“Where’s Jack?” I inquired, not at all in the mood to waste pennies. The boy’s eyes opened wide, with the peculiar hard stare of Australian youth. “Ain’t yer ’eard?” he demanded. “Our Jack’s drowned; we gets knocked out, an’ our Jack drowned the sime day. Australia goin’ ter ’ell, that’s wot it is.” True enough the Australian eleven had lost the first test match of that season against the Britishers, and little Jack had been drowned in the river the very same day. What does the boy’s calm account of the two events show? An immense patriotism or a lack of natural affection. Neither the one nor the other, but simply and entirely that the very heart and soul of the Australian of to-day—even of the smallest larrikin—is completely engrossed with games and sport; not so much personal sport, such as hunting or shooting, but anything that brings with it a chance of gambling. If you walk through any wide bit of park land or open country near Melbourne, in some hollow or other—perhaps in many—you will chance on groups of men squatting on their haunches, with bent heads, engrossed in some mysterious occupation, while one of their number stands at a little distance on watch. If a policeman comes anywhere within sight the sentry whistles, and the men—or youths, as they mostly are—disperse aimlessly in every direction; hands deep in their pockets, hats on the back of their heads, complete vacuity on their countenances; for it is a “Two-Up School” that they have been forming, and Two-Up is illegal, though it is still played persistently in every quiet nook and corner.