"`I'll see him in the morning, and see you afterwards,' and he shook hands and went on home.
"Next day he came to me where I was doing a job on a step ladder.
He leaned his elbow against the steps for a moment, and rubbed his hand over his forehead, as if it ached and he was tired.
"`I've seen him, Mitchell,' he said.
"`Yes.'
"`You were mates with him, once, Out Back?'
"`I was.'
"`You know Drew's hand-writing?'
"`I should think so.'
"He laid a leaf from a pocketbook on top of the steps. I read the message written in pencil:
"`To Jack Mitchell. -- We were mates on the track. If you know anything of my affair, don't give it away. -- J. D.'
"I tore the leaf and dropped the bits into the paint-pot.
"`That's all right, Doctor,' I said; `but is there no way?'
"`None.'
"He turned away, wearily. He'd knocked about so much over the world that he was past bothering about explaining things or being surprised at anything.
But he seemed to get a new idea about me; he came back to the steps again, and watched my brush for a while, as if he was thinking, in a broody sort of way, of throwing up his practice and going in for house-painting. Then he said, slowly and deliberately:
"`If she -- the girl -- had lived, we might have tried to fix it up quietly.
That's what I was hoping for. I don't see how we can help him now, even if he'd let us. He would never have spoken, anyway.
We must let it go on, and after the trial I'll go to Sydney and see what I can do at headquarters. It's too late now.
You understand, Mitchell?'
"`Yes. I've thought it out.'
"Then he went away towards the Royal.
"And what could Jack Drew or we do? Study it out whatever way you like.
There was only one possible chance to help him, and that was to go to the judge; and the judge that happened to be on that circuit was a man who -- even if he did listen to the story and believe it -- would have felt inclined to give Jack all the more for what he was charged with. Browne was out of the question.
The day before the trial I went for a long walk in the bush, but couldn't hit on anything that the Doctor might have missed.
"I was in the court -- I couldn't keep away. The Doctor was there too.
There wasn't so much of a change in Jack as I expected, only he had the gaol white in his face already. He stood fingering the rail, as if it was the edge of a table on a platform and he was a tired and bored and sleepy chairman waiting to propose a vote of thanks."
The only well-known man in Australia who reminds me of Mitchell is Bland Holt, the comedian. Mitchell was about as good hearted as Bland Holt, too, under it all; but he was bigger and roughened by the bush. But he seemed to be taking a heavy part to-night, for, towards the end of his yarn, he got up and walked up and down the length of my bed, dropping the sentences as he turned towards me. He'd folded his arms high and tight, and his face in the moonlight was -- well, it was very different from his careless tone of voice. He was like -- like an actor acting tragedy and talking comedy. Mitchell went on, speaking quickly -- his voice seeming to harden:
. . . . .
