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"There's no ship there," echoed my friend "Conky," tapping his forehead in a very offensive way to intimate that I had "a screw loose in the upper storey," as the saying goes, grinning the while as I could see very well in the dim light and poking his long nose up in the air in supreme contempt. "The boy is either mad, or drunk, or dreaming, as you say, sir.
'Ho! said Private Conklin. 'There's another bloomin' orf'cer da ed. The bucket shot from under him, and his eyes filled with a smithyful of sparks. A tall man in a blue-gray bedgown was regarding him with deep disfavour. 'You ought to take shame for yourself, Conky! Orf'cer? Bloomin' orf'cer? I'll learn you to misname the likes of 'im. Hangel! Bloomin' Hangel! That's wot'e is!
They outgulched the Gulch in the virulence and fluency of their blasphemy, in the truculence of their speech and manner, and in their reckless disregard of all social laws. They claimed to have come from Bendigo, and there were some amongst us who wished that the redoubted Conky Jim was on the track once more, as long as he would close it to such visitors as these.
Communication between Jackman's Gulch and the outside world was difficult and uncertain. A portion of the bush between it and Ballarat was infested by a redoubtable outlaw named Conky Jim, who, with a small band as desperate as himself, made travelling a dangerous matter.
I should think I did." "That same, alannah. He wasn't a bad sort of chap, an' a good sayman, ivvry inch of him, though I used for to call him an ould thaife just `for fun an' fancy' as the old song says well, he's lift the ould barquey an' gone with Cap'en Fosset in the Fairi Quane. But ye haven't axed me onst afther yer ould fri'nd Spokeshave! Sure, now, ye haven't forgot little `Conky, faith!"
"Perhaps, too, we'd better send up a rocket to let 'em know we're about. Mr Spokeshave? Mr Spokeshave?" No answer came this time, however, from my friend, Master "Conky," though he had been ready enough just now with his aggravating "quite so." "I think, sir," said I, "Mr Spokeshave has gone below to his tea."
A dark mass of figures could be seen below, making ready for the last rush, and rumor said that a swarm of blackguards from the slums, led by a grisly terror called Conky Daniels, with a club and a hideous reputation, was going to put an end to the Beacon Street cowards forever.
"Oh no, sir; he's on the bridge now, and I ought to have relieved him before this," I replied, only thinking of poor "Conky" and his tea then for the first time. "I wasn't even dreaming of him; I'm sure I beg his pardon!" "Well, you were dreaming of some one perhaps `nearer and dearer' than Spokeshave," rejoined Mr Fosset, with another genial laugh.
The terrible Conky Daniels swaggered up, stopped a moment with his body-guard to swear a few oaths at Marvin, and then swept on and chased the flyers, leaving the few boys untouched who stood their ground.
Charmian found herself wondering how she knew that he had taken a swift liking to her mother. "Did you have an interesting time at dinner?" she asked Paul Lane. "Not specially so. Music was never mentioned." "Was boxing?" "Boxing!" "Well, Mr. Elliot said he and Mr. Heath met first at a place in Whitechapel where Conky somebody was fighting the Nutcracker." Lane smiled with his mouth.
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