“Hallo!” said Mallard, the editor of the Champion, to Flynn, his sub, who called his attention to the advertisement, “so 'Magnetic Villa' is turned into a hash house, eh? Wonder who they are? 'Highly refined family circle'—sounds fishy, doesn't it? Do you know anything about them?”
“No, but old Maclean, the Melbourne drummer who came up in the Barcoo from Sydney with them, does—at least he knew the old man, who died about a year and a half ago.”
“What was he?”
“Bank messenger in Sydney at thirty bob a week; used to lend money to the clerks at high interest, and did very well; for when he pegged out he left the old woman a couple of thousand. His name was Trappem—John Trappem, but he was better known as 'Old Jack Trap.' When they came on board the Barcoo they put on no end of side, and they were 'Mrs., the Misses, and Master Lee-Trappème.'”
“Lord! what a joke! Did the drummer give the show away on board?”
“No, for a wonder. But he told me of it.”
“Daughters good looking?”
“Younger one is not too bad; elder's a terror—thin, bony, long face, long nose, long feet, long conceit of herself, and pretty long age, walks mincingly, like a hen on a hot griddle, and———”
“Oh, stop it! The old woman?”
“Fat, ruddy-faced, pleasant-looking, white hair, talks of her 'poor papaless girls,' &c. She's a pushing old geyser, however, and has already got the parsons and some of the other local nobility to call on her.”