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Wombo plenty frightened long-a ole husband belonging to me. And Oola dropped and knocked her head upon the ground, wailing the ear-piercing death-wail of the Australian native women. 'Oola, you must stop howling! said Bridget, alive to the seriousness of the situation. 'Has Wombo shot your husband with our gun? 'YOWI, Mithis. From Oola's broken revelations Bridget pieced the story.
Wombo catch him PHO PHO. Plenty quick husband belonging to me TUMBLE DOWN. And Oola wailed anew. 'Where's Wombo now? Bridget asked. Pollis-man close-up black's camp. That feller Harris catch 'im Wombo fetch um long-a Tunumburra gaol. Mine think it stop to-night Moongarr. Close-up station now. Lady Bridget at once saw through the affair.
Maule got up and strolled into the sitting-room, where he seemed engrossed in the pictures on the wall. Just then Cudgee, the black boy, hailed McKeith from the foot of the steps. 'That fellow pollis man want'ing Massa. He sit down long-a Old Humpey. 'All right. McKeith looked into the parlour. 'My wife will entertain you, Maule. I daresay you've got plenty to talk about. I'll see you later.
And though it is impossible to recognise any individual Chow, I fancied that this unit bore something more than a racial resemblance to the one from whom I had recovered Alf's bullocks. Moreover, he was riding the same horse. "Mornin', John," said I condescendingly. "You scoot-um long-a homestation big one hurry." "Lidee boundly," replied the early bird, in his mechanical tone
'YOWI* I believe when Boss say PHO-PHO, my word! that one PHO-PHO. Plenty black feller frightened. Bridget pushed the unhappy gin along the track. 'You needn't be frightened. Boss has gone away. 'Boss no sit down long-a Humpey? Wombo looked relieved, and while Bridget reassured him, the three moved on towards the crossing.
You go-a in-a da peanut-a beezneez, hey? You want-a push-a de cart, hey?" "That's it, Tony." "Ver-a good!" nodded the good-natured Italian. "You come-a long-a me, pal. I take-a you get-a push-a-de-cart, up-a de street, yes?"
Of course, it took me about half-an-hour to Champollion all this information from the cryptical utterances of the friendly Asiatic. "You allee same Christian," I remarked, packing away my breakfast-service. "You go long-a good place bimeby." "Me Clistian allee same you," he replied, not without dignity "Convelt plully long time. 'Paul' Clistian name. Splink' wattel, all li."
Me want 'em catch Lathy-chap before pollis-man come. That feller pollis-man take Wombo long-a gaol. Mithsis' the gin implored. 'BUJERI you! Mithis tell pollis-man Wombo plenty good blackfellow. No take Wombo long-a gaol. 'What has Wombo been doing? asked Lady Bridget. 'Did he steal the gun?
Him come close-up long-a srub throw 'im spear, NULLA-NULLA plenty look out Wombo. YUCKE! YUCKE! Lathychap suppose Massa let Wombo sit down long-a head-station two day, three day black fellow get tired up stick no more look out. No catch 'im Wombo. Lady Bridget came down the steps from the veranda and went up to McKeith. 'Colin, what the gin says is true.
"All li, John you collar-um that peller bullock one more time, me manhandle you; pull-um off you dud; tie-um you on ant-bed, allee same spread-eagle; cut-um off you eye-lid; likee do long-a China; bimeby sun jump up, roast-um you eye two-tlee day; bull-dog ant comballee, eat-um you meat, pick-um you bone; bimeby you tumble-down-die; go like-it dibil-dibil; budgeree fire long-a that peller.
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