"But look, Mister--you aren't trying to take the loan of me?
Is this straight?"
"Yes, it's straight," said Charlie. "You'll have to go to England
to make your claim good, I expect. It's straight enough. That's
what brought Mr. Carew out here, to try and find you."
For some time the bushman smoked in silence, looking at each man
in turn, perhaps expecting them to laugh. He muttered once or twice
to himself under his breath. Then he turned on Gordon again.
"Now, look here, Mr. Gordon, is this square? Because, if it ain't,
it'll be a poor joke for some of you!"
"Man alive, why should we want to fool you? What good could it do
us? It's all right."
"Well, if it's all right, we'll all have a drink on it. Here,
Maggie, Lucy, Billy, come here. Get it pannikin. You won't mind me
treatin' 'em with your rum, I suppose, Mister?" he said, turning
to Gordon. "I don't come in for a fortune every day, you know, and
there ain't a drop of lush in the place, only yours."
"Fire away," said Charlie.
"Come on, Lucy. Come on, Maggie. Where's Ah Loy? Watch their faces,
Mister, it's as good as a play. Now then, ladies, I bin poor fella
longa teatime, now rich feller longa bedtime. You savvy?"
The gins grinned uncomprehendingly, but held out their pannikins,
and into each he poured a three-finger nip of raw overproof rum
that would have burnt the palate of Satan himself.
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