were busy unpacking and arranging some of the stores brought by the waggon.
Here he was soon dismissed by his sisters, and after promising to be back in good time, he went off across the home part of the station, catching sight of Samson, Brookes, and a couple of the blacks busy over some task in an open shed, which task looked like the stacking up of bundles of wool rolled neatly together.
“I can’t go and tell Brookes I’m sorry before them,” thought Nic; “and I’m afraid I don’t feel sorry. I suppose, though, I was a bit in the wrong. Father knows best; but he wouldn’t have let Brookes speak like that. Brookes wouldn’t have dared to do it.”