And it’s room for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee!’

the chorus included the full strength of the orchestra, and was enthusiastically supported. It was an undoubted success, and established Eric as an amateur of promise, who might have gone far, with the aid of scientific culture in early youth.

‘That is what his father took special care he should never obtain,’ said Mrs. Banneret, with an arch look. ‘My husband has a fixed idea that a young man with an exceptional voice and a taste for music always comes to grief in Australia. Society, temptation, and flattery mostly accomplish his downfall. There are exceptions probably, but I have known, in my experience, strangely few.’

Here there were strong protests against the illogical position. ‘Why should proficiency in the gentle and joyous science,’ it was asked, ‘incapacitate a man for the practical duties of life?’

[431]
]‘It ought not to do so,’ conceded paterfamilias, ‘but that it does I have observed in scores of instances, while the exceptions may be counted on the fingers of one hand. The possession of a fine voice, with skill in instrumental music, has a tendency to develop the romantic, emotional side of character, as also to weaken the practical qualities necessary for success in life. I don’t speak as to other nations, but for British-born people and Australians it is a gift that spells ruin.’

‘It is of no use arguing with my husband on that point,’ said Mrs. Banneret, ‘and I must confess that I have seen his theory strongly supported by facts; but, to vary the entertainment, suppose we persuade Mrs. Maclean to give us “Rothesay Bay.” It is a sweet, plaintive ballad, and she will make the third Australian-born lady of Scottish extraction that I have heard sing it. They all had the very slightest tinge of the Highland accent, which, of course, made it all the more fascinating.’

. . . . . . . . .

All forebodings were justified by the next morning’s post. It brought a letter from Australia, which contained such important news that all arrangements for the present were altered. The expedition, indeed, was brought to an abrupt and untimely end. The letter was from Pilot Mount, Kalgoorlie, West Australia, and had followed, as directed by Mr. Banneret, the movements of the party. The news was important. It came from the Metallurgist of the mine, who by virtue of his office was the Acting Manager, and announced [432] ]the death of Mr. John Waters, popularly known as old Jack. There had been some difference of opinion lately (the writer said) between him and other officials concerning the working of the mine. Matters were not perfectly satisfactory, in his opinion. There had been an argument about wages, and a demand by the men for a rise. A ‘strike’ had been mentioned, but that was arranged for the present. Old Mr. John Waters had retired on the preceding night, apparently in his usual health, which was excellent, but had been found dead in his bed on the following morning. An inquest had been held before the Coroner of the district, and the medical evidence pronounced the case to be one of heart disease. In accordance with which a verdict of ‘death from natural causes’ was returned. He forwarded copies of the local papers, which contained full accounts of the proceedings.

It was his opinion, and also that of the principal officials and shareholders of the mine, that either Mr. Banneret in person, or some one fully empowered to act on his behalf, should visit the mine without delay. In the meantime, the working of the property and all other matters would go on as usual. He remained, faithfully yours, Malcolm MacDonald.

Thus recalled abruptly from the realm of romance, of fiction and song, Arnold Banneret felt, as had happened to himself many times in his adventurous life, the need of prompt decision and vigorous action. ‘Poor old Jack!’ He was sorry [433] ]for the veteran whose closing years apparently of comfort, even luxury, had been cut short by the stroke of fate. Perhaps it was a merciful dispensation. He himself, without doubt, would have so considered it. Fearless, even reckless, as miners are in the pursuit of their dangerous and at all times laborious calling, he had often spoken with dread of a lingering illness, of the pain and tedium of a wasting disorder, not seldom declaring that a sudden, a swift seizure would be his choice if granted one. Now he had his desire. His life, as all men knew, had been free from notorious evil-doing, and if occasional lapses from sobriety—the almost inevitable reaction of the uneducated labourer against monotonous toil and severe privation—had occurred, what wonder? These deviations from the strict line of duty had, however, been more rare in latter years, and, since the departure of the Banneret family for England, had almost ceased. Now the veteran who had toiled in so many lands, in so varied a range of climate, from the snows of Hokitiki to the torrid wastes of the Golden Belt, where camels and turbaned Afghan drivers now stood around his grave, had found his rest. Uneducated, untaught, unversed in the lore of civilisation, ancient or modern, his simple creed had been to ‘go straight,’ as he would have expressed it, to stand by a ‘mate’ to the death, to owe no man a shilling when his mining ventures paid, and to work for more when they failed. Hardy, strong, enduring, resourceful, he was a true type of those Britons who have carried Old England’s flag victoriously over so many seas and [434] ]lands, and whether in peace or war earned the respect of friend and foe.