"Nothing's up, Harry," said Jack. "What made you think so?"

"Have you got yourself into any fix?" I asked. "What's the
Hungerford track been doing to you?"

"No, Harry," he said, "I'm all right. How are you?" And he
pulled some string and papers and a roll of dusty pound notes from his
pocket and threw them on the bunk.

I was hard up just then, so I took a note and the billy to go to the
Royal and get some beer. I thought the beer might loosen his mind a
bit.

"Better take a couple of quid," said Jack. "You look as if you
want some new shirts and things." But a pound was enough for me, and
I think he had reason to be glad of that later on, as it turned out.

"Anything new in Bourke?" asked Jack as we drank the beer.

"No," I said, "not a thing--except there's a pretty girl in the
Salvation Army."

"And it's about time," growled Jack.

"Now, look here, Jack," I said presently, "what's come over you
lately at all? I might be able to help you. It's not a bit of use
telling me that there's nothing the matter. When a man takes to
brooding and travelling alone it's a bad sign, and it will end in a
leaning tree and a bit of clothes-line as likely as not. Tell me what
the trouble is. Tell us all about it. There's a ghost, isn't