"What was yer doin' to that girl yesterday?" asked Danny of Yankee Jack
next evening, as they camped on the far side of the plain.
"What was you chaps sayin' to Alice? I heerd her cryin' in her room
last night."

But they reckoned that he had been too drunk to hear anything
except an invitation to come and have another drink; and so it passed.




The Hero of Redclay



The "boss-over-the-board" was leaning with his back to the wall
between two shoots, reading a reference handed to him by a green-hand
applying for work as picker-up or woolroller -- a shed rouseabout.
It was terribly hot. I was slipping past to the rolling-tables,
carrying three fleeces to save a journey; we were only supposed to carry two.
The boss stopped me:

"You've got three fleeces there, young man?"

"Yes."

Notwithstanding the fact that I had just slipped a light ragged fleece
into the belly-wool and "bits" basket, I felt deeply injured,
and righteously and fiercely indignant at being pulled up.
It was a fearfully hot day.