Once
you're in a pub in Australia you can stay in all day on nothing. And you
can get in for threepence--the price of a pint of beer. And you don't
get out till you're kicked out drunk."
"Oh--" she gasped.
"The devil of it is getting hold of the threepence. Sometimes you meet a
pal and borrow it. Sometimes you pawn something and get it. If the Home
boat's in, you go down to the quay, pick out a new chum--that's anyone
from the Old Country--offer to show him round a bit, and he naturally
treats you. Then you're in the haven."
He spoke cynically, bitterly. She grasped at his sleeve, as though she
would pull him back.
"Oh--," she gasped.
"D-don't keep s-saying 'Oh' like that!" he cried impatiently. "S-say
s-something s-sensible."
"Does your mother know all about the way you live?" she asked
desperately.
"I told her. I enjoyed letting her know what they drove me to. But she
doesn't understand. They don't ever understand, these easy, half-alive,
untempted folks! She's never been away from a world of afternoon calls,
broughams and shopping! I tell her I'm a beer-bum--yes, that's the word
for it in Australia! Not a pretty word--not a pretty thing either! I
gave the Mater and Pater a picture of myself once--broken shoes tied on
with string, trousers tied on with a bit of rope because I'd sold my
braces for threepence--slinking along in the gutter outside the Theatre
Royal picking up cigarette ends that had been thrown away! Counter
lunches! D'you know what counter lunches are?"
She shook her head.
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