“I remember,” said Wally, dreamily, “many a time——”
“In your long-dead youth?” asked Jim.
“In the early Forties, he means,” put in Mr. Linton. “Don’t disturb his eloquence.”
“My inborn respect for your father prevents my saying what I would like to both of you,” said the victim. “Anyhow, I remember——”
“Full well,” said Norah, with emotion.
“Oh, get out, you Linton tribe!” ejaculated the harassed one. “I’m talking to Jean.”
“Why?” queried Jean, unexpectedly. Mirth ensued at the expense of Wally.
“Never mind, Wally, old man,” said his host. “Mention what you remember.”
“I’ve nearly forgotten it now,” Wally answered, much aggrieved. “I believe I was pretty close to being poetical—that blessed old river always sets me thinking. Ever so many times I’ve landed there on a Monday morning, coming down from Brisbane; and I used to be such a homesick little shrimp. It was always a struggle to get off the old Bombala. I was great chums with the captain, and he made the old boat seem like a bit of home. Also, I never was sea-sick in her!”
“No wonder you loved her,” said Jean, fervently. She shuddered, with painful recollections of the voyage from New Zealand.