A Kindness Cup by Thea Astley Page A

remembers.’
    â€˜I remember.’
    â€˜You won’t forget, you mean. Are growing pains the only things you recall, eh?’
    â€˜Is that how you dismiss it? Growing pains!’
    â€˜Then why have you come back?’
    â€˜In the spirit of curiosity.’
    â€˜I hope that’s all,’ Sweetman says. ‘I’ve come along specially to meet you’ (‘Forestall,’ Dorahy thinks) ‘as part of the old place, to ask you round for a drink tonight before the official welcome next week. You’ll be in that, won’t you?’
    Your lousy vote-catching manner, Dorahy thinks. ‘I’ll be there,’ he says.
    â€˜Where’s Charlie Lunt these days?’ he asks.
    Sweetman’s face closes over. ‘Old Charlie,’ he muses. ‘Finally gave up that property of his. It was falling apart. He never did strike enough water.’
    â€˜He lost heart?’ Dorahy prompts.
    â€˜You could say that.’
    â€˜He could have said more,’ Dorahy whispers. He feels very old suddenly. The girl behind the desk is watching them both. He is incapable of giving her a smile.
    â€˜Where is he then?’ he persists.
    â€˜Somewhere up the coast,’ Sweetman answers at last. ‘A little mixed business. Better for him. Look after Mr Dorahy,’ he says swinging towards the girl behind the desk. Pulling rank. ‘He’s one of our more important guests.’
    â€˜Certainly, Sir Barnabas,’ she says. It sounds incredibly comic. She sighs too, Dorahy notices, and he thinks, Ah bynext election he’ll know what it is to be told. He’ll know all right.’
    â€˜Have a bit of a kip, now, Tom.’ Sweetman uses a patting action on the other’s shoulder. ‘You could do with a bit of a lie-down, eh? And we’ll see you tonight about eight. We’re still at the old place. Bit bigger, bit smarter, but much the same. You know me. Nothing grand.’
    Mr Dorahy has his lie-down.

H OW MANY men,Mr Sheridan asked Lieutenant Buckmaster, are there in your detachment?
    Ten.
    Ten official members?
    The lieutenant squirmed. No.
    Then how many?
    Four official members only.
    And were the men who accompanied you on this third expedition the same ones we were speaking of before, those same ten, official or not?
    Lieutenant Buckmaster hesitated. Not all.
    Who else, then, was with you on this expedition?
    A few of the townsmen.
    A few?
    A few.
    By what authority did they accompany you? I assume they were armed.
    I was sent for by Mr Romney.
    Directly by Mr Romney?
    Lieutenant Buckmaster shuffled something—his feet? his mind?
    No. I acted on a letter received by one of the townsmen.
    And who was that?
    My father.
    At the back of the court Mr Dorahy who had been readmitted to give evidence felt his lips in an unbearable twitch of a smile.
    MrRomney is a member of the Separation League, is he not? asked Mr Sheridan.
    Yes.
    Then he would know your father well—could be classed as a personal friend perhaps?
    I suppose so.
    What did you do, pursued Mr Sheridan, when you came to Romney’s station?
    I went first to the outlying properties and did not find any of the tribe there. Then I went towards the coast and followed it up to Tumbul. Finding no tracks there, I came back across the flats to Kuttabul where I discovered evidence that led us towards the Mandarana scrub. I found the blacks at the water-hole back from Mandarana.
    What did you do then?
    I dispersed them.
    How did you know they were the blacks who had committed the thefts? Had you any direct evidence?
    The boys at Mr Romney’s told me these were the blacks. They said the tribe was in the habit of coming across their land to move south down the coast.
    And that was the only evidence you had? Did you not, for example, recognise one of the gins who had been seen frequently about the town?
    Come on, boy! Dorahy encouraged silently from the rear of the court.
    The silence began to