‘Thanks,’ said Edgar; ‘it is always interesting to ascertain what likelihood there is of the original inhabitants of a country becoming extinct.’
A roar of laughter greeted Edgar’s reply, and Will Henton said:
‘The young un’s a bit too much for you, Brody. You had better not spin him any of those well-seasoned aboriginal yarns of yours, for I fancy they won’t wash.’
‘You swallowed some of them, anyway,’ said Ben Brody.
‘Merely to oblige you,’ said Will.
Ben Brody glared at him, and then said:
‘Meat is bad for you, Will; I must in future restrict you to a mutton diet.’
‘What are these fellows coming for?’ asked Edgar, as about thirty blacks, including a few females, advanced to within a dozen yards or so of the veranda.
‘They are on the war-path,’ said Will Henton. ‘The slaughtering of a bullock at Yanda is an event of such magnitude that even the natives of the country assemble to give thanks on the occasion.’
‘Never mind his chaff,’ said Ben Brody to Edgar; ‘you will have plenty of it if you remain here very long. Would you care to see these fellows dance, hold a “corroboree” as they call it?’