Part 31 (1/2)
The cook scratched his head; he seemed to have nothing to say. He thought about trying to think, perhaps, but gave it best. It was too hot and he was out of practice.
”Here, fill these up, will you?” said Mitch.e.l.l. ”That's the tea-bag, and that's the sugar-bag, and that's the flour-bag.” He had taken them from the front of his s.h.i.+rt.
”Don't be frightened to stretch 'em a little, old man. I've got two mates to feed.”
The cook took the bags mechanically and filled them well before he knew what he was doing. Mitch.e.l.l talked all the time.
”Thank you,” said he--”got a bit of baking-powder?”
”Ye-yes, here you are.”
”Thank you. Find it dull here, don't you?”
”Well, yes, pretty dull. There's a bit of cooked beef and some bread and cake there, if you want it!”
”Thanks,” said Mitch.e.l.l, sweeping the broken victuals into an old pillow-slip which he carried on his person for such an emergency. ”I s'pose you find it dull round here.”
”Yes, pretty dull.”
”No one to talk to much?” ”No, not many.”
”Tongue gets rusty?”
”Ye--es, sometimes.”
”Well, so long, and thank yer.”
”So long,” said the cook (he nearly added ”thank yer”).
”Well, good day; I'll see you again.”
”Good day.”
Mitch.e.l.l shouldered his spoil and left.
The cook scratched his head; he had a chat with the overseer afterwards, and they agreed that the traveller was a bit gone.
But Mitch.e.l.l's head wasn't gone--not much: he had been round a bit--that was all.
THE BUSH UNDERTAKER
”Five Bob!”
The old man shaded his eyes and peered through the dazzling glow of that broiling Christmas Day. He stood just within the door of a slab-and-bark hut situated upon the bank of a barren creek; sheep-yards lay to the right, and a low line of bare, brown ridges formed a suitable background to the scene.
”Five Bob!” shouted he again; and a dusty sheep-dog rose wearily from the shaded side of the but and looked inquiringly at his master, who pointed towards some sheep which were straggling from the flock.
”Fetch 'em back,” he said confidently.