on his fat and usually emotionless face. And by and by he'd move his
head gently and doze. The banging and the singing seemed to soothe
him, and the praying, which was often very personal, never seemed to
disturb him in the least.

Well, it was about dusk one day; it had been a terrible day, a hundred
and something startling in the shade, but there came a breeze after
sunset. There had been several dozen of buckets of water thrown on
the veranda floor and the ground outside. Watty was seated in his
accustomed place when the Army arrived. There was no barney in the
bar because there was a fight in the backyard, and that claimed the
attention of all the customers.

The Army prayed for Watty and his clients; then a reformed drunkard
started to testify against publicans and all their works. Watty
settled himself comfortably, folded his hands, and leaned back and
dozed.

The fight was over, and the chaps began to drop round to the bar. The
man who was saved waved his arms, and danced round and howled.

"Ye-es!" he shouted hoarsely. "The publicans, and boozers, and
gamblers, and sinners may think that Bourke is hot, but hell is a
thousand times hotter! I tell you"

"Oh, Lord!" said Mitchell, the shearer, and he threw a penny into
the ring.

"Ye-es! I tell you that hell is a million times hotter than Bourke!
I tell you---"