deciding jot or tittle in the public affairs of their adopted home.
Still unmoved, the diggers listened to this recital of their virtues.
But when one man, growing weary of the speaker's unctuous wordiness,
discharged a fierce: "Why the hell don't yer git on to the bloody
licence-tax?" the audience was fire and flame in an instant. A riotous
noise ensued; rough throats rang changes on the question. Order
restored, it was evident that the speech was over. Thrown violently out
of his concept, the auctioneer struck and struck at his palm--in vain;
nothing would come. So, making the best of a bad job, he irately sat
down in favour of his successor on the programme.

This speaker did not fare much better. The assemblage, roused now, jolly
and merciless, was not disposed to give quarter; and his obtuseness in
dawdling over such high-flown notions as that population, not property,
formed the basis of representative government, reaped him a harvest of
boos and groans. This was not what the diggers had come out to hear. And
they were as direct as children in their demand for the gist of the
matter.

"A reg-lar ol' shicer!" was the unanimous opinion, expressed without
scruple. While from the back of the hall came the curt request to him to
shut his "tater-trap."

Next on the list was a German, a ruddy-faced man with mutton-chop
whiskers and prominent, watery eyes. He could not manage the letter "r."
In the body of a word where it was negligible, he rolled it out as
though it stood three deep. Did he tackle it as an initial, on the other
hand, his tongue seemed to cleave to his palate, and to yield only an
"l." This quaint defect caused some merriment at the start, but was soon
eclipsed by a more striking oddity. The speaker had the habit of, as it