At the same time, he felt that it could do no
harm to either side to investigate Peggy's case; there might be
awkward things that he could help to suppress. So with expectancy
and not a little amusement he saw his clients ride up and tie their
horses to the fence outside his office, and watched Peggy straighten
her ruffled plumage before entering.
They came in at the door with a seriousness worthy of the occasion.
Peggy heaved a subdued sigh and settled in a chair. Red Mick opened
the conversation.
"Mornin' to you, Gavan," he said.
By virtue of his relationship Mick was privileged to call his
brilliant nephew by his Christian name. To the rest of the clans
Gavan was Mr. Blake.
"Good-morning, Mick. Good-morning, Peggy. Have you had any rain?"
In the bush no one would think of introducing discussion without
a remark about the weather.
"Jist a few drops," said Red Mick gloomily. "Do us no good at
all. Things is looking terrible bad, so they are. But we want to
see ye--" and here he dropped his voice, rose, and cautiously closed
the door--"Peggy here, Mrs. Grant, d'ye see,"--Mick got the name
out without an effort--"she wants to see ye about making a claim
on the estate. 'Tis time she done somethin'. All these years left
to shift for herself--"
Here Blake broke in on him.
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