I dropped softly from the plank and peeped out with the rest.

They stood by the fence on the opposite side of the street, a bit up
towards the railway station, with their portmanteaux and bundles at
their feet. One girl leant with her arms on the fence rail and her
face buried in them, another was trying to comfort her. The third
girl and the woman stood facing our way. The woman was good-looking;
she had a hard face, but it might have been made hard. The third girl
seemed half defiant, half inclined to cry. Presently she went to the
other side of the girl who was crying on the fence and put her arm
round her shoulder. The woman suddenly turned her back on us and
stood looking away over the paddocks.

The hat went round. Billy Woods was first, then Box-o'-Tricks, and
then Mitchell.

Billy contributed with eloquent silence. "I was only jokin',
Giraffe," said Box-o'-Tricks, dredging his pockets for a couple of
shillings. It was some time after the shearing, and most of the chaps
were hard up. "Ah, well," sighed Mitchell. "There's no help for
it. If the Giraffe would take up a collection to import some decent
girls to this God-forgotten hole there might be some sense in
it. . . . It's bad enough for the Giraffe to undermine our religious
prejudices, and tempt us to take a morbid interest in sick Chows and
Afghans, and blacklegs and widows; but when he starts mixing us up
with strange women it's time to buck." And he prospected his pockets
and contributed two shillings, some odd pennies, and a pinch of
tobacco dust.

"I don't mind helping the girls, but I'm damned if I'll give a penny