is time pretty well looking about
him. All the same, not knowing a soul in the place, I must confess there
were moments when I did think regretfully of the little island hidden
away up north under the wing of New Guinea, of the luggers dancing to
the breeze in the harbour, and the warm welcome that always awaited me
among my friends in the saloons. Take my word for it, there's something
in even being a leader on a small island. Anyway, it's better than being
a deadbeat in a big city like Sydney, where nobody knows you, and your
next-door neighbour wouldn't miss you if he never saw or heard of you
again.

I used to think of these things as I marched about the streets looking
in at shop windows, or took excursions up and down the harbour. There's
no place like Sydney Harbour in the wide, wide world for beauty, and
before I'd been there a week I was familiar with every part of it.
Still, it would have been _more_ enjoyable, as I hinted just now, if I
had had a friend to tour about with me; and by the same token I'm doing
one man an injustice.

There was _one_ fellow, I remember, who did offer to show me round: I
fell across him in a saloon in George Street. He was tall and handsome,
and as spic and span as a new pin till you came to look under the
surface. When he entered the bar he winked at the girl who was serving
me, and as soon as I'd finished my drink asked me to take another with
him. Seeing what his little game was, and wanting to teach him a lesson,
I lured him on by consenting. I drank with him, and then he drank with
me.

"Been long in Sydney?" he inquired casually, as he stroked his fair
moustache.

"Just come in," was my reply.

"Don't you find it dull work going about alone?" he inquired. "I shall
never forget my first week of it."

"You're about right," I answered. "It is dull! I don't know a soul, bar
my banker and lawyer."

"Dear me!" (more curling of the moustache). "If I can be of any service
to you while you're here, I hope you'll command me. I believe we're both
Englishmen, eh?"

"It's very good of you," I replied modestly, affecting to be overcome by
his condescension. "I'm just off to lunch. I am staying at the _Quebec_.
Is it far enough for a hansom?" As he was about to answer, a lawyer,
with whom I had done a little business the day before, walked into the
room. I turned to my patronising friend and said, "Will you excuse me
for one moment? I want to speak to this gentleman."

He was s