Why, I had a man named Considine working for me, and he thought he got bitten by a snake, so his mates ran him twenty miles into Bourke between two horses to keep him from going to sleep, giving him a nip of whisky every twenty minutes; and when he got to Bourke he wasn't bitten at all, but he died of alcoholic poisoning.

What about this Considine, anyhow?
What do you want him for ?" The Englishman felt like dropping the subject altogether, not feeling quite sure that he was not being laughed at.

However, he decided to go through with it.
"It's rather a long story, but it boils down to this," he said.

"I'm looking for a Patrick Henry Considine, but I don't know what he's like.
I don't know whether there is such a chap, in fact, but if there is, I've got to find him.

A great-uncle of mine died out here a long while ago, and we believe he left a son; and if there is such a son, it turns out that he would be entitled to a heap of money.