“Rather. We didn’t get anything like a full dose, of course, or we wouldn’t be here. But even a little is rather beastly. And the worst of it is, that it hangs on to you long after you’re better—it seems to lurk down somewhere inside you, and gets hold of you just as you’re beginning to think you’re really all right. It actually makes a fellow think he’s got nerves!”
“You don’t look like it,” said the man, laughing for the first time. The brown, boyish face did not suggest such attributes.
“Well, it truly does make one pretty queer,” said Wally, laughing too. “However, I believe we’ve nearly got rid of it—this country of yours is enough to make us forget it.”
“You’re Australian, aren’t you?” the man asked.
“Oh, this is a little place,” said the other. “Strangers are our only excitement, and since the war started we haven’t had nearly so many. All the people who used to come here to fish are away fighting.” He sighed. “Most of them will not come back any more. You were quite a godsend to us. Your boatman told one of my men about you; and the baker’s boy tells the cook; and the butcher tells every one; and the postmistress is simply full of news about you. As for the shops, they are fairly buzzing!”
“Why, there are only two,” said Wally, laughing.
“That’s why they buzz,” said the man. “I don’t go into shops, myself; but I have been altogether unable to repress the delighted confidences of my chauffeur. He tells me that you’re all very keen fishermen——”
“And don’t know a thing about it!” said Wally. “Did he tell you that, too?”
“He said you were getting on,” said the other, guardedly, his eyes twinkling. The chauffeur’s confidences had probably been ample. “But your stories of Australia have them all fascinated, and if they weren’t—most of them—grandfathers, they would probably emigrate in a body. Thank goodness, though, we’ve not many slackers here: almost all our young men are fighting. My chauffeur, poor lad, lost a leg at Ypres. His wooden leg is fairly satisfactory, but of course he can’t go back, much as he wants to. We’re nearly all old men or—cripples”—his voice was suddenly bitter: “and it’s rather pleasant to see young faces again. You bring the stir of the world with you.”