The Far Country (45 page)

They turned into the bleak, shabby, covered cabway of the railway station, dimly lit for gas economy. “That’s what I thought,” she said. “It was very sweet of you to do that, Carl. To give up everything Australia has to offer and come back to Europe—after getting away once.” She paused, and looked around her at the stained and dirty brickwork, at the antiquated building, at the wet streets in the blustering, windy night.

He laughed at her gently. “Australia is cold and wet in the winter,” he said, “and there are dirty railway stations in Australia, too, and dirty streets.”

They walked to the cloak-room and he handed in the ticket; they stood waiting while the porter went to fetch his bag. “Carl,” she said. “Your hut up in the Howqua—that’ll be all right, will it?” She looked up at him half fearful. “You don’t think it’s like the other Charlie Zlinter’s hut, with a door swinging open and a green loaf in the cupboard, and a possum or a rat nesting in the bed?”

He pressed her arm. “I also thought of that,” he said. “I left everything there very clean, with no bedclothes or cloths at all, and with insect powder sprinkled all over. Billy Slim is to go there once each week and light a fire and open all the windows, and he has money for repairs, also. It will be there clean and waiting for us when we can get back to it, when we can get away from Europe for a second time.”

“We’ll get back to it, all right,” she said. “Some day, somehow, we’ll get back there again.”

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