George Storefield, Gracey's brother, was about my own age.
He thought a lot of what I'd done for her, and years afterwards
I threatened to punch his head if he said anything more about it.
He laughed, and held out his hand.

`You and I might have been better friends lately,' says he;
`but don't you forget you've got another brother besides Jim --
one that will stick to you, too, fair weather or foul.'

I always had a great belief in George, though we didn't get on over well,
and often had fallings out. He was too steady and hardworking altogether
for Jim and me. He worked all day and every day, and saved
every penny he made. Catch him gaffing! -- no, not for a sixpence.
He called the Dalys and Jacksons thieves and swindlers, who would be
locked up, or even hanged, some day, unless they mended themselves.
As for drinking a glass of grog, you might just as soon ask him
to take a little laudanum or arsenic.

`Why should I drink grog,' he used to say -- `such stuff, too, as you get
at that old villain Grimes's -- with a good appetite and a good conscience?
I'm afraid of no man; the police may come and live on my ground
for what I care. I work all day, have a read in the evening,
and sleep like a top when I turn in. What do I want more?'

`Oh, but you never see any life,' Jim said; `you're just like
an old working bullock that walks up to the yoke in the morning
and never stops hauling till he's let go at night. This is a free country,
and I don't think a fellow was born for that kind of thing and nothing else.'

`This country's like any other country, Jim,' George would say,