and they all had that indefinite look of infinite wisdom
and conscious superiority which belongs only to those who know something
about horseflesh.

They knew a great many things never learnt at Sunday-school.
They were experts at cards and dice. They would go to immense trouble
to work off any small swindle in the sporting line.
In short the general consensus of opinion was that they were
a very "fly" crowd at Mulligan's, and if you went there you wanted to
"keep your eyes skinned" or they'd "have" you over a threepenny-bit.

There were races at Sydney one Christmas, and a select band of
the Mulligan sportsmen were going down to them. They were in high feather,
having just won a lot of money from a young Englishman at pigeon-shooting,
by the simple method of slipping blank cartridges into his gun
when he wasn't looking, and then backing the bird.

They intended to make a fortune out of the Sydney people,
and admirers who came to see them off only asked them as a favour
to leave money enough in Sydney to make it worth while
for another detachment to go down later on. Just as the train
was departing a priest came running on to the platform,
and was bundled into the carriage where our Mulligan friends were;
the door was slammed to, and away they went. His Reverence was hot
and perspiring, and for a few minutes mopped himself with a handkerchief,
while the silence was unbroken except by the rattle of the train.

After a while one of the Mulligan fraternity got out a pack of cards
and proposed a game to while away the time. There was a young squatter
in the carriage who looked as if he might be induced to lose a few pounds,