Farther on—and on the right hand—Mr. Pericles Smith, travelling schoolmaster, occasionally pitches his tent for his monthly stay. By six or seven o'clock of an evening, after tea has been cleared away, he sits in the first tent for all the world to see, getting forward with his monumental work on the aboriginal languages of Australia. Sometimes, indeed, he is otherwise employed.
"Did you remember about the currants when you came by the store?" says a woman's voice.
"That must be indeed delightful, dear," murmurs Mr. Smith, turning over the page.
"You might listen sometimes. I said, did you——"
"Instantly, dear."
"I said, did you——"
Mr. Smith leaps from his seat on the box. "What is it? What is it? What is it? Goat in or out? Kettle on or off the boil? Wood chopped or wood not chopped? Here I am. What was it? What is it? What will it be? Let us do it all now before I sit down again."
"You are so disagreeable lately, dear. I hardly dare speak to you."
Mr. Smith closes his eyes. "What is it?"