"I know nothing about your customs or laws, for I've been in Ballarat only two hours, and yet I've fought a duel and eaten supper, work enough for one man," Fred said.
"I forgive you," cried Charley, seizing our hands and shaking them in a sudden burst of friendship.' "Say no more—I forgive you."
"For Heaven's sake, what have I done that deserves forgiveness on your part?" demanded Fred.
"Why, didn't you know that on occasions like these 'ere the survivor of a duel is expected to have a few refreshments set out in his tent, and that all the principal men of Ballarat will be here to take a drink?"
"I certainly was not acquainted with such an understanding, and I don't think that even my friend Smith, here, who has made many trips to Melbourne and the mines, ever heard of it," replied Fred.
Smith shook his head to intimate that he was in blissful ignorance, and just then one of the Californians, who acted as doorkeeper, put his head into the tent and shouted,—"They're coming, Charley; are you ready for 'em?"
"You see," our friend said, with great coolness, "that something to drink is expected, and yet we have nothing to offer. What are we to do?"
"What have you been accustomed to do?" interrogated Fred, beginning to think that he had fallen among queer people, his countrymen included.
"Well, a gallon or two of gin, or the same amount of brandy, has always been considered as about right. It all depends on a man's circumstances. Now, you," and Charley fixed his eyes with great earnestness upon Fred's form while speaking, "I calculate, is worth something considerably handsome, and can afford to treat the boys pretty liberal."