By his side was Ned Turnham.

Ned, still a lean-jowled wages-man at Rotten Gully, made no secret of his glee at getting carried down thus comfortably to Polly's nuptials.

They drove the eternal forty odd miles to Geelong, each stick and stone of which was fast becoming known to Mahony; a journey that remained equally tiresome whether the red earth rose as a thick red dust, or whether as now it had turned to a mud like birdlime in which the wheels sank almost to the axles.

Arrived at Geelong they put up at an hotel, where Purdy awaited them.

Purdy had tramped down from Tarrangower, blanket on back, and stood in need of a new rig-out from head to foot.