“Nothing of the sort. A gentleman is a gentleman, and a servant girl a servant in Australia; all over the world, if it comes to that. I don’t hold with this democratic rot. All the same, there’s nothing to prevent you and me having a talk now and then, as long as we keep our places.”
“I should think not,” he rejoined, “and though I might have got into a serious difficulty through Carter’s introductions, I’m not sorry, on the whole, that I went with him, the experience was most interesting.”
“That means you saw somebody. Who was she, I wonder? Men are all alike, gentle and simple. I believe I could give a guess, as we heard you went down the river.”
To this day Blount declares that he never enjoyed a better meal; he certainly never had a better appetite. And as the sun rising higher in the heavens irradiated the meadows, the hurrying water of the creek, the brilliant green of the opening buds of the great elms and poplars that fringed that streamlet, he admitted that the landscape was almost worthy of the memorable meal.
After a leisurely assimilation of the journals of the day, and a smoke in the verandah, he ordered the cob to be brought round, being of opinion that gentle exercise would be advantageous to his legs, which the last day’s work might have tried unfairly. They certainly had puffed, but there was no sign of lameness, and his owner decided that daily exercise would meet the complaint. Hearing that the Sergeant was at home he resolved to look up that gallant officer, and gather from him what rumour had asserted as to Little-River-Jack, the O’Haras, Mr. Bruce, and lastly himself, if rumours there were.
He found the ex-guardian of the peace, and, so to speak, warden of the marches, weeding his garden, a trim, well-ordered plot, which, like the remainder of his little property, was a standing object lesson to the surrounding homesteads. Putting down his hoe, the veteran advanced with an air of great cordiality, and welcomed him.
“Sae you have won back frae the Debatable Land, as they ca’ed Nicol Forest in my youth. There have been wars, and rumours o’ wars, but the week past; warrants to be issued for Phelim and Patrick O’Hara, and one Little-River-Jack (went by the name of John Carter), forbye ‘Tumberumba Dick,’ and a man known as Jack Blunt (alias Valentine Blount) seen in company with the above on the 20th of August last. Ay! it was openly said, and I was lookin’ to see you arrive, maybe with the bracelets on. What think ye of that?”
“That I should have had good cause of action for false imprisonment,” answered the tourist. “But why didn’t they issue the warrants?”
“Maybe they were no that sure aboot the evidence. There’s neecessity, ye ken, that there should be full and aample proof in thae ‘duffing’ cases, as the country people ca’ them. A bush jury winna convict as lang’s there a link short o’ the Crown Prosecutor’s chain o’ evidence.”
“And was there? I feel personally much obliged to the Department of Justice for their scruples, which do them honour.”