Foot, the Man-in-Charge pointing out the
beauty spots and places of interest, and making tea for us at frequent
intervals.
It was a delightful train - just a simple-hearted, chivalrous,
weather-beaten old bush-whacker, at the service of the entire Territory.
"There's nothing the least bit officious or standoffish about it," I was
saying, when the Man-in-Charge came in with the first billy of tea.
"Of course not!" he said, unhooking cups from various crooked-up fingers.
"It's a Territorian, you see."
"And had all the false veneer of civilisation peeled off long ago," the
Maluka said, adding, with a sly look at my discarded gloves and gossamer,
"It's wonderful how quietly the Territory does its work."
The Man-in-Charge smiled openly as he poured out the tea, proving thereby
his kinship with all other Territorians; and as the train came to a
standstill, swung off and slipped some letters into a box nailed to an
old tree-trunk.
At the far end of the train, away from the engine, the passengers' car
had been placed, and as in front of it a long, long line of low-stacked
sinuous trucks slipped along in the rear of the engine, all was open view
before us; and all day long, as the engine trudged onwards - hands in
pockets, so to speak, and whistling merrily as it trudged - I stood beside
the Maluka on the little platform in front of the passengers' car,
drinking in my first deep, intoxicating draught of the glories of the
tropical bush.
