Page:The Toll of the Bush.pdf/76

Major Milward left the store, locking the door behind him. It was Sunday afternoon. A native on horseback was scurrying along the beach with a tin of golden syrup under his arm, for which he had paid one shilling and fourpence in the belief that he was purchasing tinned meat. It is due to the Major to say that in this belief he fully shared. The store was closed against business on Sundays, but Major Milward, to whom serving at the counter was a pleasant relaxation, in which he was not supposed to indulge, occasionally managed on some pretext to obtain the key from the storekeeper when, if the opportunity offered, he would transact a little business sub rosa, frequently, as in this instance, with disastrous results.

The Major wore a sun helmet in compliment to the fine October weather, and a cigar, without which he was rarely seen, glowed between his teeth. In stature he was rather under middle size, but his figure despite his age was erect and active as a boy’s. A pair of clear blue eyes looked steadily out on the world. He walked up the beach humming a hymn