Dash and Dingo Read Online Free PDF

called out, as if he were storming the palace gates.
    Henry looked up and frowned. “Pardon?”
    “Haroo,” Dingo repeated, making himself comfortable in the chair opposite.
    “And that means?”
    As if he were talking to an imbecile, Dingo drawled, “Hello….”
    “Why don’t you just say ‘hello’ then?” Henry asked irritably.
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    “Well, hello to you, sunshine,” Dingo said dismissively, reaching for the pot in front of Henry and grimacing at the contents as he opened the lid.
    “Any chance you can call for coffee?”
    “Hill’s off for the evening,” Henry told him.
    “And you don’t know how to make a cuppa?”
    Sighing heavily, Henry stood and shuffled over to the small burner behind him and began readying a pot of coffee.
    “Is it too much for you, mate?” Dingo asked. “Should I try coming in again and seeing if you’re in a better mood?”
    Before Henry could reply, Dingo was out the door. There came a knock at it.
    “I know it’s you,” Henry said curtly.
    “Evening,” Dingo said with a tip of his hat.
    “What are you doing here?” Henry asked.
    “Well, that’s no better, is it? Good evening, my good sir .” Dingo bowed exaggeratedly, clutching his hat to his chest. He then turned to his left and addressed the empty air. “ Hello there, Dash .” He jumped back to his original position; it was dizzying to watch. “ Toodle pip, what what, Dingo ?”
    “Good evening, Dingo,” Henry snarled, getting the message. “But what are you doing here?”
    Dingo eased himself into the chair opposite him. “Looking for you, of course.”
    “How did you know I would be here?”
    Dingo grinned. “Where else would you be?”
    “I could be plenty of places!” Henry protested.
    “Yeah?” Dingo asked. “Where would you be, then?”
    Flummoxed, Henry fell back on the required social graces. “Coffee’s ready.”
    “Nah, don’t feel like it now. Scratch it,” Dingo ordered. “What grog have you got in your drawer?”
    Henry had to resist throwing the contents of the pot at the other man, but he knew Dingo was only trying to get a rise out of him. “Grog?”
    “The good stuff, mate. Don’t play dumb.”
    Dash and Dingo: In Search of the Tasmanian Tiger | 23

    Reluctantly, Henry leaned across his desk and slid open his bottom drawer, extracting the small silver flask within. “Whiskey?” he offered.
    “Sure. Got any ice?”
    Henry looked at him blankly. “Are you trying to be funny? You’re in England.”
    Dingo grimaced. “I guess I’ll have it straight, then.”
    Henry couldn’t be sure, but as he reached behind him for two glasses he thought he heard Dingo mutter, “Bloody Poms.”
    Dingo watched him pour, and Henry slid a glass over to him. “Mind if I propose a toast, Dash?”
    Wearily, Henry said, “ Henry . And go ahead.”
    “Thanks, Dash. Anyhoo, here’s to the tiger and our journey beginning on Thursday.”
    Henry almost spilled his glass. “Pardon?”
    Dingo regarded him cheekily over the rim of his glass. “I booked our flight. Thursday. Eight in the morning.”
    “But—”
    “Don’t get cold feet on me now, mate. It’s all arranged.”
    “How?”
    “I told you, I have a mate in Imperial Airways. They’re only running the mail at the minute, although they’re going to start taking passengers soon.
    So we’re stowaways, really. Hobos of the air!” He downed his whiskey triumphantly.
    “And how long will it take us to get to Australia?”
    “About ten days.”
    “Ten! You said four!”
    “Aha! So you do listen. Well, it all depends. Better than the month on the boat, mate.”
    Henry nodded somberly. “Yes, you’re right.”
    “You don’t sound too sure about that.”
    Henry collected himself and attempted to sound cheerier. “No, I’m sure.”
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    “You look down in the mouth about something. Come on, spill it.”
    Henry couldn’t help but be swayed by the astonishing depth