While all concerned were in Court listening to Manasseh, Considine
had been smuggled into the witnesses' room and, being bored and
worried, had strayed into the verandah of the Court buildings. He
had been hauled into consultations with barristers, and examined and
badgered and worried to death. The hard Sydney pavements had made
his feet sore. The city ways were not his ways, and the mere mental
effort of catching trains and omnibuses, and keeping appointments,
and having fixed meal-times, was inexpressibly wearing to a man
who had never been tied to time in his life.
And what a dismal prospect he had before him! To go over to England
and take up a position for which he was wholly unfitted, without a
friend who would understand his ideas, and in whom he could confide.
Then his thoughts turned to Peggy--Peggy, square-built, determined,
masterful, capable; just the very person to grapple with difficulties;
a woman whose nerve a regiment of duchesses would fail to shake. He
thought of her many abilities, and admitted to himself that after
all was said and done, if he had only been able to gratify her
wishes (and they did not seem so extravagant now) she would have
been a perfect helpmate for him. His mind went back to the weird
honeymoon at Pike's pub., to the little earthen-floored dining-room,
with walls of sacking and a slab table, over which Peggy presided
with such force of character. He thought of the two bushmen whom
Peggy had nursed through the fever with rough tenderness; and then,
turning suddenly, he found Peggy standing at his elbow.
For a second neither spoke. Then Considine said, with an air of
forced jauntiness, "Well, Peggy, you won't be comin' to England
with me, then?"
"Haven't been asked," said Peggy.
"I heard you was goin' to settle at Kiley's Crossin', lending money
to the cockatoos."
Peggy looked at him with a meaning glance.
"Ye should know me better nor that, Paddy," she said.
This cleared the way tremendously. The gaunt bushman hitched himself
a little nearer, and spoke in an insinuating way. "I'm pretty tired
of this case meself, I dunno how you feel about it."
"Tired!" said Peggy. "I'm wore out. Fair wore out," and she heaved
a sigh like an elephant.
That sigh did for old Considine. Hurriedly he unburdened his mind.
"Well, look'ee here, Peggy--I've got whips of stuff now, and I've
got to go to England for it. You come along o' me again, and we'll
knock all this business on the head. Let the Gordons alone--they're
decent young fellows, the both of 'em--and come along o' me to
England. That young English feller reckons we'd be as good as the
Prince of Wales, very near. Will you come, Peggy?"
It is the characteristic of great minds to think quickly, and act
promptly. Peggy did both.