he hopeless, haggard look that I'd
seen in Tom Hall's eyes after the last big shearing strike, when Tom had
worked day and night to hold his mates up all through the hard, bitter
struggle, and the battle was lost.

"Look here, Jack!" I said at last. "What's up?"

"Nothing's up, Harry," said Jack. "What made you think so?"

"Have you got yourself into any fix?" I asked. "What's the Hungerford
track been doing to you?"

"No, Harry," he said, "I'm all right. How are you?" And he pulled some
string and papers and a roll of dusty pound notes from his pocket and
threw them on the bunk.

I was hard up just then, so I took a note and the billy to go to the
Royal and get some beer. I thought the beer might loosen his mind a bit.

"Better take a couple of quid," said Jack. "You look as if you want some
new shirts and things." But a pound was enough for me, and I think he
had reason to be glad of that later on, as it turned out.

"Anything new in Bourke?" asked Jack as we drank the beer.

"No," I said, "not a thing--except there's a pretty girl in the
Salvation Army."

"And it's about time," growled Jack.

"Now, look here, Jack," I said presently, "what's come over you lately
at all? I might be able to help you. It's not a bit of use telling
me that there's nothing the matter. When a man takes to brooding and
travelling alone it's a bad sign, and it will end in a leaning tree and
a bit of clothes-line as likely as not. Tell me what the trouble is.
Tell us all about it. There's a ghost, isn't there?"

"Well, I suppose so," said Jack. "We've all got our ghosts for that
matter. But never you mind, Harry; I'm all right. I don't go interfering
with your ghosts, and I don't see what call you've got to come haunting
mine. Why, it's as bad as kicking a man's dog." And he gave the ghost of
a grin.

"Tell me, Jack," I said, "is it a woman?"

"Yes," said Jack, "it's a woman. Now, are you satisfied?"

"Is it a girl?" I asked.

"Yes," he said.

So there was no more to be said. I'd thought it might have been a lot
worse than a girl. I'd thought he might have got married somewhere,
sometime, and made a mess of it.

We had dinner at Billy Woods's place, and a sensible Christmas dinner it
was--everything cold, except the vegetables, with the hose going on the
veranda in spite of the by-laws, and Billy's wife and her sister, fresh
and cool-looking and jolly, instead of being hot and brown and cross
like most Australian women w