freighted with Kenilworth wool, were making the trip to Hay together.
Kenilworth was on the commercial divide, having a choice of two evils--the
long, uninviting track southward to the Murrumbidgee, and the
badly watered route eastward to the Bogan. This was Cooper's first experience
of Riverina, and he swore in no apprentice style that it would be his last.
A correlative proof of the honest fellow's Eastern extraction lay
in the fact that he was three inches taller, three stone heavier,
and thirty degrees lazier, than Thompson.

I had known Dixon for many years. He was a magnificent specimen
of crude humanity; strong, lithe, graceful, and not too big--just such a man
as your novelist would picture as the nurse-swapped offspring
of some rotund or ricketty aristocrat. But being, for my own part,
as I plainly stated at the outset, incapable of such romancing,
I must register Dixon as one whose ignoble blood had crept through scoundrels
since the Flood. Though, when you come to look at it leisurely,
this wouldn't interfere with aristocratic, or even regal, descent--rather
the reverse.

Old Price had carted goods from Melbourne to Bendigo in '52; a hundred miles,
for £100 per ton. He had had two teams at that time, and,
being a man of prudence and sagacity, had two teams still,
and was able to pay his way. I had known him since I was about the height
of this table; he was Old Price then; he is Old Price still;
and he will probably be Old Price when my head is dredged with the white flour
of a blameless life, and I am pottering about with a stick,
hating young fellows, and making myself generally disagreeable.
Price's second team was driven by his son Mosey, a tight little fellow,
whose body was about five-and-twenty, but whose head, according to
the ancient adage, had worn out many a good pair of shoulders.