d girls to be used as decoys for the purpose of
hocussing and robbing bushmen, and the law and retribution might come
after me--but I'd fight the thing out. Or they might want to make a
K.C.M.G., or a god of me, and worship me before they hung me. I reckon
a philanthropist or reformer is lucky if he escapes with a whole skin
in the end, let alone his character-- But there!-- Talking of gratitude:
it's the fear of ingratitude that keeps thousands from doing good. It's
just as paltry and selfish and cowardly as any other fear that curses
the world--it's rather more selfish than most fears, in fact--take
the fear of being thought a coward, or being considered eccentric, or
conceited, or affected, or too good, or too bad, for instance. The man
that's always canting about the world's ingratitude has no gratitude
owing to him as a rule--generally the reverse--he ought to be grateful
to the world for being let live. He broods over the world's ingratitude
until he gets to be a cynic. He sees the world like the outside of a
window, as it were, with the blind drawn and the dead, cold moonlight
shining on it, and he passes on with a sour face; whereas, if he took
the trouble to step inside he'd most likely find a room full of ruddy
firelight, and sympathy and cheerfulness, and kindness, and love, and
gratitude. Sometimes, when he's right down on his uppers, and forced to
go amongst people and hustle for bread, he gets a lot of surprises at
the amount of kindness he keeps running against in the world--and in
places where he'd never have expected to find it. But--ah, well! I'm
getting maudlin."

"And you've forgot all about the Lost Souls' Hotel," I said.

"No, I haven't," said Mitchell; "I'd fix that up all right. As soon
as I'd got things going smoothly under a man I could trust, I'd tie up
every penny I had for the benefit of the concern; get some `white men'
for trustees, and take the track again. I'm getting too old to stay long
in one place--(I'm a lost soul that always got along better in another
place). I'm so used to the track that if I was shut up in a house I'd
get walking up and down in my room of nights and disturb the folk; and,
besides, I'd feel lost and light-shouldered without the swag."

"So you'd put all your money in the concern?"

"Yes--except a pound or two to go on the track with--for, who knows, I
might come along there, dusty and tired, and ragged and hard up and old,
some day, and be very glad of a night