“I am glad to know that you are Americans, for I have visited that country, and was kindly treated by those with whom I came in contact.  A great and fast country, as I can bear witness, for while travelling in the southern part I suffered a railroad collision and a steamboat explosion on the same day, and yet escaped with whole bones.  Were I not an Englishman I would be an American, to use the words of Alexander, altered to suit the occasion.”

“May I ask if you belong here in Ballarat?” I demanded, with the intention of finding out what his business and prospects were.

“To tell you the truth, I am here on what your countrymen call a ‘bender;’ a freak that assails me about once in three months, and after it is over I return to my stock-house and think how great a man can be, and yet how little.”

“Then you are a stockman?” I said.

“That is not what I am termed,” he cried, with an expression of pride upon his dark face.  “I employ stockmen to look after my cattle, but I am called a proprietor.”

“I always supposed that proprietors preferred to live in the large cities, and trust their flocks and herds to employees,” Fred said, dryly.

“What is it to you what I prefer?” he demanded, turning on Fred fiercely.  “Have I not a right to do as I please as long as I am my own master, and pay those who work for me?”

“No one denies it, I believe,” exclaimed Fred.  “I only made a supposition.  Some men dislike to be seen in cities, while others would go mad if obliged to live on the plains.  I sometimes think that it depends entirely upon the conscience which every man is supposed to have locked within his breast, although my arguments are liable to be refuted, on the ground that there are some men destitute of such an article.”

“Death and the devil! do you refer to me, you babbler?” shouted the stranger, his hands again seeking the pockets where his pistols were nestling.

“Don’t get enraged at a few words,” I said, half soothingly and half ironically.  “My friend didn’t mean to cut you with his remarks.”

“We won’t quarrel over an unmeaning word,” I said.  “Give me a quart of good whiskey, and I will go back to the tent where I have agreed to stop for the balance of the night.  I was told that I could get the best liquor here of any place in Ballarat.”

“Raising cattle is considered a profitable business in Australia,” I hinted, while pretending to be attending upon his wants.

“I find it satisfactory,” he returned, shortly, as though determined to baffle my inquiries.

“I have some thoughts of engaging in the business,” I continued, “and would, if I could buy a tract of land on the banks of the Loddon or the Campaspe.  All the pasturing that is desirable within sight of Mount Macedon skirt is already sold, I suppose.”

“I should think it was,” he answered, with a grin; “but I am open for an offer.”