'So long, you fellows,' he said.
'Why, where yer goin'?' grunted Jacker Mack.
''Cross to Harry Hardy. He's down by that ole white gum.'
'Gosh! so he is. I say, we'll all go.'
'No, you won't. Youse go an' see 'bout them cherries. Harry Hardy don't
want a crowd round.'
'How d'yer know he wants you?'
'Find out. Me 'n him's mates.'
'Yo-ow?' This in derision.
''Sides, I got somethin' privit to say to him--somethin' privit 'n
important, see.'
This was more convincing, but it excited curiosity.
''Bout Tin ribs?' queried Peterson.
'Likely I'd tell you. Clear out, go on. You can be captain of the band if
you like, Jacker; 'n mind you don't give it away.'
Dick gained his point, as usual, and prepared for a quite casual descent
upon Harry, who had not yet seen the boys. The plan brought Dicky,
'shanghai' in hand, under the tree where Hardy sat. The boy was
apparently oblivious of everything but the parrots up aloft, and it was
not till after he had had his shot that he returned the young man's
salutation. Then he took a seat astride the log and offered some
commonplace information about a nest of joeys in a neighboring tree and a
tame magpie that had escaped, and was teaching all the other magpies in
Wilson's paddocks to whistle a jig and curse like a drover. But he got
down to his point rather suddenly after all.
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