At Sydney I shipped aboard the
_Marston Towers,_ a steamer, and landed at the Albert Docks this
morning."
"Poor John," said his wife, holding on to his arm. "How you must have
suffered!"
"I did," said Mr. Boxer. "Mother got a cold?" he inquired, eying that
lady.
"No, I ain't," said Mrs. Gimpson, answering for herself. "Why didn't you
write when you got to Sydney?"
"Didn't know where to write to," replied Mr. Boxer, staring. "I didn't
know where Mary had gone to."
"You might ha' wrote here," said Mrs. Gimpson.
"Didn't think of it at the time," said Mr. Boxer. "One thing is, I was
very busy at Sydney, looking for a ship. However, I'm 'ere now."
"I always felt you'd turn up some day," said Mrs. Gimpson. "I felt
certain of it in my own mind. Mary made sure you was dead, but I said
'no, I knew better.'"
There was something in Mrs. Gimpson's manner of saying this that
impressed her listeners unfavourably. The impression was deepened when,
after a short, dry laugh _a propos_ of nothing, she sniffed again--three
times.
"Well, you turned out to be right," said Mr.
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