"No," Michael said.
"Came up by the coach this evening," Roy said, and ran after Bully and Sophie.
It was a rowdy night at Newton's. Shearing was just over at Warria sheds, and men with cheques to burn were crowding the bar and passages. Sophie was hailed with cheers as she neared the veranda. Her father staggered out towards her, waving his arms crazily. Sophie was surprised when she found the crowd waiting for her. There were so many strangers in it—rough men with heavy, inflamed faces—hardly one she knew among them. A murmur and boisterous clamour of voices came from the bar. The men on the veranda made way for her.
Her heart quailed when she looked into the big earthen-floored bar, and saw its crowd of rough-haired, sun-red men, still wearing the clothes they had been working in, grey flannel shirts and dungarees, blood-splashed, grimy, and greasy with the "yolk" of fleeces they had been handling. The smell of sheep and the sweat of long days of shearing and struggling with restless beasts were in the air, with fumes of rank tobacco and the flat, stale smell of beer. The hanging lamp over the bar threw only a dim light through the fog of smoke the men had put up, and which from the doorway completely obscured Peter Newton where he stood behind the bar.
Sophie hung back.
"I'm not going in there," she said.
"Did you know Mr. Armitage was up?" Roy asked.
"No," she said.
He explained how Mr. Armitage had come unexpectedly by the coach that evening. Sophie saw him among the men on the veranda.
"I'll sing here," she told Bully and Roy, leaning against a veranda post.