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were good days there then, before all the newfangled laws that now regulate the pearling trade had come into force, and days when a man could do almost as he liked among the islands in those seas. I don't know how other folk liked it, but it just suited me-so much so that when Somerset proved inconvenient and the settlement shifted across to Thursday, I went with it, and, what was more to the point, with money enough at my back to fit myself out with a brand new lugger and full crew, and go pearling on my own account.

For many years I went at it head down, and this brings me up to four years ago, to 1888, we'll say, when I was a grown man, the owner of a house, two luggers, and as good a diving plant as any man could wish to possess. What was more, just before this, I had put some money into a mining concern which had, contrary to most ventures of the sort, turned up trumps, giving me as my share the nice round sum of £5,000. With all this wealth at my back, and having been in harness for a good number of years on end, I made up my mind to take a holiday and go home to England to see the place where my father was born, and had lived his early life (I found the name of it written in the fly leaf

of an old Latin book he left me), and to have a look at a country I'd heard so much about but never thought to have the good fortune to set my foot upon.

Accordingly I packed my traps, let my house, sold my luggers and gear, intending to buy new ones when I returned; said good-bye to my friends and shipmates, and set off to join an Orient liner in Sydney. You will see from this that I intended to do the thing in style! And why not? I'd got more money to my hand than most of the swells who patronise the first saloon, had earned it honestly, and was resolved to enjoy myself with it to the top of my bent and hang the consequences.

I reached Sydney a week before the boat was advertised to sail, but I didn't fret much about that. There's plenty to see and do in such a big place, and when a man's been shut away from theatres and amusements for years at a stretch, he can put in his time pretty well looking about him. All the same, not knowing a soul in the place, I must confess there were moments when I did think regretfully of the tight little island hidden away up north under the wing of New Guinea, of the luggers dancing to the breeze in the harbour, and the warm welcome that always awaited me among my

friends in the saloons. Take my word for it there's even something in being a leader on a small island. Anyway it's better than being a deadbeat in a big city like Sydney, where nobody knows you, and your nextdoor neighbour wouldn't miss you if he never saw or heard of you again.

I used to think of these things as I marched about the streets looking in at shop windows, or took excursions up and down the Harbour. There's no place like Sydney Harbour in the wide, wide world for prettiness, and before I'd been there a week I was familiar with every part of it. Still, it would have been more enjoyable, as I hinted just now, if I had had a friend to tour about with me; and by the same token I'm doing one man an injustice.

There was one fellow, I remember, who did offer to show me round: I think I fell across him in a saloon in George Street. He was tall and handsome, and as spic and span as a new pin till you came to look under the surface. He winked at the girl who was serving us, and when I'd finished my drink asked me to take another with him. Seeing what his little game was, and wanting to teach him a lesson, I lured him on by consenting. I drank with him, and then he drank drank with with me. me. Oh, a perfect gentleman he was, as far as manners went, I can assure you!

"Been long in Sydney?" he enquired casually, looking at me, and, at the same time, stroking his fair moustache.

"Just come in," was my reply. "Don't you find it dull work?" he continued. "I shall never forget my first week in it."

"You're about right. It is dull! I don't know a soul bar my banker and lawyer in the town."

"Dear me!" (more curling of the moustache). "If I can be of any service to you while you're here, I hope you'll command me. For the sake of 'Auld Lang Syne,' don't you know. I believe we're both Englishmen, eh?"

"It's very good of you," I replied modestly, affecting to be overcome by his condescension. "I'm just off to lunch. I am staying at the 'Quebec.' Is it far enough for a hansom?" As he was about to answer, a lawyer, with whom I had done a little business the day before, walked into the I turned to my patronising friend and said, "Will you excuse me for just one moment, I want to speak to this gentleman on business. I'll join you outside."

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He was still all graciousness. "I'll call a hansom and wait for you in it." When he had left the saloon I spoke to the new arrival. He had noticed the man I was talking to and was kind enough to warn me against him.

"That man," he said, "bears a very bad reputation. He makes it his trade to meet new arrivals from England-weak-brained young pigeons with money. He shows them round Sydney and plucks them so clean that when they leave his hands, in nine cases out of ten, they haven't a feather left to fly with. You ought not, with your experience of rough customers, to be taken in by him."

"Nor am I," I replied. "I am going to teach him a lesson. Would you like to see it? Then come with me."

Arm in arm we walked into the street, watched by Mr. Hawk from his seat in the cab. When we got there we stood for a moment chatting, and then strolled together down the pavement. Next moment I heard the cab coming along after us-my friend hailed me in his silkiest tones-but though I looked him full in the face I pretended not to know him. Seeing this he drove past us -pulled up a little further down and sprang out to wait for me.

"Per

"I was almost afraid I had missed you," he began, as we came up with him. haps as it is such a fine day you would rather walk than ride?"

"I beg your pardon," I answered, "I'm really afraid you have the advantage of me." "But you have asked me to lunch with you. You asked me to call a hansom."

"Pardon me again! there you are really mistaken. I said I was going to lunch at the 'Quebec' and asked you if it was far enough to be worth taking a hansom. That is your hansom, not mine. If you don't require it any longer I should advise you to pay the man and let him go."

"You are a swindler, sir. I refuse to pay the cabman. It is your hansom."

I took a step closer to my fine gentleman and looking him full in the face said as quietly as possible, for I didn't want all the street to hear:

"Mr. Dorunda Dodson, let this be a lesson to you. Perhaps you'll think twice next time before you try your little games on me!"

He stepped back as if he had been shot, hesitated a moment, and then jumped into his cab and drove off in the opposite direction. When he had gone I looked at my astonished companion.

"Well, now," he ejaculated at last, "how on earth did you manage that?"

"Very easily," I replied. "I happen to remember having met that gentleman up in our part of the world when he was in a very awkward position--very awkward. By his action just now I should say he has not forgotten the circumstances any more than I have."

"I should rather think not. Good day!"

We shook hands and parted, he going on down the street, while I branched off to my hotel.

That was the first of the only two adventures of any importance that I met with during my stay in New South Wales. And there's not much in that, I fancy I can hear you saying. Well, that may be so, I don't deny it, but it was nevertheless through that that I became mixed up with the folk who figure in this book, and indeed it was to that very circumstance, and that alone, I cwe my connection with the queer story I have set myself to tell. And this is how it came about.

Three days before the steamer sailed and about four o'clock in the afternoon, I chanced to be walking down Castlereagh Street, wondering what on earth I should do with myself until dinner-time, when I saw approaching me the very man whose discomfiture I have just described. Being probably occupied planning the plucking of some unfortunate new chum, he did not see me coming towards him. And as I had no desire to meet him again after what had passed between us, I crossed the road and meandered off in a different direction, eventu ally finding myself located on a seat in the Domain, lighting a cigarette and looking down over a broad expanse of harbour.

One thought led to another, and so I sat on and on, long after dusk had fallen, never stirring until a circumstance occurred on a neighbouring path that attracted my attention. A young and well-dressed lady was pursuing her way in my direction, evidently intending tending to leave the park by the entrance I had used to come into it. But unfortunately for her, at the junction of two paths to my right, three of Sydney's typical larrikins were engaged in earnest conservation. They had observed the girl coming towards them and were evidently preparing some plan for accosting her. When she was only about fifty yards away, two of them walked to a distance, leaving the third and biggest ruffian to waylay her. He did so, but without success; she passed him and continued her walk at increased speed.

The man thereupon quickened his pace and, secure in the fact that he was unobserved, again accosted her. Again she tried to escape him, but this time he would not leave her. What was worse, his two friends were now blocking the path in front. She looked to right and left and was evidently uncertain what to do. Then seeing escape was hopeless, she stopped, took out her purse, and gave it to the man who had first spoken to her. Thinking this was going too far, I jumped up and went quickly across the turf towards them. My footsteps made no sound on the soft grass, and they were too much occupied in examining what she had given them to notice my approach.

"You scoundrels!" I said, when I had come up with them. "What do you mean by stopping this lady? Let her go instantly, and you my friend, just hand over that purse."

The man addressed looked to me as if he were taking my measure, and were wondering what sort of chance he'd have against me in a fight. But I suppose my height must have rather scared him, for he changed his tone and began to whine.

"I haven't got the lady's purse, s'help me, I ain't! I was only a asking of 'er the time, I'll take me davy I was!"

"Hand over that purse," I said sternly, approaching a step nearer to him.

One of the others here intervened."Let's stowch 'im, Dog! There ain't a copper in sight!"

With that they began to close upon me. But, as the saying goes, "I'd been there before." I'd not been knocking about the rough side of the world for nearly fifteen years without learning how to take care of myself. When they had had about enough of it, which was most likely more than they had bargained for, I took the purse and went down the path to where the innocent cause of it all was standing. She was looking very white and scared, but she plucked up courage enough to thank me prettily.

Bless you! I can see her now, standing there looking into my face with big tears in her pretty blue eyes. She was a girl of about twenty-one or two, I should think-tall but slenderly built, with a pretty oval face, bright brown hair, and the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen in my life. She was dressed in some dark green material, wore a

fawn jacket, and because the afternoon was cold, had a boa of marten fur round her neck. I can remember perfectly that her hat was of some flimsy make, with lace and glittering spear points in it; the whole surmounted with two bows, one of black ribbon the other of salmon pink.

"Oh, how can I thank you?" she began when I came up to her. "But for your appearance I don't know what those men might not have done to me."

"I am very glad that I was there to help T you," I replied, looking into her face with more admiration for its warm young beauty than perhaps I ought to have shown. "Here is your purse. I hope you will find its contents safe. At the same time will you let me give you a little piece of advice. From what I have seen this afternoon this is evidently not the sort of place for a young lady to be walking in alone and after dark. I don't think I would risk it again if I were you."

She looked at me for a moment and then said :

"You are quite right. I have only myself to thank for it. I met a friend and walked across the green with her--I was on my way back to my carriage-which is waiting for me outside, when I met those men. However I think I can promise you that it will not happen again, as we are leaving Sydney in a day or two.”

Somehow I began to feel glad I was booked to leave the place too when I heard that. But of course I didn't tell her so.

"May I see you safely to your carriage? Those fellows may still be hanging about on the chance of overtaking you."

Her courage must have come back to her for she looked up into my face with a smile.

"I don't think they will be rude to me again after the lesson you have given them. But if you will walk with me I shall be very grateful."

Side by side we proceeded down the path, through the gates and out into the street. A neat brougham was drawn up alongside the kerb and towards this she made her way. I opened the door and held it for her to get in. But before she did so she turned to me and stretched out her little hand.

"Will you tell me your name that I may know to whom I am indebted?”

"My name is Hatteras. Richard Hatteras, of Thursday Island, Torres Straits. I am staying at the 'Quebec.'"

"Thank you, Mr. Hatteras, again and again. I shall always be grateful to you for your gallantry!"

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