Part 27 (2/2)
”You ought to--I would if I were you.”
”My oath!”
”Those were good old times,” I hazarded, ”you remember the old bark school?”
He looked away across the sidling, and was evidently getting uneasy. He s.h.i.+fted about, and said:
”Well, I must be goin'.”
”I suppose you're pretty busy now?”
”My oath! So long.”
”Well, good-bye. We must have a yarn some day.”
”My oath!”
He got away as quickly as he could.
I wonder whether he _was_ changed after all--or, was it I? A man does seem to get out of touch with the bush after living in cities for eight or ten years.
A VISIT OF CONDOLENCE
”Does Arvie live here, old woman?”
”Why?”
”Strike me dead! carn't yer answer a civil queschin?”
”How dare you talk to me like that, you young larrikin! Be off! or I'll send for a policeman.”
”Blarst the cops! D'yer think I cares for 'em? Fur two pins I'd fetch a push an' smash yer ole shanty about yer ears--y'ole cow! _I only arsked if Arvie lived here_! Holy Mosis! carn't a feller ask a civil queschin?”
”What do you want with Arvie? Do you know him?”
”My oath! Don't he work at Grinder Brothers? I only come out of my way to do him a good turn; an' now I'm sorry I come--d.a.m.ned if I ain't--to be barracked like this, an' shoved down my own throat. (_Pause_) I want to tell Arvie that if he don't come ter work termorrer, another bloke'll collar his job. I wouldn't like to see a cove collar a cove's job an'
not tell a bloke about it. What's up with Arvie, anyhow? Is he sick?”
”Arvie is dead!”
”Christ! (_Pause_) Garn! What-yer-giv'n-us? Tell Arvie Bill Anderson wants-ter see him.”
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