wouldn’t do much good, anyway, and he calculated that they would keep till he got back “over our way”—by which it was reckoned he meant the States.
When they asked him what he’d have, he said to Watty the publican:
“Wal, I reckon you can build me your national drink. I guess I’ll try it.”
A long colonial was drawn for him, and he tried it. He seemed rather startled at first, then he looked curiously at the half-empty glass, set it down very softly on the bar, and leaned against the same and fell into a reverie; from which he roused himself after a while, with a sorrowful jerk of his head.
“Ah, well,” he said. “Show me this river of yourn.”
They led him to the Darling, and he had a look at it.
“Is this your river?” he asked.
“Yes,” they replied, apprehensively.
He tilted his hat forward till the brim nearly touched his nose, scratched the back of his long neck, shut one eye, and looked at the river with the other. Then, after spitting half a pint of tobacco juice into the stream, he turned sadly on his heel and led the way back to the pub. He invited the boys to “pisen themselves”; after they were served he ordered out the longest tumbler on the premises, poured a drop into it from nearly every bottle on the shelf, added a lump of ice, and drank slowly and steadily.
Then he took pity on the impatient and anxious population, opened his mouth, and spake.
