They had evidently been strangers the day before, or as strange to each other as Bushmen can be.
Bill scratched behind his ear, and blinked at the dog. The dog woke suddenly to a flea fact.
‘Yes,’ drawled Bill, ‘he’s mine.’
‘Well, I’m going Out-Back, and I want a dog,’ said Jim, gathering the cards briskly. ‘Half a quid agin the dog?’
‘Half a quid be——!’ drawled Bill. ‘Call it a quid?’
‘Half a blanky quid!’
‘A gory, lurid quid!’ drawled Bill desperately, and he stooped over his swag.
But Jim’s hands were itching in a ghastly way over the cards.
‘Alright. Call it a—— quid.’
The drunkard on the sofa stirred, showed signs of waking, but died again. Remember this, it might come in useful.