He walked on for some time and at last found himself somewhere down by
the Minories, in that mysterious East End, of which we hear so much and
of which we know so little. A little farther on he came upon the river
and he stood for a moment or two watching some sheep and cattle being
driven on board an ocean tramp. The sight of them recalled Herondale
and Ida; and he was turning away, with a sigh, when a burly man with a
large slouch hat stuck on the back of his head came lurching out of one
of the little wooden offices on the quay. He was apparently the owner
of the sheep, or in some way concerned with them, for he harangued the
drovers in a flow of language which though rich in profanity, was
poured forth in a pleasant and jovial voice. He had been drinking
unwisely and too well, and as he wobbled richly about the small quay he
happened to lurch against Stafford, who was attempting to avoid him. He
begged Stafford's pardon profusely and with such good-natured penitence
that Stafford in addition to granting him the forgiveness he requested,
asked him where the sheep and cattle were going.
"To my little place, Salisbury Plain." Seeing the astonishment which
Stafford could not keep out of his face, the man laughed and explained.
"Not your Salisbury Plain, not the place here in England, but in the
Burra-Burra country, Australia," he pointed with his fat hand
downwards. "Right underneath. They're prize rams and bulls. I like to
have the best, and I paid a devil of a long price for them; but I've
got enough left for a drink if you'll come and have one."
Stafford declined, but the man clung on to his arm, and thinking it the
easiest way of getting rid of him, and to avoid a scene, Stafford
accompanied him to the clean and inviting little public at the corner
of the quay, and permitted the man to order a glass of ale for him; the
bar-maid, without receiving any intimation, placed a large joram of rum
before the man, who remarked, after raising his glass to Stafford's
health: "Yes, sir, and I'm going with those beasts. I've nothing to say against
Old England so long as you don't ask me to live here. I've been here
six weeks, and there's only one thing that I feel I want and can't
get--no, miss, it ain't rum, there's plenty of that, thank God!--it's
air, air. I suppose the city gents are used to living without it,
though some of you look pale enough. _You_ don't look quite the thing
yourself, sir; rather white about the gills, and not enough meat on
you. Ah! I'd soon alter that if I had you at Salisbury Plain. Lord! I
should like to take out a whole shipload of you; and mind, I could do
with a few, and pay you better wages than you get in the City of
London. And the life! Why, you'd think yourselves kings, with a horse
to ride and plenty to eat, and plenty of fun. But there! you can't tell
what it's like unless you've seen it, and if ever you should have a
fancy to see it, you come out to Salisbury Plain, to my little place on
the Burra-Burra; for I like the look of you, young man; you're a
gentleman, though I've an idea you're down on your luck--I ain't so
drunk that I can't see through a man's eyes, and there's trouble in
yours; been outrunning the constable, eh? And you're not too proud to
take a drink with an honest man--honest, though rough, maybe."