He was dressed up to the nines himself, and if we didn’t expect him we wouldn’t have known him from a crow. First of all, he had a thick rough suit of tweed clothing on, all the same colour, with a round felt hat. He had a brand new saddle and bridle, that hadn’t got the yellow rubbed off them yet. He had an English hunting whip in his hand, and brown doe-skin gloves. He had tan leather gaiters that buttoned up to his knees. He’d shaved his beard all but his moustache and a pair of short whiskers.

He had an eyeglass in his eye, which he let drop every now and then, putting it up when he wanted to look at anybody.

When he rode up to the yard everybody stared at him, and one or two of the diggers laughed and began to call out “Joe.” Jim and I thought how sold some of them would have been if he turned on them and they’d found out who it was. However, he pushed up to the auctioneer, without looking out right or left, and drawled—

“May I—er—ask if you are Mr.—er—Joseph Stevenson?”

“I’m Joe Stevenson,” says the auctioneer. “What can I do for you?”

“Oh!—a—here is a letter from my friend, Mr. Bernard Muldoon, of the Lower Macquarie—er—requesting you to sell these horses faw him; and—er—hand over the pwoceeds to—er—me—Mr. Augustus Gwanby—aw!”

Stevenson read the letter, nodded his head, said, “All right; I’ll attend to it,” and went on with the sale.

It didn’t take long to sell our colts. There were some draught stock to come afterwards, and Joe had a day’s work before him. But ours sold well. There had not been anything like this for size, quality, and condition. The Commissioner sent down and bought one. The Inspector of Police was there, and bought one recommended by Starlight. They fetched high prices, from fifty to eighty-five guineas, and they came to a fairish figure the lot.

When the last horse was sold, Starlight says,“I feel personally obliged to you, Mr.—aw—Stevenson—faw the highly satisfactory manner in which you have conducted the sale, and I shall inform my friend, Mr. Muldoon, of the way you have sold his stock.”

“Much obliged, sir,” says Joe, touching his hat. “Come inside and I’ll give you the cheque.”

“Quite unnecessary now,” says Starlight; “but as I’m acting for a friend, it may be as well.”

We saw him pocket the cheque, and ride slowly over to the bank, which was half-tent, half-bark hut.