Then his eyes fixed
themselves upon the water at which he stared.
Harder and harder he stared, his head sinking lower every moment, till
at length without another sound, very quietly and unexpectedly he
went over the side of the boat. For a few seconds they saw his
bright-coloured garments sinking to the depths, then he vanished.
They waited a while, expecting that he would rise again. But he never
rose. A shot-weighted corpse could not have disappeared more finally and
completely. The thing was very awful, and for a while there was silence,
which as usual was broken by Jeekie.
"That gay dog gone," he said in a reflective voice. "All those old
ghosts come to fetch him at proper time. No good run away from ghosts;
they travel too quick; one jump, and pop up where you no expect. Well,
more place for Jeekie now," and he spread himself out comfortably in the
empty seat, adding, "like hello-swello's room much better than company,
he go in scent-bath every day and stink too much, all that water never
wash _him_ clean."
Thus died the Mungana, and such was the poor wretch's requiem. With
a shiver Alan reflected that had it not been for him and his insane
jealousy, he too might have been expected to go into that same
scent-bath and have his face painted like a chorus girl.
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