A Town like Alice

country. She would ask her husband and send a message on the morning schedule.
    That night Jean thought a good deal about what she would do when she did get the address. It was clear now that her first apprehensions were unfounded; Joe Harman had made a good recovery from his injuries, and was able to carry on his work in the outback. She was amazed that this could be so, but the man was tough. Though there was no compelling need for her to find him now, she felt that it would be impossible to leave Australia without seeing him again; too much had passed between them. She did not fear embarrassment when she met him. She felt that she could tell him the truth frankly; that she had heard of his survival and had come to satisfy herself that he was quite all right. If anything should happen after that, well, that would be just one of those things.
    She drifted into sleep, smiling a little.
    She went down to the hospital in the morning after the radio schedule and learned that Joe Harman was the manager of Midhurst station, near Willstown. She had never heard of Willstown before; Mr Taylor obligingly got out a map of Australia designed to show the various radio facilities and frequencies of the outback stations, and showed her Willstown at the mouth of the Gilbert River on the Gulf of Carpentaria.
    "What sort of a place is it?" she asked him. "Is it a place like this?"
    He laughed. "It's a fair cow up there." He studied the map. "It's got an air-strip, anyway. I don't suppose it's got much else. I've never been there, and I've never heard of anyone who has."
    "I'm going there," she said. "I've got to see Joe Harman, after coming all this way."
    "It's likely to be rough living," he said. "Oh my word."
    "Would there be a hotel?"
    "Oh, there'll be a hotel. They've got to have their grog."
    She left the hospital and went thoughtfully to the milk bar; as she ordered her ice-cream soda, it occurred to her that it might be a long time before she had another. When she had finished her soda she walked up the street a little way and turned into the magazine and book shop, and bought a map of Australia and a bus timetable and an airline timetable. Then she went back to the milk bar and had another ice-cream soda while she studied this literature.
    Presently Rose Sawyer came into the milk bar with her dog. Jean said, "I've found out where Joe Harman lives. Now I've got to find out how to get there. There doesn't seem to be a bus going that way at all."
    They studied the timetables together. "It's going to be much easiest to fly," said Rose. "That's how everybody goes, these days. It's more expensive, but it may not be in the long run because you've got so many meals and hotels if you try and go by land. I should take the Maclean service to Cloncurry, next Monday."
    It meant staying a few days more in Alice Springs, but it seemed the best thing to do. "You could come and stay with us," said Rose. "Daddy and Mummy would love to have somebody from England. It's not very nice in the hotel, is it? I've never been in there, of course."
    "It's a bit beery," said Jean. She was already aware of the strict Australian code, that makes it impossible for a woman to go into a bar. "I would like to do that, if you're sure it wouldn't be a lot of trouble."
    "We'd love to have you. It's so seldom one can talk to anyone that comes from England." They walked round to the Sawyers' house; on the way they met Mrs Maclean, fair-haired and youthful, pushing her pram. They stopped, and Jean said, "I've got to go to Willstown in the Gulf country to see Joe Harman. Can I get a seat on your plane on Monday as far as Cloncurry?"
    "I should think you could. I'm just going to the office; I'll tell them to put you down for Monday. Shall I ask them to arrange the passage for you from Cloncurry on to Willstown? I think you can get there direct from the Curry, but they'll find out that and make the booking if you want."
    "That's awfully good of you," said Jean. "I would like them to do that."
    "Okay. Coming down to the pool this evening?"
    "Yes, please."
    They went on to the Sawyer house, a pleasant bungalow with a rambler rose climbing over it, standing in a small garden full of English flowers, with a sprinkler playing on the lawn. Mrs Sawyer was grey-haired and practical; she made Jean welcome. "Much better for you to be here with us than in that nasty place," she said, with all of an Australian woman's aversion to hotels. "It'll be nice having you, Miss Paget.