"See if you can find out what 'dead mariner' is."
I took a porter bottle up, and then said, "You name that one 'dead mariner'?"
Queenslander: "Yes, certainly; that is one 'dead mariner.'"
I took up a clear bottle and inquired, "This clear thing, you call that empty bottle?"
Queenslander: "To be sure that is an empty bottle. But if you are willing to sell, you take them all up to that large hotel you see there. They give you half-a-crown apiece for them."
I then asked, "Which one is most costly, 'dead mariner' bottle or clear bottle?"
Queenslander: "Oh, that fellow—'dead mariner'—very dear; three shillings, I think."
"Heavens! here, we have made our fortune already, Thorkill," cried I. "Three shillings apiece for these bottles and two-and-sixpence for those. And it appears any one will buy. Are we not lucky?"
"Oh, but," said Thorkill, "I shall never feel justified in taking half of all that money. It was your idea. I should never have thought of it. I shall be very thankful to receive just a pound or two."
"Oh, no," cried I, "you shall share half with me whatever I get. But, excuse me for saying it, you are so unpractical. Why are we not up and stirring? Why are we sitting here yet? Remember time is money in this country." Then I ventured to ask the Queenslanders if in the town there was any one whom I might ask to assist us in carrying the bottles ashore.