"You're a good one, Jem, but it would have been best if you had silenced the wolf and not put me to this trouble," he said in undertones. "It's all one, though. I guess we're equal to the task. If we are not no man can be."
Meantime, Old Broadbrim had gone back to the hotel near Collins Street for a little rest.
He waited till night deepened and then stepped into the street again.
The sights that encountered his gaze were new to him.
He was in one of the most wonderful cities in the world.
Melbourne, the capital of Victoria, and the haunt of the cattle king, the sheep prince, the gold nabob and the miner, presented scenes to be duplicated nowhere under the sun.
In the glare of the electric lights, the hurry and bustle of business, the revelry of saloon and dance hall, in the haunts of the tough and the palaces of the money kings, there is always something exciting and new.
Old Broadbrim had been to strange places in his career, but never in one just like Melbourne.
He jostled the gold hunter who had come to the city to spend his dust, and perhaps get a knife in his heart before he left it; he was pushed aside by the cattle boy in his jacket and sombrero, and the air was ladened with the slang of mine and camp till it disgusted the detective.
As he turned into one street Broadbrim saw ahead a brilliant sign which told him that beyond the door nearby one could see one of the sights of Melbourne, the great Paradise Dance Hall.