says, says he, as he was skinnin' a jackass which had a two foot
whip snake inside him, 'if one o' you fellers 'ad a been in Eding, poor
Heve wouldn't 'ave got hinter no trouble, hand we 'uman bein's 'ud go on
livin' for hever like Muthusalum. The old serpant,' says he, 'wouldn't a
'ad the ghost of a show hif han Australlyian laughin' jackass 'ad copped
him talkin' to Heve, and tellin' 'er it was orlright, and to go ahead
an' heat as much as her stomach would accomydate.'"

"Oh, I see!" said Kate gravely, "I must tell that to Mr Forde."

"'E won't mind--'ell on'y larf," said Mr Smith, who was a talkative
young man for an Australian bushman, native to the soil. (The nickname
of "Cockney" had been bestowed upon him on account of his father being
a Londoner, who, like a true patriot, had left his country for his
country's good.) He was a good-natured, hard-working man like the rest
of the hands at the camp, but was the "bad boy" of the community as far
as liquor was concerned. Every three months, when Fraser "squared up"
with his miners, and handed them their share of the proceeds from the
gold obtained, he gave them all a week's leave to spend in Boorala, or
any other township in the district. Not more than two or three would
elect to go, but of these Cockney Smith was always one. On such
occasions Kate would stand at her father's door on the look-out--to see
that Mr Smith did not ride off without being interviewed.

"How much have you this time, Smith?" she would ask.

"Forty-five quid, Miss."

"I'll take ten."

"Thirty-five pound don't go far in Boorala, Miss," he would plead,
uneasily.

"It will go far enough for you to see the Police Magistrate, and be
fined five pounds, or take fourteen days for disorderly conduct, and
also enable you to pay that wicked wretch of a Hooley for the poisonous
stuff he gives you to drink, and keep him from taking your horse and
saddle. In fact I think you might go with thirty pounds this time."

"Oh, 'Eavens, Miss!" and Cockney's features would display horrified
astonishment as he hurriedly handed her ten one-pound notes. "Why it's
the winter meetin' of the Boorala Jockey Club, and I'll want an extra
ten quid to put on a couple o' 'orses; one is a bay colt that won----"

"That will do, Smith. You are a bad lot. You tell me horrible stories.
Instead of going sober to the race-course, you go drunk, and are robbed,
or lose your money, or fight the police, and----"

"Didn't I pul