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Updated: June 20, 2025
But in vain the Maluka explained and entreated: the sick man was "all right where he was." His mate was worth "ten women fussing round," he insisted, ignoring the Maluka's explanations.
"Stealing bread from a caged bird wasn't in it!" the homestead agreed, with unspeakable scorn; but the man was so reconciled to himself that the scorn passed over him unnoticed. He even missed the contempt in the Maluka's cutting "Perfectly!" when he hoped we understood him.
Two of the beds against the verandah were gaily flourishing, others "coming on," and outside the broad pathway a narrow bed had been made all round the garden for an hibiscus hedge; while outside this bed again, one at each corner of the garden, stood four posts the Maluka's promise of a dog-proof, goat-proof, fowl-proof fence.
As Brown acknowledged this reference to himself, by stirring the circle of hairs that expressed his sentiments to the world, Dan further proved the expansiveness of the Maluka's simile. "You might have noticed," he went on, "that when a dog does own a tail he generally manages to keep it out of the fight somehow."
Goggle-Eye and three other old black fellows were gossiping there, and after a peculiar grin of welcome, they expressed great fear lest the homestead should be attacked by "outside" blacks during the Maluka's absence. "Might it," they said, and offered to sleep in the garden near me, as no doubt "missus would be frightened fellow" to sleep alone.
Although Mac's description of the House had been apt, he had sadly underrated the furniture. There were FOUR chairs, all "up" to my weight, while two of them were up to the Maluka's.
Without any warning the Maluka's mood changed, "There is nae luck aboot her house, there is nae luck at a'," he shouted lustily, and Dan, waking from his reverie with a start, rose to the tempting bait. "No LUCK about HER house!" he said. "It was Mrs. Bob that had no luck. She struck a good, comfortable, well-furnished house first go off, and never got an ounce of educating.
It was then two o'clock, and our last drink had been at breakfast soon after sun-up; and for another hour we pegged wearily on, with that seven hours' drouth done horses, the beating sun of a Territory October overhead, Brown stretched across the Maluka's knees on the verge of apoplexy, and Sool'em panting wearily on.
No butter, of course. In Darwin, eight months before we had tasted our last butter on ship-board, for tinned butter, out-bush, in the tropics, is as palatable as castor oil. The tea had been made in the Maluka's quart-pot, our cups having been carried dangling from our saddles, in the approved manner of the bush-folk.
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