"Bob," I said presently, "didn't you try the little girl in Bendigo
a second time?"

"No," he said. "What was the use. She was a good little girl, and I
wasn't goin' to go botherin' her. I ain't the sort of cove that goes
hangin' round where he isn't wanted. But somehow I couldn't stay
about Bendigo after she gave me the hint, so I thought I'd come over
an' have a knock round on this side for a year or two."

"And you never wrote to her?"

"No. What was the use of goin' pesterin' her with letters? I know
what trouble letters give me when I have to answer one. She'd have
only had to tell me the straight truth in a letter an' it wouldn't
have done me any good. But I've pretty well got over it by this
time."

A few days later I went to Sydney. The Giraffe was the last I shook
hands with from the carriage window, and he slipped something in a
piece of newspaper into my hand.

"I hope yer won't be offended," he drawled, "but some of the chaps
thought you mightn't be too flush of stuff--you've been shoutin' a
good deal; so they put a quid or two together. They thought it might
help yer to have a bit of a fly round in Sydney."

I was back in Bourke before next shearing. On the evening of my
arrival I ran against the Giraffe; he seemed strangely shaken over
something, but he kept his hat on his head.