grunted, and chatted, and exchanged bush compliments with Harry
comfortably. And so on to where they saw the light of a fire outside
a hut ahead.

"Let me down here, Harry," said Old Jack uneasily, "I owe Mother
Mac fourteen shillings for drinks, and I haven't got it on me, and
I've been on the spree back yonder, and she'll know it, an' I don't
want to face her. I'll cut across through the paddock and you can
pick me up on the other side."

Harry thought a moment.

"Sit still, Jack," he said. "I'll fix that all right."

He twisted and went down into his trouser-pocket, the reins in one
hand, and brought up a handful of silver. He held his hand down to
the coach lamp, separated some of the silver from the rest by a sort
of sleight of hand--or rather sleight of fingers--and handed the
fourteen shillings over to Old Jack.

"Here y'are, Jack. Pay me some other time."

"Thanks, Harry!" grunted Old Jack, as he twisted for his pocket.

It was a cold night, the hint of a possible shanty thawed the
traveller a bit, and he relaxed with a couple of grunts about the,
weather and the road, which were received in a brotherly spirit.
Harry's horses stopped of their own accord in front of the house, an
old bark-and-slab whitewashed humpy of the early settlers' farmhouse
type, with a plank door in the middle, one bleary-lighted window on