" (Bush language frequently has a strong twang
of cattle in it.)
"So I am now," I called; and then the Fizzer and I held an animated
conversation through the walls. "I'm imprisoned for life," I moaned,
after hearing the news of the outside world; and laughing and chuckling
outside, the Fizzer vowed he would "do a rescue next trip if they've
still got you down." Then, after appreciating fervent thanks, he shouted
in farewell: "The boss is bringing something along that'll help to pass
some of the time--the finest mail you ever clapped eyes on," and
presently patient and bed were under a litter of mail-matter.
The Fizzer having brought down the walls of conventionality, the
traveller-guests proffered greetings and sympathy through the material
walls, after which we exchanged mail-news and general gossip for a day or
two; then just as these travellers were preparing to exchange farewells,
others came in and postponed the promised release. As there seemed
little hope of a lull in visitors, I was wondering if ever I should be
considered well enough to entertain guests, when Fate once more
interfered.
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