"Bedad, I never thought of that," grunted the Celt.
"We came from Melbourne, sir," one of the men said, answering Mr. Brown's question, and casting wishful eyes towards the black bottle. "We've been four days on the road, and it's little progress we make at all, bad luck to the horses that won't draw when we want 'em to. It's out of whiskey we got the first day, owing to the swilling of Ned Mulloon, who was drunk as a baste when we left town."
"Faith, it's little chance I had while yer mouth was doing its work, Teddy," cried Ned, with a grin.
"We will make a bargain with you," Mr. Brown said to the men. "Give us a share of your potatoes, and we'll divide the whiskey."
"Done," cried all hands, with remarkable unanimity; and the pot containing the esculents was jerked off the fire and placed at our feet, while we treated all hands, not even excepting the women.
"Well, what is the news at Melbourne?" asked Mr. Brown, while We were satisfying our appetites.
"It's loud talk they have about the miners, and their dislike to pay the tax, glory to God; and the artillerymen were getting ready to march whenever the governor tells 'em to, bad luck to 'em."
"Did you understand at what mines the soldiers are to be stationed?" I asked.
"Yes, I did," replied our informant. "'Tis at Ballarat."