“Magnetic Villa” was one of the “best” houses in the rising city of Townsville. It stood on the red, rocky, and treeless side of Melton Hill, overlooked the waters of Cleveland Bay, and faced the rather picturesque-looking island from whence it derived its name.

About ten months after the resurrection of the “Ever Victorious” and the concomitant reawakening to life of Chinkie's Flat, three ladies arrived by steamer from Sydney to take possession of the villa—then untenanted. In a few hours it was generally known that the newcomers were Mrs. TrappÈme, Miss TrappÈme, and Miss Lilla TrappÈme. There was also a Master TrappÈme, a lanky, ill-looking, spotted-faced youth of fourteen, in exceedingly new and badly-fitting clothes much too large for him. By his mother and sisters he was addressed as “Mordaunt,” though until a year or so previously his name had been Jimmy.

A few weeks after the ladies had installed themselves in the villa there appeared a special advertisement in the Townsville Champion (over the leader) informing the public that “Mrs. Lee-TrappÈme is prepared to receive a limited number of paying guests at 'Magnetic Villa.' Elegant appointments, superior cuisine, and that comfort and hospitality which can Only be obtained in a Highly-refined Family Circle.”

“Hallo!” said Mallard, the editor of the Champion, to Flynn, his sub, who called his attention to the advertisement, “so 'Magnetic Villa' is turned into a hash house, eh? Wonder who they are? 'Highly refined family circle'—sounds fishy, doesn't it? Do you know anything about them?”

“No, but old Maclean, the Melbourne drummer who came up in the Barcoo from Sydney with them, does—at least he knew the old man, who died about a year and a half ago.”

“What was he?”

“Bank messenger in Sydney at thirty bob a week; used to lend money to the clerks at high interest, and did very well; for when he pegged out he left the old woman a couple of thousand. His name was Trappem—John Trappem, but he was better known as 'Old Jack Trap.' When they came on board the Barcoo they put on no end of side, and they were 'Mrs., the Misses, and Master Lee-TrappÈme.'”

“Lord! what a joke! Did the drummer give the show away on board?”

“No, for a wonder. But he told me of it.”

“Daughters good looking?”

“Younger one is not too bad; elder's a terror—thin, bony, long face, long nose, long feet, long conceit of herself, and pretty long age, walks mincingly, like a hen on a hot griddle, and———”

“Oh, stop it! The old woman?”

“Fat, ruddy-faced, pleasant-looking, white hair, talks of her 'poor papaless girls,' &c. She's a pushing old geyser, however, and has already got the parsons and some of the other local nobility to call on her.”

“Wonder what sort of tucker they'd give one, Flynn? I'm tired of paying £6 a week at the beastly overcrowded dog-kennel, entitled the 'Royal' Hotel—save the mark!—and I'm game even to try a boarding-house, but,” and here he rubbed his chin, “this 'refined family circle' business, you know?”

“They all say that,” remarked the sub. “You couldn't expect 'em to tell the truth and say, 'In Paradise Mansions Mrs. de Jones feeds her boarders on anything cheap and nasty; the toilet jugs have no handles, and the floors are as dirty as the kitchen slave, who does the cooking and waits at table, and the family generally are objectionable in their manners and appearance.'”

“Are you game to come with me this afternoon and inspect 'Magnetic Villa' and the 'refined family circle'?”

“Yes. And, by Jove! if you take up your quarters there, I will do so as well. We could try it, anyway. I'm batching with Battray, the police inspector, and three other fellows. It was only going to cost us £3 a week each; it costs us more like £6.”

“Of course, too much liquor, and all that,” said the editor of the Champion, with a merry twinkle in his eye.

Scarcely had the sub-editor left when a knock announced another visitor, and Grainger, booted and spurred, entered the room.

Mallard jumped from his chair and shook hands warmly with him. “This is a surprise, Grainger. When did you get to town?”

“About an hour ago. Myra is with me; her six months' visit has come to an end, and my mother and my elder sister want her back again; so she is leaving in the next steamer. But all the hotels are packed full, and as the steamer does not leave for a week, I don't know how to manage. That's why I came to see you, thinking you might know of some place where we could put up for a week.”

“I shall be only too delighted to do all I can. The town is very full of people just now, and the hotels are perfect pandemoniums, what with Chinkie's Flat, the rush to the Haughton, Black Gully, and other places Townsville is off its head with bibulous prosperity, and lodgings of any kind fit for a lady are unobtainable. Ah, stop! I've forgotten something. I do know of a place which might suit Miss Grainger very well. Where is she now?”

“In the alleged sitting-room at the 'Queen's.' I gave the head waiter a sovereign to let her have it to herself for a couple of hours whilst I went out and saw what I could do.”

Then Mallard told Grainger of “Magnetic Villa.”

“Let us go and see this refined family,” he said with a laugh. “I don't know them, but from what my sub tells me, I daresay Miss Grainger could manage with them for a week. I know the house, which has two advantages: it is large, and is away from this noisy, dirty, dusty, and sinful town.”

“Very well,” said Grainger» as he took out his pipe, “will three o'clock suit? My sister might come.”

“Of course. Now tell me about Chinkie's Flat. Any fresh news?”

“Nothing fresh; same old thing.”

“'Same old thing!'” and Mallard spread out his arms yearningly and rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. “Just listen to the man, O ye gods! 'The same old thing!' That means you are making a fortune hand over fist, you and Jimmy Ah San.”

“We are certainly making a lot of money, Mallard,” replied Grainger quietly, as he lit his pipe and crossed his strong, sun-tanned hands over his knee. “My own whack, so far, out of Chinkie's Flat, has come to more than £16,000.”

“Don't say 'whack,' Grainger; it's vulgar. Say 'My own emolument, derived in less than one year from the auriferous wealth of Chinkie's Flat, amounts to £16,000.' You'll be going to London soon, and floating the property for a million, and—”

Grainger, who knew the man well, and had a sincere liking and respect for him, laughed again, though his face flushed. “You know me better than that, Mallard; I'm not the man to do that sort of thing. I could float the concern and make perhaps a hundred thousand or so out of it if I was blackguard enough to do it. But, thank God, I've never done anything dirty in my life, and never will.”

“Don't mind my idiotic attempt at a joke, Grainger,” and Mallard pat ont his hand. “I know you are the straightest man that ever lived. But I did really think that you would be going off to England soon, and that we—I mean the other real friends beside myself you have made in this God-forsaken colony—would know you no more except by reading of your 'movements' in London.”

“No, Mallard, Australia is my home. I know nothing of England, for I left there when I was a child. As I told you, my poor father was one of the biggest sheep men in Victoria, and died soon after the bank foreclosed on him. The old station, which he named 'Melinda Downs,' after my mother, who has the good old-fashioned name of Melinda, has gone through a lot of vicissitudes since then; but a few weeks ago my agent in Sydney bought it for £10,000, and now my mother and sisters are going back there.”

“And yourself?”

“Oh, a year or two more—perhaps three or four; and then, when Chinkie's Flat is worked out, I too, will go south to the old home.”

Mallard sighed, and then, taking a cigar, lit it, and the two men smoked together in silence for a few minutes.

“Mallard!”

“Yes, old man.”

“This continual newspaper grind is pretty tough, isn't it?”

“Yes, it is. But thanks to you—by putting me on to the 'Day Dawn' Reef at Chinkie's Flat—I've made a thousand or two and can chuck it at any time.”

“Don't say 'chuck.' It's vulgar; and the editor of the 'leading journal in North Queensland' must not be vulgar,” and he smiled.

“Ah, Grainger my boy, you have been a good friend to me!”

“It's the other way about, Mallard. You were the only man in the whole colony of Queensland who stood to me when I began to employ Chinese labour. That ruffian, Peter Finnerty, said in the House, only two months ago, that I deserved to be shot.”

“Well, you stuck to your guns, and I to mine. Fortunately the Champion is my own 'rag,' and not owned by a company. I stuck to you as a matter of principle.”

“And lost heavily by it.”

“For six months or so. A lot of people withdrew their advertisements; but they were a bit surprised when at the end of that time they came back to me, and I refused to insert their ads. at any price. I consider that you not only did wisely, but right, in employing the Chinamen. Are they going on satisfactorily?”

“Very; they do work for me at twenty-five shillings a week that white men would not do at all—no matter what you offered them: emptying sludge-pits, building dams, etc.”

“Exactly! And now all the people who rose up and howled at you for employing Chinamen, and the Champion for backing you up, are shouting themselves hoarse in your praise. And the revival of Chinkie's Flat, and the new rushes all round about it, have added very materially to the wealth of this town.” After a little further conversation, Grainger went back to the Queen's Hotel, where Mallard was to call at three o'clock.

Myra Grainger, a small, slenderly-built girl of nineteen, looked up as he entered the sitting-room.

“Any success, Ted?”

“Here, look at this advertisement. Mallard knows the place, but not the people. He's coming here at three, and we'll all go and interview Mrs. TrappÈme—'which her real name is Trappem,' I believe.”

“I shall be glad to see Mr. Mallard again. I like him—in fact, I liked him before I ever saw him for the way in which he fought for you.”

“And I'm strongly of the opinion that Mr. Thomas Mallard has a very strong liking for Miss Myra Grainger.”

“Then I like him still more for that.”

Grainger patted his sister's cheek. “He is a good fellow, Myra. I think he will ask you to marry him.”

“I certainly expect it, Ted.”