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the noise no longer crashed into his brain, but beat more remotely around him.
    He looked into the raw, freckled face of the policeman.
    ‘Been in The Yabba long, Jock?’ he said, luxuriating a little in his faint irony.
    ‘All m’life, John.’
    ‘Ever think of leaving?’
    ‘Leaving The Yabba? Not on your life. Best little town in the world this is.’
    ‘Ever been anywhere else?’
    ‘Did three months’ training in the city. Didn’t like it.’
    Grant suddenly realised his private joke was not particularly good. He drained his glass.
    ‘I’d better get along,’ he said, ‘haven’t eaten yet.’
    ‘Have another one before you go.’
    ‘No thanks, I won’t. It’s a bit much on an empty stomach.’
    ‘Go on, won’t do you any harm.’The policeman winked heavily: ‘It’s on the house.’
    Why not? thought Grant. It would be hard enough to sleep on that bed, anyway. He handed his glass to the policeman who again went through his crowd-penetrating routine.
    ‘We’ll just have this round here and we’ll go along to the next pub. I’ve got to look in on them all tonight,’ said the policeman when he came back.
    Grant wondered what the incidence was of diseased liver among members of the Bundanyabba police force.
    ‘I won’t be drinking any more, thanks, Jock. I’ll have to eat,’ he said, realising nevertheless that he had been put in the position of having to complete the round.
    The policeman seemed content with that and addressed himself to his beer.
    Soon he said: ‘Where are you going to eat?’
    ‘I don’t know. Where’s a good place?’
    ‘The Two-up school’s pretty good if you want a good steak.’
    Grant, like every Australian, had heard of Two-up schools. Every city has one and in the outback, miners, labourers, rail-waymen, anybody desperate for diversion—and that is almost everybody—will gather from a radius of a hundred miles to wager on the fall of the illegal pennies.
    ‘They serve meals at the Two-up school, do they?’ he asked.
    ‘Best in town,’ said the policeman, with the proprietorial pride which all Bundanyabba people evinced when they spoke of the city’s excesses.
    ‘Where is the place?’
    ‘Just around the corner from the main street, I’ll take you round there in a minute.’
    Grant wondered whether free bets were allowed the police in Bundanyabba, but he did not raise the point with Crawford. He was beginning to like the policeman and, dimly, he was aware that this was a strong indication that he had drunk too much.
    Crawford had finished his beer and was fiddling expectantly with the glass.
    ‘A couple more?’ said Grant, because he didn’t know how to avoid it. He handed over the money and Crawford went for the beer. He took a little longer this time and when he came back he said, ‘I slung your change to the girl…told her it was yours…do you a bit of good when you come in again.’
    Grant could have pointed out that it was not at all likely that he would ever come in here again, and even less likely that the barmaid would remember him if he did; but he said nothing. He was smoking one cigarette after another now, as men do when they are drinking.
    ‘Police have much to do in Bundanyabba?’ he asked without really caring much whether they did or not.
    ‘No, John, no; on the whole, no! We just keep an eye on things.’ Crawford became a shade ponderous as he spoke in a semi-official capacity.
    ‘Not much crime?’
    ‘Almost none at all, John, nothing serious anyway. About the honestest town in Australia this is.’
    ‘So?’ Grant strove to look impressed.
    Crawford rather spoiled the effect of his declaration by adding: ‘’Course no one’s really game to try anything because we’d get ’em so quickly.’
    ‘So?’
    ‘It’s so isolated, see? You can’t get out of the place in a hurry without everybody knowing about it.’
    ‘No. I suppose not.Then it’s a pretty easy life for you?’
    ‘It’s pretty good,’ said