"Any way. Work's scarce; contractors camped for want of water; too late for burr-cutting; nothing doing. I wish to God the rabbits would come something worth while."
And so the profitless conversation (conversation is generally profitless) went on by fits and starts, till the sand and dirt-pellets ceased to drift. Half-an-hour later, it was an almost perfect calm, though the air was still charged with dust.
By this time, I had re-packed, and was ready to start. My guest was now on his feet, but shaky enough. With Bligh-like impartiality, I meted out half a pint of water to him, the same quantity to Pup, and the remaining quarter-pint to myself.
"Got a bit of tobacco to spare?" he asked. "Mine's all in my swag."
"Certainly," I replied. "Are you hard-up? Because I can lend you five bob till we meet again."
"No, thank-you. I 've got a couple or three notes left, and even if I hadn't,
I'd think twice before I touched your money. Money's a peculiar thing."
"Especially in the sense of being peculiar to certain sections of society," I replied. "Now strike straight across there, and you'll fetch the tank in a mile and a half."
"What's your name?" he demanded, as I placed my foot in the stirrup.
"Collins."
"Well, so-long!"