"It's on Michael's mind, Rum-Enough's going and taking Sophie with him," George, said.
"I don't wonder," Watty replied. "He'll come a cropper, sure as eggs.... And what's to become of her? Michael 'd go to town with them if he had a bean—but he hasn't. He's stony, I know."
Even to his mate he did not say why he knew, and George did not ask, understanding Watty's silence. It was not very long since George himself had given Michael a couple of pounds; but he had a very good idea Michael had little to do with the use of that money. He guessed that he would have less to do with whatever he got from Watty.
"Charley's going over to Warria to-morrow, isn't he?" he asked.
Watty grunted. "About time he did something. Michael's been grafting for him for a couple of years ... and he'd have gone to the station himself—only he didn't want to go away till he knew what Paul was going to do. Been trying pretty hard to persuade him to leave Sophie—till he's fixed up down town—but you wouldn't believe how obstinate the idiot is. Thinks he can make a singer of her in no time ... then she'll keep her old dad till kingdom come."
Michael's figure was lost to sight between the trees which encroached on the track beyond the town. Jun was singing in the hotel. His great rollicking voice came to George and Watty with shouts of laughter. George, looking back through the open door, saw Rouminof had joined the crowd round the bar.
He was drinking as George's glance fell on him.
"Think he's all right?" Watty asked.
George did not reply.
"You don't suppose Jun 'd try to take the stones off of him, do you, George?" Watty inquired again. "You don't think——?"