“Well, sir”—the girl smiled mischievously—“they said—(that is Tumberumba Dick told some one, who told some one else), that you were a harmless ‘New Chum,’ that hardly knew a cow from a calf, and couldn’t have ‘duffed’ a bullock off a range, if you’d tried for a year.”
“Very complimentary indeed, I must say. So everybody’s honest in this country who can’t ride—eh?”
“Well, yes, sir—about cattle; with sheep it’s different.”
“I see—never struck me before. I’m glad my honesty is undoubted in a cattle district, because I can’t gallop down a range. They don’t fine or imprison for bad riding, I suppose—yet. And so you stood up for me, Sheila, didn’t you?”
“How did you know that, sir?”
“Why, of course you did. I knew you would because we’ve always been friends. Besides, I saw you looking after me warningly the day I went away with Jack Carter.”
“I know I did,” said the girl, impetuously. “I had a great mind to say all I knew, and tell you to have nothing to do with him or his mates.”
“And why didn’t you?”
“Well, you were so set upon going, and it wasn’t for a girl like me to advise a gentleman of your sort.”
“I don’t see why you shouldn’t. Every one is as good as any one else in Australia. So the papers say, at any rate.”