"Well—that may be," admitted Mrs. Lester demurely. "Come on, Dickie, we must finish our packing."
The Moondarra slipped quietly into Fremantle Harbour while they were still in their cabins; Dick's first intimation of the fact being a shadow across the port-hole as a yacht's tall masts slipped by, followed by the blackened smoke stack of a collier. He jumped up on his bunk to peer out. The land was very close; a confused jumble of uninteresting red-brick houses met his eyes, and a mass of shipping of all sorts and sizes. The western sea gate of Australia is busy, but unbeautiful. Dick remarked, "H'm—about up to Port Melbourne!" and got down again to finish locking a suit-case.
"Can I help you, Dick? We're nearly in."
"Just finished, mother, thanks. Did the steward strap up your trunks?"
"He's doing them now. Dick, I have been talking to Mr. Warner; they are going to an hotel in Perth, and he suggests that we should go there too; it is the best, he says."
"Right oh, mother. And where's Perth?"
"What do I send you to school for?" demanded Mrs. Lester laughing.
"Oh, I know it's on the Swan," said Dick, grinning in his turn. "But is it far?"
"Only a few miles. Mr. Warner advises us to go up by motor."
"That would be jolly!" Dick exclaimed. "I say, mother—can we go to the Orient office and ask about father's boat?"