sent him up to edit the `Advertiser' at two quid a week.
He drank again, and no wonder -- you don't know what it is
to run a `Geebung Advocate' or `Mudgee Budgee Chronicle', and live there.
He was about the same build as the Lachlan, but stouter,
and had something the same kind of eyes; but he was ordinarily
as careless and devil-may-care as the Lachlan is grumpy and quiet.

--
* See "When the Sun Went Down", in "While the Billy Boils".
--

"There was a doctor there, called Dr. Lebinski. They said
he was a Polish exile. He was fifty or sixty, a tall man,
with the set of an old soldier when he stood straight;
but he mostly walked with his hands behind him, studying the ground.
Jack Drew caught that trick off him towards the end. They were chums
in a gloomy way, and kept to themselves -- they were the only two men
with brains in that town. They drank and fought the drink together.
The Doctor was too gloomy and impatient over little things to be popular.
Jack Drew talked too straight in the paper, and in spite of his proprietors
-- about pub spieling and such things -- and was too sarcastic
in his progress committee, town council, and toady reception reports.
The Doctor had a hawk's nose, pointed grizzled beard and moustache,
and steely-grey eyes with a haunted look in them sometimes
(especially when he glanced at you sideways), as if he loathed his fellow men,
and couldn't always hide it; or as if you were the spirit of morphia or opium,
or a dead girl he'd wronged in his youth -- or whatever his devil was,
beside drink. He was clever, and drink had brought him down to Redclay.

"The bank manager was a heavy snob named Browne. He complained of being