A Bid for Fortune. Guy Newell Boothby

the face I pretended not to know him. Seeing this he drove past us—pulled up a little further down and sprang out to wait for me.

      "I was almost afraid I had missed you," he began, as we came up with him. "Perhaps as it is such a fine day you would rather walk than ride?"

      "I beg your pardon," I answered, "I'm really afraid you have the advantage of me."

      "But you have asked me to lunch with you. You asked me to call a hansom."

      "Pardon me again! there you are really mistaken. I said I was going to lunch at the 'Quebec' and asked you if it was far enough to be worth taking a hansom. That is your hansom, not mine. If you don't require it any longer I should advise you to pay the man and let him go."

      "You are a swindler, sir. I refuse to pay the cabman. It is your hansom."

      I took a step closer to my fine gentleman and looking him full in the face said as quietly as possible, for I didn't want all the street to hear:

      "Mr. Dorunda Dodson, let this be a lesson to you. ​Perhaps you'll think twice next time before you try your little games on me!"

      He stepped back as if he had been shot, hesitated a moment, and then jumped into his cab and drove off in the opposite direction. When he had gone I looked at my astonished companion.

      "Well, now," he ejaculated at last, "how on earth did you manage that?"

      "Very easily," I replied. "I happen to remember having met that gentleman up in our part of the world when he was in a very awkward position—very awkward. By his action just now I should say he has not forgotten the circumstances any more than I have."

      "I should rather think not. Good day!"

      We shook hands and parted, he going on down the street, while I branched off to my hotel.

      That was the first of the only two adventures of any importance that I met with during my stay in New South Wales. And there's not much in that, I fancy I can hear you saying. Well, that may be so, I don't deny it, but it was nevertheless through that that I became mixed up with the folk who figure in this book, and indeed it was to that very circumstance, and that alone, I owe my connection with the queer story I have set myself to tell. And this is how it came about.

      Three days before the steamer sailed and about four o'clock in the afternoon, I chanced to be walking down Castlereagh Street, wondering what on earth I should do with myself until dinner-time, when I saw approaching me the very man whose discomfiture I have just described. Being probably occupied planning the plucking of some unfortunate new chum, he did not see me coming towards him. And as I had no desire to meet ​him again after what had passed between us, I crossed the road and meandered off in a different direction, eventually finding myself located on a seat in the Domain, lighting a cigarette and looking down over a broad expanse of harbour.

      One thought led to another, and so I sat on and on, long after dusk had fallen, never stirring until a circumstance occurred on a neighbouring path that attracted my attention. A young and well-dressed lady was pursuing her way in my direction, evidently intending to leave the park by the entrance I had used to come into it. But unfortunately for her, at the junction of two paths to my right, three of Sydney's typical larrikins were engaged in earnest conversation. They had observed the girl coming towards them and were evidently preparing some plan for accosting her. When she was only about fifty yards away, two of them walked to a distance, leaving the third and biggest ruffian to waylay her. He did so, but without success; she passed him and continued her walk at increased speed.

      The man thereupon quickened his pace and, secure in the fact that he was unobserved, again accosted her. Again she tried to escape him, but this time he would not leave her. What was worse, his two friends were now blocking the path in front. She looked to right and left and was evidently uncertain what to do. Then seeing escape was hopeless, she stopped, took out her purse, and gave it to the man who had first spoken to her. Thinking this was going too far, I jumped up and went quickly across the turf towards them. My foot steps made no sound on the soft grass, and they were too much occupied in examining what she had given them to notice my approach.

      "You scoundrels!" I said, when I had come up with ​them. "What do you mean by stopping this lady? Let her go instantly, and you my friend, just hand over that purse."

      The man addressed looked at me as if he were taking my measure, and were wondering what sort of chance he'd have against me in a fight. But I suppose my height must have rather scared him, for he changed his tone and began to whine.

      "I haven't got the lady's purse, s'help me, I ain't! I was only asking of 'er the time, I'll take me davy I was!"

      "Hand over that purse," I said sternly, approaching a step nearer to him.

      One of the others here intervened.—

      "Let's stowch 'im, Dog! There ain't a copper in sight!"

      With that they began to close upon me. But, as the saying goes, "I'd been there before." I'd not been knocking about the rough side of the world for nearly fifteen years without learning how to take care of myself. When they had had about enough of it, which was most likely more than they had bargained for, I took the purse and went down the path to where the innocent cause of it all was standing. She was looking very white and scared, but she plucked up courage enough to thank me prettily.

      Bless you! I can see her now, standing there looking into my face with big tears in her pretty blue eyes. She was a girl of about twenty-one or two, I should think—tall but slenderly built, with a pretty oval face, bright brown hair, and the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen in my life. She was dressed in some dark green material, wore a fawn jacket, and because the afternoon was cold, had a boa of marten fur round her neck. I ​can remember perfectly that her hat was of some flimsy make, with lace and glittering spear points in it; the whole surmounted with two bows, one of black ribbon the other of salmon pink.

      "Oh, how can I thank you?" she began when I came up to her. "But for your appearance I don't know what those men might not have done to me."

      "I am very glad that I was there to help you," I replied, looking into her face with more admiration for its warm young beauty than perhaps I ought to have shown. "Here is your purse. I hope you will find its contents safe. At the same time will you let me give you a little piece of advice. From what I have seen this afternoon this is evidently not the sort of place for a young lady to be walking in alone and after dark. I don't think I would risk it again if I were you."

      She looked at me for a moment and then said:

      "You are quite right. I have only myself to thank for it. I met a friend and walked across the green with her—I was on my way back to my carriage—which is waiting for me outside, when I met those men. However I think I can promise you that it will not happen again, as we are leaving Sydney in a day or two."

      Somehow I began to feel glad I was booked to leave the place too when I heard that. But of course I didn't tell her so.

      "May I see you safely to your carriage? Those fellows may still be hanging about on the chance of overtaking you."

      Her courage must have come back to her, for she looked up into my face with a smile.

      "I don't think they will be rude to me again after the lesson you have given them. But if you will walk with me I shall be very grateful."

      ​Side by side we proceeded down the path, through the gates and out into the street. A neat brougham was drawn up alongside the kerb and towards this she made her way. I opened the door and held it for her to get in. But before she did so she turned to me and stretched out her little hand.

      "Will you tell me your name that I may know to whom I am indebted?"

      "My name is Hatteras. Richard Hatteras, of Thursday Island, Torres Straits. I am staying at the 'Quebec.'"

      "Thank you, Mr. Hatteras, again and again. I shall always be grateful to you for your gallantry!"

      This was attaching too much importance to such a simple