But we began to hear ominous whispers from the young married couples, and next Saturday night, which was pay-night, we decided to see it through. We did not care to speak to Alf until we were sure. He stayed in camp, as he often did, on Saturday evening, while the others went up town. Mitchell and I returned earlier than usual, and leaned on the fence at the back of Alf’s tent.
We were scarcely there when we were startled by a “rat-tat-tat” as of someone knocking at a door. Then an old woman’s voice inside the tent asked: “Who’s there?”
“It’s me,” said Alf’s voice from the front, “Mr. O’Briar from Perth.”
“Mary, go and open the door!” said the old woman. (Mitchell nudged me to keep quiet.)
“Come in, Mr. O’Breer,” said the old woman. “Come in. How do you do? When did you get back?”
“Only last night,” said Alf.
“Look at that now! Bless us all! And how did you like the country at all?”
“I didn’t care much for it,” said Alf. We lost the thread of it until the old woman spoke again.
“Have you had your tea, Mr. O’Breer?”
“Yes, thank you, Mrs. O’Connor.”
“Are you quite sure, man?”
“Quite sure, thank you, Mrs. O’Connor.” (Mitchell trod on my foot.)
“Will you have a drop of whisky or a glass of beer, Mr. O’Breer?”
“I’ll take a glass of beer, thank you, Mrs. O’Connor.”
