He crept up to the tent and cautiously moved the flap. Alf's candle was alight; he lay on his back in his bunk with his arms under his head, calmly smoking. We withdrew.
"They must have heard us," said Mitchell; "and she's slipped out under the tent at the back, and through the fence into the scrub."
Mitchell's respect for Alf increased visibly.
But we began to hear ominous whispers from the young married couples, and next Saturday night, which was pay-night, we decided to see it through.
We did not care to speak to Alf until we were sure. He stayed in camp, as he often did, on Saturday evening, while the others went up town.
Mitchell and I returned earlier than usual, and leaned on the fence at the back of Alf's tent.
We were scarcely there when we were startled by a "rat-tat-tat" as of someone knocking at a door. Then an old woman's voice INSIDE the tent asked:
"Who's there?"
"It's me," said Alf's voice from the front, "Mr. O'Briar from Perth."
"Mary, go and open the door!" said the old woman. (Mitchell nudged me to keep quiet.)
"Come in, Mr. O'Breer," said the old woman. "Come in. How do you do?
When did you get back?"
"Only last night," said Alf.
"Look at that now! Bless us all! And how did you like the country at all?"
"I didn't care much for it," said Alf. We lost the thread of it until the old woman spoke again.
"Have you had your tea, Mr. O'Breer?"
"Yes, thank you, Mrs. O'Connor."
"Are you quite sure, man?"
"Quite sure, thank you, Mrs. O'Connor." (Mitchell trod on my foot.)
"Will you have a drop of whisky or a glass of beer, Mr. O'Breer?"
"I'll take a glass of beer, thank you, Mrs. O'Connor."
There seemed to be a long pause. Then the old woman said, "Ah, well, I must get my work done, and Mary will stop here and keep you company, Mr. O'Breer." The arrangement seemed satisfactory to all parties, for there was nothing more said for a while. (Mitchell nudged me again, with emphasis, and I kicked his shin.)
Presently Alf said: "Mary!" And a girl's voice said, "Yes, Alf."
"You remember the night I went away, Mary?"
"Yes, Alf, I do."
"I have travelled long ways since then, Mary; I worked hard and lived close.
I didn't make my fortune, but I managed to rub a note or two together.
It was a hard time and a lonesome time for me, Mary.
The summer's awful over there, and livin's bad and dear.
You couldn't have any idea of it, Mary."
"No, Alf."
"I didn't come back so well off as I expected."
"But that doesn't matter, Alf."
"I got heart-sick and tired of it, and couldn't stand it any longer, Mary."
"But that's all over now, Alf; you mustn't think of it."
"Your mother wrote to me."
"I know she did" -- (very low and gently).
"And do you know what she put in it, Mary?"
"Yes, Alf."
"And did you ask her to put it in?"
"Don't ask me, Alf."
"And it's all true, Mary?"
There was no answer, but the silence seemed satisfactory.
"And be sure you have yourself down here on Sunday, Alf, me son."
("There's the old woman come back!" said Mitchell.)
"An' since the girl's willin' to have ye, and the ould woman's willin' -- there's me hand on it, Alf, me boy. An' God bless ye both."
("The old man's come now," said Mitchell.)
. . . . .
"Come along," said Mitchell, leading the way to the front of the tent.
"But I wouldn't like to intrude on them. It's hardly right, Mitchell, is it?"
"That's all right," said Mitchell. He tapped the tent pole.
"Come in," said Alf. Alf was lying on his bunk as before, with his arms under his head. His face wore a cheerful, not to say happy, expression.
There was no one else in the tent. I was never more surprised in my life.
"Have you got the paper, Alf?" said Mitchell.
"Yes. You'll find it there at the foot of the bunk. There it is.
Won't you sit down, Mitchell?"
"Not to-night," said Mitchell. "We brought you a bottle of ale.
We're just going to turn in."
And we said "good-night". "Well," I said to Mitchell when we got inside, "what do you think of it?"
"I don't think of it at all," said Mitchell. "Do you mean to say you can't see it now?"
"No, I'm dashed if I can," I said. "Some of us must be drunk, I think, or getting rats. It's not to be wondered at, and the sooner we get out of this country the better."
"Well, you must be a fool, Joe," said Mitchell. "Can't you see?
ALF THINKS ALOUD."
"WHAT?"
"Talks to himself. He was thinking about going back to his sweetheart.
Don't you know he's a bit of a ventriloquist?"
Mitchell lay awake a long time, in the position that Alf usually lay in, and thought. Perhaps he thought on the same lines as Alf did that night.
But Mitchell did his thinking in silence.
We thought it best to tell the Oracle quietly. He was deeply interested, but not surprised. "I've heerd of such cases before," he said.
But the Oracle was a gentleman. "There's things that a man wants to keep to himself that ain't his business," he said.
And we understood this remark to be intended for our benefit, and to indicate a course of action upon which the Oracle had decided, with respect to this case, and which we, in his opinion, should do well to follow.
Alf got away a week or so later, and we all took a holiday and went down to Fremantle to see him off. Perhaps he wondered why Mitchell gripped his hand so hard and wished him luck so earnestly, and was surprised when he gave him three cheers.
"Ah, well!" remarked Mitchell, as we turned up the wharf.
"I've heerd of such cases before," said the Oracle, meditatively.
"They ain't common, but I've hear'd of such cases before."
