dusk, he was seen slipping down towards the Afghan camp with a billy
of soup.

"I believe," remarked Tom Hall, "that when the Giraffe goes to
heaven--and he's the only one of us, as far as I can see, that has a
ghost of a show--I believe that when he goes to heaven, the first
thing he'll do will be to take his infernal hat round amongst the
angels--getting up a collection for this damned world that he left
behind."

"Well, I don't think there's so much to his credit, after all," said
Jack Mitchell, shearer. "You see, the Giraffe is ambitious; he likes
public life, and that accounts for him shoving himself forward with
his collections. As for bothering about people in trouble, that's
only common curiosity; he's one of those chaps that are always shoving
their noses into other people's troubles. And, as for looking after
sick men--why! there's nothing the Giraffe likes better than pottering
round a sick man, and watching him and studying him. He's awfully
interested in sick men, and they're pretty scarce out here. I tell
you there's nothing he likes better--except, maybe, it's pottering
round a corpse. I believe he'd ride forty miles to help and
sympathize and potter round a funeral. The fact of the matter is that
the Giraffe is only enjoying himself with other people's
troubles--that's all it is. It's only vulgar curiosity and
selfishness. I set it down to his ignorance; the way he was brought
up."

A few days after the Afghan incident the Giraffe and his hat had a run
of luck. A German, one of a party who were building a new wooden
bridge over the Big Billabong, was helping unload some girders from a