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The Doctor always encouraged early rising, and he was, besides, anxious to show us that he took an interest in our amusements, by making such regulations as might facilitate them. Ernest and Ellis had constantly been to old Hobson's to see how their carriage was getting on. "Never you mind, young gen'men, it's all right," was his answer for some days.
In addition to these drawbacks I had another personal one. Coming in the middle of the winter, it was naturally Hobson's choice as regarded the bedrooms. All the best and warmest aspects had been appropriated in the autumn, and an ugly little room, with cold, west outlook and depressing, mustard-coloured distempered walls, fell to my lot.
"I guess the heavy end of this business is coming on to you. We could put him down an old shaft when we've done with him; but however we work it we can't get past the man living at Hobson's Patch and you being there to-day." McMurdo shrugged his shoulders. "If we handle it right, they can never prove the killing," said he.
If they should prove themselves fully able to keep a whole host of Apaches at bay, how was the siege to end? If the Indians should content themselves with merely waiting until hunger and thirst could do their work, what more? These questions naturally occurred to the men themselves, but it came back to Hobson's choice after all.
Dexter's grandfather left her there's the strip called Hobson's woods, you know. The forest is a pretty big affair. In fact, it's what's generally called wild country. But there are a thousand acres of the woods, worth about four dollars an acre, that now belong to Mrs. Dexter. She authorized me to find a buyer for that bit of the forest, but it seems to be out of the question. Now, on Mrs.
Another hour, and from a gentle eminence the buildings of Melbourne were visible, the mastheads of the many vessels riding at anchor in Hobson's Bay. Here, too, the briny scent of the sea, carrying up over grassy flats, met their nostrils, and set Mahony hungrily sniffing.
Quiller," he cried, "where in the name o' fathers have you been a-wallerin'?" "We went swimming in the Valley," I answered. "Mercy sakes!" said the tavern-keeper, "you must a mired down. You've got mud enough on you to daub a chimney, an' your head looks like a chaff-pen on a windy mornin'. What did you go swimmin' for?" "Hobson's choice," said I. "Was the ferry washed out?" he asked.
Entering Port Phillip on the morning of the 13th December, 1840, we were wafted quickly up to the anchorage of Hobson's Bay on the wings of a strong southerly breeze, whose cool, and even cold, temperature was to most of us an unexpected enjoyment in the middle of an Australian summer. A small boat came to us at the anchorage containing Mr. and Mrs.
Hobson's principles were very liberal according to the idea of that time; they seemed to grudge no expense with regard to the transmission of news. Telegrams were costly things in those days, but Mr. Hobson sometimes sent off half-a-dozen in the course of a morning.
I began to feel the force of Mr. John Hobson's remark that "if practical workers for social and industrial reforms continue to ignore principles ... they will have to pay the price which short-sighted empiricism always pays; with slow, hesitant, and staggering steps, with innumerable false starts and backslidings, they will move in the dark along an unseen track toward an unseen goal."
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