"They'll give them back to us filled in the morning, if they have luck," said the Captain, a long and friendly man who had come down from the upper deck to make acquaintance with his passengers. "Then we ice them, and the fish will be in Melbourne to-morrow night. Not as good as fresh-caught, of course, but then you city people don't know the difference! Wait till you get fish at the hotel, I suppose you're going to Kalimna?"
"No—we're coming down here to live," Tom told him.
"You don't say!" ejaculated the Captain. Light broke upon him. "Is it you who've taken Gordon's place?"
"Yes."
"Wonder how you'll like it." His glance rested for a moment on Aileen, dainty in her well-cut travelling clothes, her delicate face a little pale and tired. "It's not a bad little place, but I'm afraid you'll find it a bit rough. Gordon's a queer stick: hardly ever spoke to a soul. He wasn't what you'd call popular in these parts."
"I hope that won't make people unfriendly towards us," said Aileen, smiling.
"Not much—once they know you're not like Gordon," the Captain answered. "Country people are friendly enough—when they've time—but they can't stand any one being stuck-up, and that was the name Gordon had. He liked the place, too, I believe, but he never would make any friends. He was a lonely old soul. Well, well! And so you're going farming!" Again his eye travelled over them curiously. "Been at it before, might I ask?"
"No—this is our first attempt," said Tom, flushing a little.
"Well, you've got pluck, haven't you? That's all it wants—pluck and hard work. One thing, you've a good neighbour; Nick O'Connor's a nice chap. Didn't you know him?"—as Tom's face showed no response. "That's him you were talking to awhile ago—that big chap."
"Is he our neighbour? Oh, I'm glad, aren't you, Dad?" Garth exclaimed.