Lal. Parklands was popular. A good-looking, pleasant fellow, went in for everything―billiards, loo, racquets, dinners, theatres, and balls, with the same zest, energy, and enjoyment which he threw into all his business operations. He strongly advised Ernest to ‘tackle old Frankston,’ as he expressed it, upon the subject of his independence, and to go in for a station on his own hook without delay. ‘It isn’t because I’m selling out myself that I say it,’ he added, ‘but the fact is, cattle are as low as they can possibly be, and the next change _must_ be a rise. What do you say, Croker?’ he asked of that gentleman, who now lounged up. ‘You have had something to do with lowering the people’s spirits about their stock. If you’ll come to Queensland with me next time I want to buy there, I’ll pay your expenses.’ ‘It is apparent,’ replied that gentleman, ‘that somebody is sure to swindle Neuchamp, and you may as well do it as any one else. I thought I was to have the honour, from what old Frankston said, but I suppose you have made highly-coloured representations after the manner of cornstalks.’ ‘You are fatally wrong, as usual, Jermyn. I’ve made a pot of money out of Rainbar, and if Neuchamp buys it and does as well, he’ll be able to go back to Europe as a successful colonist in no time.’ ‘If he takes Mr. Parklands as his model in speculation, management, and conversation, he _must_ succeed in everything he undertakes,’ said Mr. Croker with ironical approbation. ‘Come and have some sherry, old Bitters,’ said Mr. Parklands cheerfully, ‘and then I’ll thrash you at billiards. Never saw an Englishman I couldn’t give points to yet. Can’t lick us.’ Roused by this national reflection, Mr. Croker offered to play for anything he chose to name, and Ernest betook himself to Morahmee. He had determined to open the parallels without delay. Full of this noble resolution, Mr. Neuchamp only waited until Antonia had departed from the dining-room to commence the momentous project. ‘I begin to feel,’ said he artfully, ‘that my holiday is drawing to a close. I don’t think I ever enjoyed town life thoroughly before. But one can’t always be on furlough. I must join my regiment―must be off to the bush again.’ ‘What’s the hurry?’ said Mr. Frankston. ‘Nothing much ever goes on at a station until the cold weather sets in. You will find Garrandilla wretchedly dull after club-dinners, ball-going, boat-sailing, and all the rest of it. Even the verandah here is considerably better of a hot evening than those rascally slab huts.’ ‘You have been a sailor, Mr. Frankston,’ said Ernest, ‘and you know that when the sailing day comes, and the wind is fair, Jack must get on board. I don’t suppose you find Captain Carryall would make much allowance for lagging.’