eighteen years old, Ned Turnharn had the aplomb and assurance
of double that age. Lolling back in the single armchair the room
boasted, he more than once stretched out his hand and helped himself
from the sherry bottle Mahony had placed on the table. And the
disparity in their ages notwithstanding, there was no trace of
deference in his manner. Or the sole hint of it was: he sometimes
smothered a profane word, or apologised, with a winning smile, for an
oath that had slipped out unawares. Mahony could not accustom him self
to the foul language that formed the diggers' idiom. Here, in the case
of Polly's brother, he sought to overlook the offence, or to lay the
blame for it on other shoulders: at his age, and alone, the boy should
never have been plunged into this Gehenna.

Ned talked mainly of himself and his doings. But other facts also
transpired, of greater interest to his hearer. Thus Mahony learned
that, out of a family of nine, four had found their way to the colony,
and a fifth was soon to follow--a mere child this, on the under side of
fifteen. He gathered, too, that the eldest brother, John by name, was
regarded as a kind of Napoleon by the younger fry. At thirty, this John
was a partner in the largest wholesale dry-goods' warehouse in
Melbourne. He had also married money, and intended in due course to
stand for the Legislative Council. Behind Ned's windy bragging Mahony
thought he discerned tokens of a fond, brotherly pride. If this were
so, the affair had its pathetic side; for, from what the boy said, it
was evident that the successful man of business held his relatives at
arm's length. And as Ned talked on, Mahony conceived John to himself as
a kind of electro-magnet, which, once it had drawn these lesser
creatures after it, switched off the current and left them to their own
devices. Ned, young as he was, had tried his hand at many trades. At
present he was working as a hired digger; but this, only till he could
strike a softer job. Digging was not for him, thank you; what you
earned at it hardly repaid you for the sweat you dripped. His every
second word, indeed, was of how he could amass most money with the
minimum of bodily exertion.

This calculating, unyouthful outlook was repugnant to Mahony, and for
all his goodwill, the longer he listened to Ned, the cooler he felt
himself grow. Another disagreeable impression was left by the grudging,
if-nothing-better-turns-up fashion, in which Ned accepted an