I was overseer at the principal out-station a good enough billet in its way and Minchin was overseer in at the homestead. But Steel was the boss, damn him, trust Steel to be the boss!" "But if the station was his?" queried Langholm. "I suppose it was a station?" he added, as a furious shower of sparks came from the cutty. "Was it a station?" the ex-overseer echoed.

Here was a touch of the stuff that made the grand-stand kin to the old man. The disreputable cart, the lifeless, blind old pacer, the home-made harness, the seediness of it all the pathos. Here was the quaint old man, who, all his life, had given for others, here was the ex-overseer and the ex-trainer of the Travis stables, trying to win the purse from gentlemen.