But we are not on the track yet. Not even in the dressing-room.
* * * *
As the first few to whom I in part confided my intention pooh-poohed the notion, I consulted further with no one; and as I was not in a position to pick up much information concerning the country to be traversed without disclosing plans which were never mentioned but to be laughed at or declared impracticable, I decided to go quietly at the first opportunity, and to be my own "guide, philosopher, and friend."
Still, I was not angry with those who chided me. In common, I fancy, with the majority of Australians, I knew but little of the northern part of the continent; and I honestly believed that the journey was one which it would be difficult to complete. They said impossible, I said difficult—that was all the difference.
Men who knew the country led me in fancy into the centre of the continent, broke my machine upon any one of the thousand unexpected dangers of the open, trackless desert—and asked me to consider my helplessness.
Yes; the journey was formidable. It had no attractions for me if it was otherwise. I thanked my friends, began earnestly to regard the excursion in a serious light, and held my tongue.
I smile benevolently now as I look back upon myself of those days. The thing is done, it then remained to be done.
* * * *