e
of the things that pleased old Joe about him. I fancy the old chap had
suffered at the hands of other new-chums who reckoned they could
teach him how to do his work. 'Captin ain't orffered me not one bit of
advice,' he told me with relief."

Mr. Linton laughed.

"Yes, I've had them here like that," he said. "Full of sublime
enthusiasm for reforming Australia and all her ways. I don't say
we don't need it, either, but not from a new-chum in his first five
minutes."

"Not much," agreed Jim. "Well, there's nothing of that sort about old
Bob. He just hoes in at anything that's going, and doesn't talk about
it. Joe says he must have been reared sensible. He's all right, dad.
I've had a lot of men through my hands in the last few years, and you
learn to size 'em up pretty quickly."

David Linton nodded, looking at his big son. Sometimes he had a pang of
regret for Jim's lost boyhood, swallowed up in war. Then, when he was
privileged to behold him rough-and-tumbling with Wally, singing idiotic
choruses with Norah and Tommy, or making himself into what little Babs
Archdale ecstatically called "my bucking donkey," it was borne in upon
him that there still was plenty of the boy left in Jim--and that there
always would be. Nevertheless, he had great confidence in his judgment;
and in this instance it happened to coincide with his own.

The door opened, and Bob Rainham came in, hesitating as he caught sight
of the father and son.

"Come in, Bob," Mr. Linton said. "I was just wishing you would turn up.
We've been talking about you. I understand you've made up your mind to
get a place of your own."

"If you don't think I'm insane to tackle it, sir," Bob answered. "Of
course, I know I'm awfully ignorant. But I thought I could probably get
hold of a good man, and if I can find a place anywhere in this district,
Jim says he'll keep an eye on me. Between the two, I oughtn't to make
very hopeless mistakes. And I might as well have my money invested."

"Quite so. I think you're wise," the squatter answered. "As it happens,
I was in Cunjee yesterday, talking to an agent, and I heard of a little
place that might suit you very well--just about the price you ought to
pay, and the land's not bad. There's a decent cottage on it--you and
Tommy could be very comfortable there. It's four miles from here, so we
should feel you hadn't got away from us."

"That sounds jolly," said Bob. "I'd be awfully glad to think Tommy was
so near to N