“Ay, no doubt. And that shows what sort of a place it be. Lot of dum silly nonsense.” He stirred on his seat impatiently. “At any rate, you’re well out of it. You’re set up all right here,” said Somers, who was secretly amused. The other man did not answer for some time. “Maybe I am,” he said at last. “I’m not pining to go back and work for my father, I tell you, on a couple of pasties and a lot of abuse. No, after that, I’d like you to tell me what’s wrong with Australia.” “I’m sure I don’t know,” said Somers. “Probably nothing at all.” Again William James was silent. He was a short, thick man, with a little felt hat that sat over his brow with a half humorous flap. He had his knees wide apart, and his hands clasped between them. And he looked for the most part down at the ground. When he did cock up his eye at Somers, it was with a look of suspicion marked with humour and troubled with a certain desire. The man was restless, desirous, craving something--heaven knows what. “You thinking of settling out here then, are you?” he asked. “No,” said Somers. “But I don’t say I won’t. It depends.” William James fidgetted, tapping his feet rapidly on the ground, though his body was silent. He was not like Jack. He, too, was sensitive all over, though his body looked so thick it was silently alive, and his feet were still uneasy. He was young too, with a youth that troubled him. And his nature was secretive, maybe treacherous. It was evident Jack only half liked him. “You’ve got the money, you can live where you like and go where you like,” said William James, looking up at Somers. “Well, I might do the same. If I cared to do it, I could live quietly on what I’ve got, whether here or in England.” Somers recognised the Cornishman in this. “You could very easily have as much as I’ve got,” he said laughing. “The thing is, what’s the good of a life of idleness?” said William James. “What’s the good of a life of work?” laughed Somers. Shrewdly, with quick grey eye, Trewhella looked at the other man to see if he were laughing at him. “Yet I expect you’ve got some purpose in coming to Australia,” said William James, a trifle challenging. “Maybe I had--or have--maybe it was just whim.” Again the other man looked shrewdly, to see if it were the truth. “You aren’t investing money out here, are you?” “No, I’ve none to invest.” “Because if you was, I’d advise you not to.” And he spat into the distance, and kept his hands clasped tight. All this time Jack sat silent and as if unconcerned, but listening attentively. “Australians have always been croakers,” he said now. “What do you think of this Irish business?” asked William James. “I? I really don’t think much at all. I don’t feel Ireland is my job, personally. If I had to say, off-hand, what I’d do myself, why, if I could I’d just leave the Irish to themselves, as they want, and let them wipe each other out or kiss and make friends as they please. They bore me rather.”