"Well, that is singular," the old man returned; "I always supposed that ye 'Mericans was riddy to declare that yer own country was the best. But don't ye think that Australia would make a great addition to the States?"
"We don't care to talk on the subject," rejoined Fred, shortly, seeing that a number of miners began to gather around, to listen to the discussion.
"That is capital," whispered a voice that we knew; "I am glad to see that you take no interest in the knave's fancies."
We felt a strong pressure on our arms, as though the speaker would have added other tokens of his approval, had he dared, and before we could recover from our surprise, the little old man was edging his way into the thickest of the crowd.
"Did you suspect him?" whispered Fred.
"No, he altered his voice too much. We owe Mr. Brown a trick for the one he has just played on us."
In fact, the little old man with the Yorkshire accent was no other than Mr. Inspector Brown, who was disguised so perfectly, that we should not have recognized him, even in broad daylight.
He was mingling with the crowd, and "spotting" the most turbulent, for the purpose of refusing to grant them a license, when next they applied. He went upon the principle that a few agitators were sufficient to corrupt the morals of all the miners in Ballarat, and to get them to leave for other parts was Mr. Brown's whole study.
We did not wait to hear more of Charley's harangue, for we were too tired to enjoy his artful attempts to excite the miners in opposition to the government.