“No, no; I mean did Leather ever knock you about?”
“Baal, no. Budgery (good).”
“Go over to the Wattles, Mr Dillon’s, and find—did catch Leather. You pidney? (understand).”
The man gave him a sly look, laughed, and ran into the cow-shed, to come out directly after in his dress clothes, and armed. Then with a shout he ran off at a long, quick trot toward the track.
It was getting toward midnight when he returned, to cooey under the boy’s window.
“Well, did you find out?”
“No catch. White fellow plenty run along myall bush.”
“Here, catch,” cried Nic, and he pitched the man a big piece of damper and the blade-bone of a shoulder of mutton; and then, as he closed the window, he fancied he heard whispering outside his door, and another door closed.