in the dress and character of bushies down for what they considered a spree.
The gentleman sharper from the Other Side had been hanging round them
for three days now. Steelman was the more sociable, and, to all appearances,
the greener of the two bush mates; but seemed rather too much
under the influence of Smith, who was reserved, suspicious,
self-contained, or sulky. He almost scowled at Gentleman Sharper's
"Good-morning!" and "Fine day!", replied in monosyllables and turned half away
with an uneasy, sullen, resentful hump of his shoulder
and shuffle of his feet.

Steelman took Smith for a stroll on the round, bald tussock hills
surrounding the city, and rehearsed him for the last act until after sundown.

Gentleman Sharper was lounging, with a cigar, on the end of the balcony,
where he had been contentedly contemplating the beautiful death of day.
His calm, classic features began to whiten (and sharpen)
in the frosty moonlight.

Steelman and Smith sat on deck-chairs behind a half-screen of ferns
on the other end of the balcony, smoked their after-dinner smoke,
and talked in subdued tones as befitted the time and the scene --
great, softened, misty hills in a semicircle, and the water and harbour lights
in moonlight.

The other boarders were loitering over dinner, in their rooms, or gone out;
the three were alone on the balcony, which was a rear one.

Gentleman Sharper moved his position, carelessly, noiselessly, yet quickly,
until he leaned on the rail close to the ferns and could overhear
every word the bushies said. He had dropped his cigar overboard,