"Run clean out of flour," Dan announced, with a wink and a mysterious
look towards the black world, as he dismounted at the head of the
homestead thoroughfare then, after inquiring for the "education of the
missus" he added, with further winks and mystery, that it only needed a
nigger hunt to round off her education properly but it was after supper
before he found a fitting opportunity to explain his winks and mystery.
Then, joining us as we lounged in the open starry space between the
billabong and the house, he chuckled: "Yes, it just needs a nigger hunt
to make her education a credit to us."
Dan never joined us in the evenings without an invitation, although he
was not above putting himself in the way of one. Whenever he felt
inclined for what he called "a pitch with the boss and missus" he would
saunter past at a little distance, apparently bound for the billabong,
but in reality ready to respond to the Maluka's "Is that you, Dan?"
although just as ready to saunter on if that invitation was not
forthcoming--a happy little arrangement born of that tact and delicacy of
the bush-folk that never intrudes on another man's privacy.
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