"Well, y' know"--Dave drawled--"there's that colt wot Maloney offered us
before to quieten. Could get 'im. 'E's a big lump of a 'orse if y' could
do anythin' with 'im. THEY gave 'im best themselves."
Dad's eyes shone.
"That's th' horse," he cried. "GET him! To-morrow first thing go for
him! I'LL make something of him!"
"Don't know"--Dave chuckled--"he's a----"
"Tut, tut; you fetch him."
"Oh, I'll FETCH 'im." And Dave, on the strength of having made a valuable
suggestion, dragged Joe off the sofa and stretched himself upon it.
Dad went on thinking awhile. "How much," he at last asked, "did Johnson
get for those skins?"
"Which?" Dave answered. "Bears or kangaroos?"
"Bears."
"Five bob, was n't it? Six for some."
"What, A-PIECE?"
"Yairs."
"Why, God bless my soul, what have we been thinking about? FIVE SHILLINGS?
Are you sure?"
"Yairs, rather."
"What, bear-skins worth that and the paddock here and the lanes and the
country over-run with them--FULL of the damn things--HUNDREDS of them--and
we, all this time--all these years--working and slaving and scraping
and-and" (he almost shouted), "DAMN me! What asses we HAVE been, to be
sure.
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