poor, as I've seen people, there might be some excuse for you.
Haven't you got any mothers, or sisters, or wives to think of? What
sort of a life is this you lead? Drinking, and gambling, and
fighting, and swearing your lives away! Do you ever think of God and
the time when you were children? Why don't you make homes? Look at
that man's face!" (she pointed suddenly at Bogan, who collapsed and
sidled behind his mates out of the light). "Look at that man's face!
Is it a face for a Christian? And you help and encourage him to
fight. You're worse than he is. Oh, it's brutal. It's--it's wicked.
Great big men like you, you ought to be ashamed of yourselves."

Long Bob Brothers--about six-foot-four--the longest and most innocent
there, shrunk down by the wall and got his inquiring face out of the
light. The Pretty Girl fluttered on for a few moments longer, greatly
excited, and then stepped back, seemingly much upset, and was taken
under the wing of the woman with the boiler-plate mouth.

It was a surprise, and very sudden. Bogan slipped round to the
backyard, and was seen bathing his battered features at the pump. The
rest wore the expression of men who knew that something unusual has
happened, but don't know what, and are waiting vacantly for
developments.--Except Tom Hall, who had recovered and returned. He
stood looking over the head of the ring of bushmen, and apparently
taking the same critical interest in the girl as he would in a
fight--his expression was such as a journalist might wear who is
getting exciting copy.

The Army had it all their own way for the rest of the evening, and
made a good collection. The Pretty Girl stood smiling round with
shining eyes as the bobs and tanners dropped in, and then, being