hate the Boss-of-the-Board as the shearers' 'slushy' hates the
shearers' cook. I don't know why. He's a very fair boss.

"He refused to put on a traveller yesterday, and the traveller knocked
him down. He walked into the shed this morning with his hat back and
thumbs in waistcoat--a tribute to man's weakness. He threatened to
dismiss the traveller's mate, a bigger man, for rough shearing--a
tribute to man's strength. The shearer said nothing. We hate the boss
because he IS boss, but we respect him because he is a strong man. He is
as hard up as any of us, I hear, and has a sick wife and a large, small
family in Melbourne. God judge us all!

"There is a gambling-school here, headed by the shearers' cook. After
tea they head-'em, and advance cheques are passed from hand to hand, and
thrown in the dust until they are black. When it's too dark to see with
nose to the ground, they go inside and gamble with cards. Sometimes
they start on Saturday afternoon, heading 'em till dark, play cards all
night, start again heading 'em Sunday afternoon, play cards all Sunday
night, and sleep themselves sane on Monday, or go to work ghastly--like
dead men.

"Cry of 'Fight'; we all rush out. But there isn't much fighting. Afraid
of murdering each other. I'm beginning to think that most bush crime is
due to irritation born of dust, heat, and flies.

"The smothering atmosphere shudders when the sun goes down. We call it
the sunset breeze.

"Saturday night or Sunday we're invited into the shearers' hut. There
are songs that are not hymns and recitations and speeches that are not
prayers.

"Last Sunday night: Slush lamps at long intervals on table. Men playing
cards, sewing on patches--(nearly all smoking)--some writing, and
the rest reading Deadwood Dick. At one end of the table a Christian
Endeavourer endeavouring; at the other a cockney Jew, from the hawker's
boat, trying to sell rotten clothes. In response to complaints, direct
and not chosen generally for Sunday, the shearers' rep. requests both
apostles to shut up or leave.

"He couldn't be expected to take the Christian and leave the Jew, any
more than he could take the Jew and leave the Christian. We are just
amongst ourselves in our hell.

. . . . .

"Fiddle at the end of rouseabouts' hut. Voice of Jackeroo, from upper
bunk with apologetic oaths: 'For God's sake chuck that up; it makes a
man think of blanky old things!'

"A lost soul laughs (mine) and dreadfu