“By George!” cried a voice, “it’s Mr. Carthew!”

And turning about he found himself face to face with a handsome sunburnt youth, somewhat fatted, arrayed in the finest of fine raiment, and sporting about a sovereign’s worth of flowers in his buttonhole.  Norris had met him during his first days in Sydney at a farewell supper; had even escorted him on board a schooner full of cockroaches and black-boy sailors, in which he was bound for six months among the islands; and had kept him ever since in entertained remembrance.  Tom Hadden (known to the bulk of Sydney folk as Tommy) was heir to a considerable property, which a prophetic father had placed in the hands of rigorous trustees.  The income supported Mr. Hadden in splendour for about three months out of twelve; the rest of the year he passed in retreat among the islands.  He was now about a week returned from his eclipse, pervading Sydney in hansom cabs and airing the first bloom of six new suits of clothes; and yet the unaffected creature hailed Carthew in his working jeans and with the damning bundle on his shoulder, as he might have claimed acquaintance with a duke.

“Come and have a drink!” was his cheerful cry.

“I’m just going to have lunch at the Paris House,” returned Carthew.  “It’s a long time since I have had a decent meal.”

“Splendid scheme!” said Hadden.  “I’ve only had breakfast half an hour ago; but we’ll have a private room, and I’ll manage to pick something.  It’ll brace me up.  I was on an awful tear last night, and I’ve met no end of fellows this morning.”  To meet a fellow, and to stand and share a drink, were with Tom synonymous terms.

They were soon at table in the corner room up-stairs, and paying due attention to the best fare in Sydney.  The odd similarity of their positions drew them together, and they began soon to exchange confidences.  Carthew related his privations in the Domain and his toils as a navvy; Hadden gave his experience as an amateur copra merchant in the South Seas, and drew a humorous picture of life in a coral island.  Of the two plans of retirement, Carthew gathered that his own had been vastly the more lucrative; but Hadden’s trading outfit had consisted largely of bottled stout and brown sherry for his own consumption.

“I had champagne too,” said Hadden, “but I kept that in case of sickness, until I didn’t seem to be going to be sick, and then I opened a pint every Sunday.  Used to sleep all morning, then breakfast with my pint of fizz, and lie in a hammock and read Hallam’s Middle Ages.  Have you read that?  I always take something solid to the islands.  There’s no doubt I did the thing in rather a fine style; but if it was gone about a little cheaper, or there were two of us to bear the expense, it ought to pay hand over fist.  I’ve got the influence, you see.  I’m a chief now, and sit in the speak-house under my own strip of roof.  I’d like to see them taboo ME!  They daren’t try it; I’ve a strong party, I can tell you.  Why, I’ve had upwards of thirty cowtops sitting in my front verandah eating tins of salmon.”