In despite of his former preferences for humble companionship, and his depreciation of his own manners and habitudes, Wilfred was pleased and interested by the unaffected bearing of his protégé during the dinner ceremony. He well knew all the men present by reputation, though they had no previous acquaintance with him, except, perhaps, as a stock-rider on a cattle-camp.
Without attempting to assume equality of language or mingle in discussion, for which his lack of education unfitted him, he yet bore himself in such self-possessed if unpretending fashion as impressed both guests and entertainers.
When the dinner was cleared away, and pipes were lit, in accordance with the custom of bachelor households (O’Desmond’s always honourably excepted), Wilfred Effingham thought the time favourable for opening the serious business of the evening.
‘I take it for granted,’ he said, ‘that we are all agreed to start for “fresh fields and pastures new” in a few days. Equally certain that we have not settled the route. Is that not so? Then let me take this occasion of stating that Mr. Warleigh has arrived from the farthest out station on the south, and that he is in possession of valuable information as to new country.’
‘By Jove!’ said Argyll, ‘that is the very thing we were discussing when you rode up, and are as far from a decision as ever. If Mr. Warleigh can give us directions, we ought to be able to keep a course moderately well—I mean with the aid of an azimuth compass.’
‘Argyll would undertake to find the road to Heaven with that compass of his,’ said Ardmillan.
When the laugh had subsided, which arose from this allusion to a well-known habit of Argyll’s, who always carried a compass with him—even to church, it was asserted—and was wont to state that no one but an idiot could possibly lose his way in Australia who had sense enough to comprehend the points of that invaluable instrument—Hubert Warleigh said quietly, ‘I’m afraid the road to my country is a good deal like the road to h—ll, that is, in the way of being the most infernal bad line for scrub, mountain, and deep rivers I ever tackled, and that’s saying a good deal. But I promised Captain Effingham to do him a good turn when I got the chance, and when I heard of this dry season I came prepared to show the way, if he liked to send his stock over, and go myself. As you all seem to be in the same box, equally hard up, I don’t mind acting as guide. We’ll be all the better for going as a strong party, as the blacks are treacherous beggars and the tribes strong.’
‘The road, you say, is as bad as bad can be,’ said Hamilton. ‘I suppose the good country makes up for it when you get there?’
‘I’ve seen all the best part of New South Wales,’ said the explorer. ‘I never saw anything that was a patch on it before. Open forest country, rivers running from the Snowy Mountains to the sea, splendid lakes, and a regular rainfall.’
‘The last is better than all,’ said Hamilton. ‘One feels tired of working up to a decent thing, and then having it knocked down by a change of season. I, for one, will take the plunge. I am ready to start at once for this interesting country, where the rivers don’t dry up, the grass grows at least once a year, and rain is not a triennial phenomenon.’