Tilly buzzed a word in his ear.
"Yes, by thunder!" he ejaculated; and letting go of his companions, he
spun round like a ballet-dancer. "Ladies! Let me introduce to you my
friend, Dr. Richard Townshend-Mahony, F.R.C.S., M.D., Edinburgh, at
present proprietor of the 'Diggers' Emporium,' Dead Dog Hill, Ballarat.
--Dick, my hearty, Miss Tilly Beamish, world-famed for her sauce; Miss
Jinny, renowned for her skill in casting the eyes of sheep; and, last
but not least, pretty little Polly Perkins, alias Miss Polly Turnham,
whose good deeds put those of Dorcas to the blush."
The Misses Beamish went into fits of laughter, and Tilly hit Purdy over
the back with her parasol.
But the string of letters had puzzled them, roused their curiosity.
" What'n earth do they mean?--Gracious! So clever! It makes me feel
quite queer."
"Y'ought to 'ave told us before 'and, Purd, so's we could 'ave studied
up."
However, a walk to a cave was under discussion, and Purdy urged them on.
"Phoebus is on the wane, girls. And it's going to be damn cold to-night."
Once more with the young person called Polly as companion, Mahony
followed after. He walked in silence, listening to the rattle of the
three in front. At best he was but a poor hand at the kind of repartee
demanded of their swains by these young women; and to-day his slender
talent failed him altogether, crushed by the general tone of vulgar
levity. Looking over at the horizon, which swam in a kind of gold-dust
haze below the sinking sun, he smiled thinly to himself at Purdy's ideas
of wiving.
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