Nearly half-way to a
place that was half-way between the halfway house and the town,
Harry overhauled "Old Jack," a local character (there are many
well-known characters named "Old Jack") and gave him a lift as a
matter of course.
"Hello! Is that you, Jack?" in the gathering dusk.
"Yes, Harry."
"Then jump up here."
Harry was good-natured and would give anybody a lift if he could.
Old Jack climbed up on the box-seat, between Harry and the traveller,
who grew rather more stand- (or rather _sit_-) offish, wrapped
himself closer in his overcoat, and buttoned his cloak of silence and
general disgust to the chin button. Old Jack got his pipe to work and
grunted, and chatted, and exchanged bush compliments with Harry
comfortably. And so on to where they saw the light of a fire outside
a hut ahead.
"Let me down here, Harry," said Old Jack uneasily, "I owe Mother
Mac fourteen shillings for drinks, and I haven't got it on me, and
I've been on the spree back yonder, and she'll know it, an' I don't
want to face her. I'll cut across through the paddock and you can
pick me up on the other side."
Harry thought a moment.
"Sit still, Jack," he said. "I'll fix that all right."
He twisted and went down into his trouser-pocket, the reins in one
hand, and brought up a handful of silver. He held his hand down to
the coach lamp, separated some of the silver from the rest by a sort
of sleight of hand--or rather sleight of fingers--and handed the
fourteen shillings over to Old Jack.
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