On about the fourth morning Steelman had a yarn with one of the men going to work. He was a lanky young fellow with a sandy complexion, and seemingly harmless grin. In Australia he might have been regarded as a “cove” rather than a “chap,” but there was nothing of the “bloke” about him. Presently the cove said:
“What do you think of the boss, Mr Stoneleigh? He seems to have taken a great fancy for you, and he’s fair gone on geology.”
“I think he is a very decent fellow indeed, a very intelligent young man. He seems very well read and well informed.”
“You wouldn’t think he was a University man,” said the cove.
“No, indeed! Is he?”
“Yes. I thought you knew!”
Steelman knitted his brows. He seemed slightly disturbed for the moment. He walked on a few paces in silence and thought hard.
“What might have been his special line?” he asked the cove.
“Why, something the same as yours. I thought you knew. He was reckoned the best—what do you call it?—the best minrologist in the country. He had a first-class billet in the Mines Department, but he lost it—you know—the booze.”
“I think we will be making a move, Smith,” said Steelman, later on, when they were private. “There’s a little too much intellect in this camp to suit me. But we haven’t done so bad, anyway. We’ve had three days’ good board and lodging with entertainments and refreshments thrown in.” Then he said to himself: “We’ll stay for another day anyway. If those beggars are having a lark with us, we’re getting the worth of it anyway, and I’m not thin-skinned. They’re the mugs and not us, anyhow it goes, and I can take them down before I leave.”