e Yarra Nickie the Kid dissolved one of three gingernuts
he had taken from the bar lunch in a two pound jam tin of river water,
and started to fill his bottles. He filled one dozen.

Having explained to a small knot of brother professionals that he needed
change of air and scenery, Nickie the Kid started out of town that
afternoon. We next discover him seated under a spreading gum in a
pleasant sweep of sunny landscape at Tarra, with his trousers in his
hands, carefully and systematically repairing and renovating the same.
The frock coat had been "restored," the rag cap was abandoned in favour
of a limp bell-topper, contributed by the family of a benevolent
clergyman, and the tan boots were artistically blacked with stove polish.
Nickie the Kid warbled at his work with the innocent gaiety of a bird.

It was not yet sundown, and Nicholas Crips was clothed, and stood with
his black Gladstone in his right hand, prepared for the campaign. He had
had a clean shave, and his face had a sort of calm dignity touched with
benevolence. He turned round, examining himself, and the coat-tails
floated gracefully in the breeze.

"Eminently satisfactory," said Mr. Crips. "And now for business." He
cleared his throat, as if about to commence an oration, and set off at a
smart pace towards the farm-house whose chimneys peeped over the hill.

A dog barked surlily as Nickie passed up the garden walk, but Nickie knew
the character and quality of dogs, no beat better, and he recognised this
one as harmless to man. A woman came to the door, wiping her fat, red
arms on a canvas apron.

"A very good day to you, madam," said Mr. Crips, lifting his belltopper
with some grace, and bowing slightly. "I have taken the liberty of
calling upon you to bring under your attention my celebrated
medicine--Dr. Crips's Healing Mixture, for coughs, colds, consumption
indigestion, biliousness and all bronchial complaints."

He took a bottle from his bag and shook it invitingly, his voice was
respectful and very persuasive, but by no means subservient. Nickie's
voice was his most valuable possession; it had a note so winning, so
appealing, that it was only with strong effort that ordinary people could
resist it.

"No," said the woman, "we ain't got any o' them complaints."

"Headache, earache, toothache, lumbago, Bright's disease?" said Nickie,
suggestively.

"No." The woman shook her head. "We ain't got nothin' in the 'ouse but
rhoomertism in me ole ma