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inued to make money by mysterious means. Anyway, she was "Mother Mac" to the bush, but, in the bank in the "town," and in the stores where she dealt, she was _Mrs_ Mac, and there was always a promptly propped chair for her. She was, indeed, the missus of no other than old Mac, the teamster of hypnotic fame, and late opposition to Harry Chatswood. Hence, perhaps, part of Harry's hesitation to pull up, farther back, and his generosity to Old Jack. Mrs or Mother Mac sold refreshments, from a rough bush dinner at eighteenpence a head to passengers, to a fly-blown bottle of ginger-ale or lemonade, hot in hot weather from a sunny fly-specked window. In between there was cold corned beef, bread and butter, and tea, and (best of all if they only knew it) a good bush billy of coffee on the coals before the fire on cold wet nights. And outside of it all, there was cold tea, which, when confidence was established, or they knew one of the party, she served hushedly in cups without saucers; for which she sometimes apologized, and which she took into her murderous bedroom to fill, and replenish, in its darkest and most felonious corner from homicidal-looking pots, by candle-light. You'd think you were in a cheap place, where you shouldn't be, in the city. Harry and his passengers got down and stretched their legs, and while Old Jack was guardedly answering a hurriedly whispered inquiry of the traveller, Harry took the opportunity to nudge Mrs Mac, and whisper in her ear: "Look out, Mrs Mac!--Exciseman!" "The devil he is!" whispered she. "Ye-e-es!" whispered Harry. "All right, Harry!" she whispered. "Never a word! I'll take care of him, bless his soul." After a warm at the wide wood fire, a gulp of coffee and a bite or two at the bread and meat, the traveller, now thoroughly thawed, stretched himself and said: "Ah, well, Mrs Mac, haven't you got anything else to offer us?" "And what more would you be wanting?" she snapped. "Isn't the bread and meat good enough for you?" "But--but--you know--" he suggested lamely. "Know?--I know!--What do _I_ know?" A pause, then, with startling suddenness, "Phwat d'y' mean?" "No offence, Mrs Mac--no offence; but haven't you got something in the way of--of a drink to offer us?" "Dhrink! Isn't the coffee good enough for ye? I paid two and six a pound for ut, and the milk new from the cow this very evenin'--an' th' water rain-water." "But--but--you know what I mean, Mrs M
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