a man’s card meant. His fellow-waiters, to whom he usually referred as a lot of savages, were unfortunately in ignorance of the social distinction implied by membership of such a club. For a time there was nothing but the usual commonplace talk, while the soup and fish were disposed of; when they reached the champagne and the entrees, things become more homelike and conversation flowed. A bushman, especially when primed with champagne, is always ready to give his tongue a run–and when he has two open-mouthed new chums for audience, as Gordon had, the only difficulty is to stop him before bed-time; for long silent rides on the plain, and lonely camps at night, give him a lot of enforced silence that he has to make up for later. Where are you from last, Gordon? said the Bo'sun. Haven’t seen you in town for a long time.
I’ve been hunting wild geese, drawled the man from far back, screwing up one eye and inspecting a glass of champagne, which he drank off at a gulp. That’s wh