change for a quid, would you?"

"Sorry. I haven't," replied Gil. "How much do you need?"

"I'm shy a zack."

"Here."

"No, it doesn't matter. Thanks all the same."

"No, go on. It's okay. I'd hate to see a bloke go without his icy-pole."

Bunny laughed. "All right," he said. "Thanks a lot. Hey, haven't I seen you somewhere before?"

"Hullo!” thought Gil. "Recognition at last!" "Well," he said, "you've probably seen me on the beach."

"Not over at the Ivanhoe?"

"No."

"The Manly?"

"No, never been in there."

"Oh well, must've been the beach, then. Thanks again. See you 'round. Hooroo!" And clutching a handful of the ice cream man's wares, Bunny waved, and ambled back to his friends.

"Bye," said Gil limply, and tendered his other sixpence to the man with the ice cream.

An hour later Gil was asleep, when he was awakened by sands being kicked violently over him.

"Hey!" He rolled over, and started up. There was Bunny laughing down at him.

"We're going over to the rubbidy for some health tonic. Wanna come?" "Sure," replied Gil, and got to his feet.

"I'll shout you to a zack's worth," said Bunny, and laughed again. Gil laughed too. "Well now," he thought, "things have taken a turn for the better." They joined the others waiting on the esplanade, and introductions were made. Pete was the name of the fourth one, and Gil made pretense of remembering the names names he'd known all along. They waved to the girls, and turned to cross the street.

The public bar at the Ivanhoe was jammed, but they managed to find a place near a window. By the time Bunny and Pete had returned from the fray with four schooners, Gil and Mike were yarning away like old friends.

Mike took a hearty swig, said "Ah! Mother's milk!" took another, and set his glass down on the sill. "Gil here says he's in the teaching game," he said. "Whadda ya know!" said Pete. "So am I!"

And so the talk went on, shouted above the hubbub, punctuated by journeys to the bar or washroom. "Very straight," thought Gil, while he learned that the friends were nothing more than that, with similar interests and co-inciding vacations, down from Broken Hill for three weeks' surfing an impossible

sport back home.

"Too bloody hot," remarked Pete.

"Too bloody small," added Mike.

It was approaching six-thirty, and Gil was feeling the glow that comes with four beers. Mike was too, when he turned to him and asked "Where are you

staying?"

"The Y."

"That dump!"

"And you?"

"At the Cross where else? The Mayfair."

"Any good?"

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