"Give me the number of your cabin and I'll see that your steward takes charge of it." He took them down the gangway, probably relieved, in his heart, that they were going, since passengers are not beloved of sailor folk when loading cargo is in progress. "Glorious day—too good to spend down in this place," he said, wistfully, looking at the dark masses of the hills.
They found a train about to start, and were soon back in Adelaide itself; little city of wide streets, girdled with a four-square belt of park lands. Wandering, somewhat aimlessly, up King William Street, a tall man suddenly detached himself from a group at a corner and came quickly to meet them.
"Why, Mrs. Lester—what luck?" He shook hands vigorously. "And the kid—he's grown up!"
"Oh, Billy, how nice to see you!" said Mrs. Lester. Billy Cathcart had gained "colonial experience" on the Lesters' station for two years before his father, a rich Englishman, had bought him a property of his own in South Australia. They were very fond of him; he had made himself a kind of big son of the house, and when he went away they missed him sorely.
"But what are you doing here? And is the Boss back?"
Mrs. Lester explained.
"And you never told me you were going through!" said Billy reproachfully.
"My dear boy, I knew you were nearly two hundred miles from Adelaide—and I had about two minutes' warning that I was coming. I never dreamed of any possibility of seeing you. Why aren't you in the wilds, earning your living?"
Billy Cathcart laughed.
"I've been earning it at a great rate lately," he said. "Made a lucky deal in cattle, and cleared quite a lot—so I came down to buy a car. I've been driving one a good bit, and it made me keen to have one of my own. I say—-if you've got the day to do nothing in, do let me take you out. She's a beauty, really."