Nic took the big tin mug.
“Damper?”
“Oh no, father; I had a thorough good rub.”
“I said damper.”
“Yes, father, I know. Only my hair—just a little.”
“He dunno what you mean, sir,” said Brookes with a chuckle, as he waited to take the men’s share of the breakfast away.
“Oh, I see,” said the doctor, laughing. “Have some hot bread with your bacon, Nic? We call this cake damper.”
Nic did not mind what they called it, and he took his portion and his rasher of hot bacon, and he repeated the action with the greatest of pleasure, sipping at intervals from the milkless contents of his big tin mug without once regretting the absence of milk or cream.
Memorandum. Ride for many hours over the luxuriant downs on a clear day, when the air is laden with the health-giving odours of the gum trees, lie down tired out, and sleep with your slumber appearing to last one minute, but enduring for eight hours; lastly, have a plunge in a clear water-hole, and after a brief swim a tremendous rub, and you will be ready to perform as satisfactorily over the al fresco breakfast and do it as much justice as Dominic Braydon.
“A little more, Nic?” said his father.