“You’re Australian, aren’t you?” the man asked.
Wally nodded. “How did you know?”
“Oh, this is a little place,” said the other. “Strangers are our only excitement, and since the war started we haven’t had nearly so many. All the people who used to come here to fish are away fighting.” He sighed. “Most of them will not come back any more. You were quite a godsend to us. Your boatman told one of my men about you; and the baker’s boy tells the cook; and the butcher tells every one; and the postmistress is simply full of news about you. As for the shops, they are fairly buzzing!”
“Why, there are only two,” said Wally, laughing.
“That’s why they buzz,” said the man. “I don’t go into shops, myself; but I have been altogether unable to repress the delighted confidences of my chauffeur. He tells me that you’re all very keen fishermen——”
“And don’t know a thing about it!” said Wally. “Did he tell you that, too?”
“He said you were getting on,” said the other, guardedly, his eyes twinkling. The chauffeur’s confidences had probably been ample. “But your stories of Australia have them all fascinated, and if they weren’t—most of them—grandfathers, they would probably emigrate in a body. Thank goodness, though, we’ve not many slackers here: almost all our young men are fighting. My chauffeur, poor lad, lost a leg at Ypres. His wooden leg is fairly satisfactory, but of course he can’t go back, much as he wants to. We’re nearly all old men or—cripples”—his voice was suddenly bitter: “and it’s rather pleasant to see young faces again. You bring the stir of the world with you.”
“We’ve had so much stir that we were uncommonly glad to get away from it,” Wally answered. “And this is a jolly place; if there were more big timber it would be nearly as good as our bush-country.” He paused, cheerfully certain of having paid Ireland the highest possible compliment: then he rose. “I must be getting back.”
The man on the boulder rose also, slowly. When he stood up, his crooked shoulders became more evident. He took one or two steps slowly and painfully. Then he staggered, stretching an uncertain hand towards the bank.
“Can I help you?” It was impossible to pretend any longer not to notice: he was swaying, and Wally was beside him with a swift stride. The other caught at the strong young arm.