“But who will call me?”

“Nobody.  You’ll call yourself.  And you’ll light yourself, too.  There’ll not be a light burning in the halls or anywhere.  And if you don’t carry a light, you’ll break your neck.”

“But who will help me down with my baggage?”

“Nobody.  However, I will tell you what to do.  In Maryborough there’s an American who has lived there half a lifetime; a fine man, and prosperous and popular.  He will be on the lookout for you; you won’t have any trouble.  Sleep in peace; he will rout you out, and you will make your train.  Where is your manager?”

“I left him at Ballarat, studying the language.  And besides, he had to go to Melbourne and get us ready for New Zealand.  I’ve not tried to pilot myself before, and it doesn’t look easy.”

“Easy!  You’ve selected the very most difficult piece of railroad in Australia for your experiment.  There are twelve miles of this road which no man without good executive ability can ever hope—­tell me, have you good executive ability? first-rate executive ability?”

“I—­well, I think so, but——­”

“That settles it.  The tone of——­oh, you wouldn’t ever make it in the world.  However, that American will point you right, and you’ll go.  You’ve got tickets?”

“Yes—­round trip; all the way to Sydney.”

“Ah, there it is, you see!  You are going in the 5 o’clock by Castlemaine—­twelve miles—­instead of the 7.15 by Ballarat—­in order to save two hours of fooling along the road.  Now then, don’t interrupt—­let me have the floor.  You’re going to save the government a deal of hauling, but that’s nothing; your ticket is by Ballarat, and it isn’t good over that twelve miles, and so——­”

“But why should the government care which way I go?”

“Goodness knows!  Ask of the winds that far away with fragments strewed the sea, as the boy that stood on the burning deck used to say.  The government chooses to do its railway business in its own way, and it doesn’t know as much about it as the French.  In the beginning they tried idiots; then they imported the French—­which was going backwards, you see; now it runs the roads itself—­which is going backwards again, you see.  Why, do you know, in order to curry favor with the voters, the government puts down a road wherever anybody wants it—­anybody that owns two sheep and a dog; and by consequence we’ve got, in the colony of Victoria, 800 railway stations, and the business done at eighty of them doesn’t foot up twenty shillings a week.”

“Five dollars?  Oh, come!”

“It’s true.  It’s the absolute truth.”

“Why, there are three or four men on wages at every station.”