"A dry sack," said Hicks.
But early in the dawn, the three faced the plain once more, and with them went Tom.
"I might just as well make a spoon, or spoil a horn," said Tom. "And there is gold in this all-fired rotten country anyhow."
It was still almost dark when they saddled up and struck out north-west upon the endless, mysterious plain, and, by the time the white-hot sun shot up on their right hands, and the light poured across the dead level, the town was ten miles behind them. But they could still see its tin roofs and tin walls gleaming.
"This reminds me that I once went from a ship in a boat," said Tom, "when it was dead calm, and the sea was thick blue oil. It's like being at sea here."
He was riding by the side of the Cockney, who nodded, and whistled.
"It's a blooming rum start, this is," said Mandeville. "To think that two years ago I was never outside London, and now to be on a plain like this 'ere. I was a moke ever to leave the bakery business. And yet I dunno, bakin' wasn't nice work. What was you at 'ome, Tom?"
"A pound a week clerk," said Tom.
"And what fetched you out 'ere?"
"I got sacked, and couldn't get another job, so I came to my brother in Melbourne, and there—"