your mate came from
Australia--but no, he might want you to bring me in. Better stick to
Maoriland. I don't believe in too much ornamentation. Plain lies are the
best."

"What's the landlord's name?" asked Smith.

"Never mind that. You don't want to know that. You are not supposed to
know him at all. It might look suspicious if you called him by his name,
and lead to awkward questions; then you'd be sure to put your foot into
it."

"I could say I read it over the door."

"Bosh. Travellers don't read the names over the doors, when they go into
pubs. You're an entire stranger to him. Call him 'Boss'. Say 'Good-day,
Boss,' when you go in, and swing down your swag as if you're used to
it. Ease it down like this. Then straighten yourself up, stick your hat
back, and wipe your forehead, and try to look as hearty and independent
and cheerful as you possibly can. Curse the Government, and say the
country's done. It don't matter what Government it is, for he's always
against it. I never knew a real Australian that wasn't. Say that you're
thinking about trying to get over to Australia, and then listen to
him talking about it--and try to look interested, too! Get that damned
stone-deaf expression off your face!... He'll run Australia down most
likely (I never knew an Other-sider that had settled down over here who
didn't). But don't you make any mistake and agree with him, because,
although successful Australians over here like to run their own country
down, there's very few of them that care to hear anybody else do it....
Don't come away as soon as you get your beer. Stay and listen to him for
a while, as if you're interested in his yarning, and give him time to
put you on to a job, or offer you one. Give him a chance to ask how you
and your mate are off for tobacco or tucker. Like as not he'll sling you
half a crown when you come away--that is, if you work it all right.
Now try to think of something to say to him, and make yourself a bit
interesting--if you possibly can. Tell him about the fight we saw back
at the pub. the other day. He might know some of the chaps. This is a
sleepy hole, and there ain't much news knocking round.... I wish I could
go in myself, but he's sure to remember ME. I'm afraid he got left the
last time I stayed there (so did one or two others); and, besides, I
came away without saying good-bye to him, and he might feel a bit sore
about it. That's the worst of travelling on the old road. Come on now,