"Not if I know it."
The "Konk" received the intimation incredulously. "Stinkin' Roger!" he yelled. In bush parlance this was equal to emphatic disbelief.
This was a seemingly final parting, and both started, but suddenly the "Konk" wheeled round.
"Oh, Billy!" he shouted.
Billy stayed his horse and turned expectantly.
"W'en's it goin' ter rain?"
The driver's face darkened. "Your blanky jealersey 'll get yer down, an' worry yer yet," he snarled, and slashing his horse he drove rapidly away.
"Mickey ther Konk," he presently remarked to his companion, as he stroked his nose.
This explained her earlier desire to extend her hand. If the "Konk" had been a horse she would have stroked his nose.
"Mob er sheep can camp in the shadder of it," he said. Boundless scope for shadows on that sun-smitten treeless plain!
"Make a good plough-shere," he continued, "easy plough a cultivation paddock with it!"
