dy lad,'
who had been saving ninety per cent. of my wages and never indulging
myself in any way, actually contemplating the purchase of an evening
meal in Sydney, while becoming indebted for an evening meal I should
never eat in North Shore; to say nothing of making deceitful remarks
about being detained by business, when I had deliberately made up my
mind to postpone all business until the next day. Truly, I was making
an ominous start in the new life; or so my twitching conscience told
me, as I sat enjoying the harbour view from the deck of the ferry-boat
which took me to Circular Quay.

My notion of dissipation and extravagance would have proved amusing to
the bloods of that day, and merely incredible to those of the present
time. There was an unnecessary twopence for the ferry--admitting the
whole business to have been unnecessary. There was sixpence for a
meal, consisting of tea and a portentous allowance of scones with
butter. There was threepence for a packet of cigarettes ('colonial'
tobacco), the first I had ever smoked, and a purchase which had
actually been decided upon some days previously. Finally, there was
fourpence for a glass of colonial wine in a George Street wine-shop;
and this also, like the rest of the outing, had been practically
decided upon before I left Dursley. But with regard to the wine there
had been reservations. The cigarettes were certainly to be tried. The
wine was to be had if circumstances proved favourable, and such a
plunge seemed at the time desirable. It did; and so I may suppose the
outing was successful.

During my wanderings up and down the city streets, I examined
carefully the vestibules of various places of amusement--rather dingy
most of them were at that date--but had no serious thought of
penetrating further. The shops, the road traffic, and the people
intrigued me greatly, but especially the people, the unending streams
of lounging men, women, and children. Some, no doubt, were on business
bent; but the majority appeared to me to take their walking very
easily, and every one seemed to be chattering. My life since as a
child I left England had all been spent in sparsely populated rural
surroundings, and the noisy bustle of Sydney impressed me very much,
as I imagine the Strand would impress a Dartmoor lad, born and bred,
on his first visit to London.

It did not oppress me at all. On the contrary, I felt pleasantly
stimulated by it. Life here seemed very clearly and e