Presently I saw Mitchell with the portmanteau in his hand,
and the baby on his arm, steering them away to a quiet corner of the shed
at the top of the wharf. The digger had the little girl in his arms,
and both hers were round his neck, and her face hidden on his shoulder.

When Mitchell came back, he leant on the rail for a while by my side,
as if it was a boundary fence out back, and there was no hurry
to break up camp and make a start.

"What did you follow him below that time for, Mitchell?" I asked presently,
for want of something better to say.

Mitchell looked at me out of the corners of his eyes.

"I wanted to score a drink!" he said. "I thought he wanted one
and wouldn't like to be a Jimmy Woodser."




Seeing the Last of You



"When you're going away by boat," said Mitchell, "you ought to say good-bye
to the women at home, and to the chaps at the last pub.
I hate waiting on the wharf or up on deck when the boat's behind time.
There's no sense in it, and a lot of unnecessary misery.
Your friends wait on the wharf and you are kept at the rail to the bitter end,