"No; the other name. You've got Nosey Alf, an' Warrigal Alf, an' (sheol) knows
how many other Alfs. I got reason to hate that name."

"Well," resumed Mosey, after a pause, "as I was tellin' you, this cove
he was there; an' it so happened his near side leader had got bit with a snake,
an' died; an' as luck would have it, he'd sold the pick of his bullicks
to a tank-sinker, an' bought steers in theyre place; an' he had n't
another bullick fit to shove in the near side lead to tackle sich a road
as he'd got in front of him. Well, this cove he makes fistfuls o' money,
but he's always dog-poor, so he"----

"Which cove makes fistfuls o' money?" demanded Price, roused from a reverie
by the magic dissyllable.

"Fine out, you (adj.) ole fool. So he was flyblowed as usual
in regard o' cash; an' he was badly in want of a near side leader;
an' I kep' showin' off this Pilot, shifting wagons from the door o' the shed,
an' tinkerin' about; an' he offered us two good bullicks for the counterfit;
an' me an' the ole man we hum'd and ha'd, an' let on we did n't want
to part with him; an' me as thin as a whippin'-post with watchin'
the yaller-hided dodger every night, to keep him from goin' overland
to the bounds o' creation. Well, at long an' at last we swapped level
for Valiparaiser. I seen the workin' o' Providence in it from fust to last.
The horse he's worth twenty notes, all out; an' Pilot he was dear at a gift.
I say, Tom; that's a grand horse you got off o' the Far-downer.
Goes like a greyhound. Gosh, you had that bloke to rights.
He's whippin' the cat now like fury. I was chiackin' him about the deal,
when he told me you swapped level; an' he wanted to change the subject.
'I'm frightened you'll be short o' grass to-night,' says he.
'Where you goin' to camp?' says he. The (adj.) fool!"