But not really
happening. The Pater simply said I ought to be ashamed of myself--as
if I'm not!"
He broke off and tried to light a cigarette with fingers that trembled.
Three, four matches he struck before he got it lighted and puffing. She
sat silent, listening to the murmur of voices and the swishing water.
"Why the devil I'm telling you this I can't imagine," he said at last.
"Most girls would have yelled out for help before this."
"I think, you know," she said rather breathless, "I think you're a great
idiot! You _ask_ for things, don't you?"
"But what is there for a man to do out there? There's nothing I want to
do except medicine, and that's past for ever now. There's nothing to do
but get drunk. I've tried, often--got jobs, and all that. But there's no
inducement--and I've told you how easy it is not to starve."
"But it's so--so beastly! You might as well be dead--you're not happy."
"That's exactly what I think. That's what I'm going to do. I got ten
pounds out of the Mater. She's always ready to give me anything if it
happens to be the beginning of the month and she's well off. The Pater
solemnly presented me with three pounds--that's ten shillings a week for
smokes for the six weeks of the trip. I'll buy bull's-eyes with it, I
think. That'd please him. That makes thirteen pounds, and there's ten
pounds waiting for me in Sydney.
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