Dave had been there with the laudable determination of fixing the business up,
and had, of course, succeeded in making it much worse than it was before.
But Andy made it all right.




The Iron-Bark Chip



Dave Regan and party -- bush-fencers, tank-sinkers, rough carpenters, &c. --
were finishing the third and last culvert of their contract
on the last section of the new railway line, and had already sent in
their vouchers for the completed contract, so that there might be no excuse
for extra delay in connection with the cheque.

Now it had been expressly stipulated in the plans and specifications that
the timber for certain beams and girders was to be iron-bark and no other,
and Government inspectors were authorised to order the removal from the ground
of any timber or material they might deem inferior, or not in accordance
with the stipulations. The railway contractor's foreman
and inspector of sub-contractors was a practical man and a bushman,
but he had been a timber-getter himself; his sympathies were bushy,
and he was on winking terms with Dave Regan. Besides, extended time
was expiring, and the contractors were in a hurry to complete the line.
But the Government inspector was a reserved man who poked round
on his independent own and appeared in lonely spots at unexpected times
-- with apparently no definite object in life -- like a grey kangaroo