“’F it’d been worth a penny so far,” said William, “d’you think I’d’v let you see it all for a penny. Why don’ you try to talk sense?”
The small girl at the tail of the procession was still sobbing indignantly.
“I’m not a cheat. Boo-hoo-hoo an’ I won’t give the narsy boy my Sat’day penny. I won’t. I wanter buy sweeties wiv it an’ I’m not a cheat, boo-hoo-hoo!”
“A’ right,” said the goaded William. “You’re not then an’ don’t then an’ shut up.”
“You’re being very wude to me,” said the young pessimist with a fresh wail.
Beyond William were three other sacking-shrouded figures, each behind a piece of wood on which were displayed small objects.
“TALK AUSTRALIAN!” COMMANDED WILLIAM.
“MONKEY, FLUKY, TIM-TIM,” SAID GINGER.
“CALL THAT AUSTRALIAN?” SAID THE AUDIENCE
INDIGNANTLY.
“Now I’m a guide,” said William returning to his hoarse, unnatural voice. “This way please ladies an’ gentlemen an’ we’d all be grateful if the lady would kin’ly shut up.” This remark occasioned a fresh outburst of angry sobs on the part of the aggrieved lady. “This,” taking off the first sackcloth with a flourish and revealing Ginger dressed in an old tapestry curtain, the exposed parts of his person plentifully smeared with moist boot blacking, “this is a native of Australia, and these are native wooden orn’ments made by him. Talk Australian, Native.”
The confinement under the sacking had been an austere one and the day was hot and streams of perspiration mingling with the blacking gave Ginger’s countenance a mottled look. Before him were wooden objects roughly cut into shapes that might have represented almost anything. As examples of art they belonged decidedly to the primitive School.