Berry, however, was occupied by one of the men, a big, burly fellow whose
blue eyes glared back and whose red-brown moustache bristled in defiance.
'Do you _want_ a cab, sir?' the man asked, in a half-mocking, challenging
voice.
Berry hesitated still.
'Are you Daniel Sutton?' he asked.
'Yes,' replied the other defiantly, with uneasy conscience.
'Then you are my uncle,' said Berry.
They were alike in colouring, and somewhat in features, but the taxi
driver was a powerful, well-fleshed man who glared at the world
aggressively, being really on the defensive against his own heart. His
nephew, of the same height, was thin, well-dressed, quiet and indifferent
in his manner. And yet they were obviously kin.
'And who the devil are you?' asked the taxi driver.
'I'm Daniel Berry,' replied the nephew.
'Well, I'm damned--never saw you since you were a kid.'
Rather awkwardly at this late hour the two shook hands.
'How are you, lad?'
'All right. I thought you were in Australia.'
'Been back three months--bought a couple of these damned things'--he
kicked the tyre of his taxi-cab in affectionate disgust. There was a
moment's silence.
'Oh, but I'm going back out there. I can't stand this cankering,
rotten-hearted hell of a country any more; you want to come out to Sydney
with me, lad. That's the place for you--beautiful place, oh, you could
wish for nothing better.
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