Will Henton was a young fellow who discovered town life too fast for him, so had found his way to Yanda, and turned out a useful man.
‘There’s a new hand coming,’ said Harry Noke. ‘Brody’s told me about him. He’s the young fellow who rescued that little lass at the wreck of the Distant Shore, and he’s a son of Robert Foster the cricketer.’
‘No!’ said Will Henton. ‘You can’t mean it. What a slice of luck! He’s sure to play cricket well, and we’re short of a man or two.’
‘You know the reason of the slaughter now,’ said Harry. ‘I must confess beef will be a change from Brody’s everlasting mutton.’
‘We must give young Foster a good reception,’ said Will.
‘He deserves it,’ said Harry, ‘and he’ll be able to spin us some yarns about the wreck.’
‘Plucky young beggar,’ said Will. ‘I’m open to bet you a trifle he can box.’
‘You’re mad on boxing,’ said Harry. ‘It would be a blessing if some disguised fighting-man came here to knock the conceit out of you.’
The hands at Yanda talked the matter of Edgar’s arrival over, and agreed to make things pleasant for him; occasionally they made matters rather rough for a new hand, until he paid a substantial footing.
So it came about that there was much feasting and rejoicing when Edgar arrived, and he thought them a set of jolly good fellows.