Bourke and to many shearers who came through the great dry scrubs from
hundreds of miles round. He was stakeholder, drunkard's banker,
peacemaker where possible, referee or second to oblige the chaps when
a fight was on, big brother or uncle to most of the children in town,
final court of appeal when the youngsters had a dispute over a
foot-race at the school picnic, referee at their fights, and he was
the stranger's friend.

"The feller as knows can battle around for himself," he'd say.
"But I always like to do what I can for a hard-up stranger cove. I
was a green-hand jackaroo once meself, and I know what it is."

"You're always bothering about other people, Giraffe," said Tom
Hall, the shearers' union secretary, who was only a couple of inches
shorter than the Giraffe. "There's nothing in it, you can take it
from me--I ought to know."

"Well, what's a feller to do?" said the Giraffe. "I'm only hangin'
round here till shearin' starts agen, an' a cove might as well be
doin' something. Besides, it ain't as if I was like a cove that had
old people or a wife an' kids to look after. I ain't got no
responsibilities. A feller can't be doin' nothin'. Besides, I like
to lend a helpin' hand when I can."

"Well, all I've got to say," said Tom, most of whose screw went in
borrowed quids, etc. "All I've got to say is that you'll get no
thanks, and you might blanky well starve in the end."

"There ain't no fear of me starvin' so long as I've got me hands
about me; an' I ain't a cove as wants thanks," said the Giraffe.