Mr. Firth Scott's stories are, alternately imbued with rare glamour and realism. In either atmosphere he is entertaining, and in both convincing.
costs, I'll never have a woman owning one of my properties. You're a lot of scheming scoundrels, but I'll beat you yet."
He bounced out and flogged his horse to a gallop as he drove away.
"If the head office had sent off the gold at once when I wired, it would have been here by now," Eustace said to his assistant.
"Then everyone would have known it was here, and there is no saying what might have happened," Harding jestingly answered. "Anyway, it is due to-night."
Later, when the bank had closed for the day, a light waggon drew up at the door with a couple of men in it.
"We've some books and boxes of stationery for you from the Wyalla branch," one of the men called out as Eustace opened the door and looked out.
A bushman slouching past with his roll of blankets slung across his back, glanced round at the waggon and continued his way to the hotel. Eustace and Harding both helped to carry the bundles and boxes into the bank. When they were all inside Eustace turned to t
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