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The Honourable Steve now insisted on tacking himself on to Dick, and they roamed the Exhibition together. Biggs talked volubly of his impressions of England and the English (he had crowded a great deal into his first few days, and had already “done” half London), of the Exhibition, of being feted by the flower of Britain and fed on the fat of the land; and though his English was scarcely impeccable a vein of shrewd common sense ran through his observations which was as admirable in the man (he had risen very rapidly even for Australia) as it was characteristic of his class.

“By-the-bye,” said Mr. Biggs, after they had freely criticised the romantic group of blacks and fauna in the South Australian Court, “have you seen the Hut?”

“No,” said Dick.

“Then come on; it’s the best thing in the whole show; and,” dropping his voice mysteriously, “there’s the rummest go there you ever saw in your life.”

Everybody remembers the Settler’s Hut. It was a most realistic property, with its strips of bark and its bench and wash-basin, though some bushmen were heard to deny below their breath the existence of any hut so spick and span “where they come from.”