"Won’t be able to stay long, Ike. We’ve got to be at Beacon Point to night. We just put in for a cup of tea and a bite. Mother’s inside, I suppose? I’ll go in and have a chat with her."
"You’ll find her in the kitchen, sir. When we saw you roundin’ Piccaniny Point we knew you’d be here for tea, and mother’s lookin’ after things."
"I hope she won’t go to any trouble. A mouthful is all we want."
"Well, you know mother, sir. She feels that nothin’ is near good enough."
"Pancakes! Why, of course. That’s what mother’s makin’ now. She knew that’d be the first thing you’d be askin’ fur, Joe."
"Rather, Ike!" said Joe, pursing his mouth and drawing in his breath with the peculiar, half-whistling, unwriteable sound which boys instinctively make when visions of goodies arise. More especially when such goodies come within measurable distance of consumption.
Master Joe had a healthy boy’s appetite. The rowing exercise gave additional spice to his hunger. Pancake was at that moment the gate of entry to the boy’s very material heaven.
"Tea won’t be ready fur a few minutes, Joe. Let’s go down to the barn. I was just goin’ to rub some more mixture inter the skins when I seen your boat roundin’ the point. Sorry you’re goin’ on, my son. When I seen you on the river I ses to meself, ses I, ’By George! Joey an’ I’ll have a great night at the ’possums.’ I wish to goodness you’d been stayin’. There’ll be a grand moon ter night, an it’s very temptin’."
"By gum, ain’t it just! It’d be simply, rippin’. ’Member last time I was down? That was a grand bit of sport we had. Forty-seven was it, or forty-nine? I know it took a dashed long time to skin ’em."
"Forty-seven it was. We’d do over fifty to-night."
"Well, as mother says, ’What can’t be cured must be endured.’ By dad! that’s a grand wallaby skin! Where’d you get it?"
"Got it larst night." Ike had the Colonial drawl to perfection. "I was up at the top end of the scrub cultivation paddick, mooseying around after some cockatoos that’d bin skinnin’ the corn. It was just about dusk, an’ I was waitin’ in the corner for the cockies, as I knew they’d soon be leavin’ fur their roosts, an’ my bes’ charnse at ’em was on the wing. They’re so ’tarnal cute, yer know, yer carn’t git ’em on the corn."