There was a silence, thoughtful on the driver's part, and aggressive
on that of the stranger.

"I always thought," said the driver, reflectively, after the
pause--"I always thought Australia was a good country," and he
placed his foot on the brake.

They let him think. The coach descended the natural terraces above
the river bank, and pulled up at the pub.


"So you're a native of Australia?" said the bagman to the
grey-beard, as the coach went on again.

"Well, I suppose I am. Anyway, I was born there. That's the main
thing I've got against the darned country."

"How long did you stay there?"

"Till I got away," said the stranger. Then, after a think, he
added, "I went away first when I was thirty-five--went to the
islands. I swore I'd never go back to Australia again; but I did. I
thought I had a kind of affection for old Sydney. I knocked about the
blasted country for five or six years, and then I cleared out to
'Frisco. I swore I'd never go back again, and I never will."

"But surely you'll take a run over and have a look at old Sydney and
those places, before you go back to America, after getting so near?"

"What the blazes do I want to have a look at the blamed country