ed that there was no medium in the bush. Look at
the heat! He had been through the Red Sea at its worst, but it had not
fetched the skin from his hands as this one day in Riverina. Riverina,
forsooth! Where were their rivers? _Lucus a non lucendo._

The storekeeper winked; he was a humorist himself, of a lower order.

"No good coming it in Greek up here, mister."

The jackeroo was the storekeeper's hourly butt. The jackeroo was a new
chum who had done pretty badly at his public school, and was going to do
worse in the bush, but he still knew Latin from Greek when he heard it,
and he perceived his chance of scoring off the storekeeper.

"Greek is good," said the jackeroo. "Greek is great!"

"Ah, now we have it!" cried the storekeeper, who was a stout young man
with bulbous eyes, and all the sly glances of the low comedian. "'Tis
the voice of the scholard, I heard him explain! He comes from Rugby, Mr.
Bethune; hasn't he told you yet? Calls himself an Old Rug--sure it isn't
a plaid-shawl, Ives? Oh, you needn't put on side because you can draft
Greek from Latin!"

Ives the jackeroo, a weak youth wearing spectacles, had put on nothing
but the long-suffering smile with which he was in the habit of receiving
the storekeeper's grape-shot. He said no more, however, and a brief but
disdainful silence on the part of Bethune made an awkward pause which
Rigden broke heroically. Hitherto but little talking had been required
of him or of Moya. The aggressive Theodore had been their unwitting
friend, and he stood them in better stead than ever when the young men
adjourned to smoke on the verandah.

This was the time when the engaged couple would naturally have
disappeared; they had duly done so the previous evening; to-night they
merely sat apart, out of range of the lamp, and the young men galled
them both by never glancing their way. Nothing had been noticed yet; nor
indeed was there anything remarkable in their silence after so long a
day spent in each other's exclusive society. From time to time, however,
they made a little talk to save appearances which were incriminating
only in their own minds; and all the time their eyes rested together
upon the black stack of logs and corrugated iron which was the store.

Once the storekeeper approached with discreet deliberation.

"I've lost my key of the store, Mr. Rigden; may I borrow yours?"

"It's I who've lost mine, Spicer, so I took yours from your room. No,
don't bother about