larat, said Ocock, the plainest house he could build would cost him
eight hundred; and another couple of hundred would go in furnishing;
while a saddle-horse might be put down at fifty pounds. On Turnham's
letter he, Ocock, would be prepared to borrow seven hundred for
him--and this could probably be obtained at ten per cent on a mortgage
of the house; and a further four hundred, for which he would have to
pay twelve or fifteen. Current expenses must be covered by the residue
of this savings, and by what he was able to make. They would include
the keep of the horse, and the interest on the borrowed money, which
might be reckoned roughly at a hundred and twenty per annum. In
addition, he would be well advised to insure his life for five to seven
hundred pounds.

The question also came up whether the land he had selected for building
on should be purchased or not. He was for doing so, for settling the
whole business there and then. Ocock, however, took the opposite view.
Considering, said he, that the site chosen was far from the centre of
the town, Mahony might safely postpone buying in the meanwhile. There
had been no government land-sales of late, and all main-road frontages
had still to come under the hammer. As occupier, when the time arrived,
he would have first chance at the upset price; though then, it was
true, he would also be liable for improvements. The one thing he must
beware of was of enclosing too small a block.

Mahony agreed--agreed to everything: the affair seemed to have passed
out of his hands. A sense of dismay invaded him while he listened to
the lawyer tick off the obligations and responsibilities he was letting
himself in for. A thousand pounds! He to run into debt for such a sum,
who had never owed a farthing to anyone! He fell to doubting whether,
after all, he had made choice of the easier way, and lapsed into a
gloomy silence.

Ocock on the other hand warmed to geniality.

"May I say, doctor, how wise I think your decision to come over to
us?"--He spoke as if Ballarat East were in the heart of the Russian
steppes. "And that reminds me. There's a friend of mine.... I may be
able at once to put a patient in your way."

Mahony walked home in a mood of depression which it took all Polly's
arts to dispel.

Under its influence he wrote an outspoken letter to Purdy--but with no
very satisfactory result. It was like projecting a feeler for sympathy
into the void, so long was it since they had m