“When does the next train go east?” he demanded.
Wilfred produced a railway time-table, and after some study he found the page. “There’s one at midnight,” he said.
Burton glanced at his watch. It was a quarter to twelve.
“Good-bye, old man,” he said, seizing the hand of the Barnardo boy.
“Wot, you ain’t goin’ to-night, are you?” said the boy. “You’ll lose your ’omestead, hafter——”
“I’ll lose more if I don’t go. And I would have lost it, lost it all, if it had not been for you. God bless you, London! Stay and file on your homestead. I’ll not be wanting one at present. I’m thinking I will be unable to perform the residence duties for a while,” he added, with a bitter little laugh.
“But stay,” he continued. “Have you selected your land?”
“No.”
“Just going it blind?”
“Yep. Just takin’ my chance with the rest o’ them. Hi’ve a list of the hopen lands ’ere, an’ Hi reckon to strike somethink——”