“She’ll find mere men unsatisfying after this,” the Maluka said in farewell, and a mere man coming in from the north-west before sundown, greeted the Maluka with:  “Thought you married a towny,” as he pointed with eloquent forefinger at our supper circle.

“So I did,” the Maluka laughed back.  “But before I had time to dazzle the bushies with her the Wizard of the Never-Never charmed her into a bush-whacker.”

“Into a charming bush-whacker, he means!” the traveller said, bowing before his introduction; and I wondered how the Maluka could have thought for one moment that “mere men” would prove unsatisfying.  But as I acknowledged the gallantry Dan looked on dubiously, not sure whether pretty speeches were a help or a hindrance to education.

But no one could call the Fizzer a “mere man”; and half-past eleven four weeks being already past, the Fizzer was even then at the homestead, and before another midday, came shouting into our camp, and, settling down to dinner, kept the conversational ball rolling.

“Going to be a record Dry,” he assured us—­“all surface water gone along the line already”; and then he hurled various items of news at us:  “the horse teams were managing to do a good trip; and Mac?  Oh, Mac’s getting along,” he shouted; “struck him on a dry stage; seemed a bit light-headed; said dry stages weren’t all beer and skittles—­queer idea.  Beer and skittles!  He won’t find much beer on dry stages, and I reckon the man’s dilly that ’ud play a game of skittles on any one of ’em.”

Every one was all right down the line!  But the Fizzer was always a bird of passage, and by the time dinner was over, and a few postscripts added to the mail, he was ready to start, and rode off, promising the best mail the “Territory could produce in a fortnight.”

Other travellers followed the Fizzer, and the cooking lessons proceeded until the fine art of making “puff de looneys,” sinkers, and doughboys had been mastered, and then, before the camp had time to grow monotonous, the staff appeared with a few of the station pups.  “Might it missus like puppy dog,” it said to explain its presence hinting also that the missus might require a little clothes-washing done.

Lately, washing-days at the homestead had lost all their vim, for the creek having stopped running, washing had to be conducted in tubs, so as to keep the billabong clear for drinking purposes.  But at the Springs there was no necessity to think of anything but running water; and after a happy day, Bertie’s Nellie, Rosy, and Biddy returned to the homestead—­the goats had to be seen to, Nellie said, thinking nothing of a twenty-seven-mile walk in a day, with a few hours’ washing for recreation in between whiles.

Part of the staff, a shadow or two, and the puppy dogs, filled in all time until the yard was pronounced finished then a mob of cattle was brought in and put through to test its strength; and just as we were preparing to return to the homestead the Dandy’s waggon lumbered into camp with its loading of stores.