him and wanting to
love him by turns, until Bill swears he'll give Jim a hammering as soon
as ever he's able to stand steady on his feet."

"I suppose your old boozing mate's wife was very happy when he
reformed," I said to Mitchell.

"Well, no," said Mitchell, rubbing his head rather ruefully. "I suppose
it was an exceptional case. But I knew her well, and the fact is that
she got more discontented and thinner, and complained and nagged him
worse than she'd ever done in his drinking days. And she'd never
been afraid of him. Perhaps it was this way: She loved and married a
careless, good-natured, drinking scamp, and when he reformed and
became a careful, hard-working man, and an honest and respected
fellow-townsman, she was disappointed in him. He wasn't the man that won
her heart when she was a girl. Or maybe he was only company for her when
he was half drunk. Or maybe lots of things. Perhaps he'd killed the love
in her before he reformed--and reformed too late. I wonder how a man
feels when he finds out for the first time that his wife doesn't love
him any longer? But my old mate wasn't the nature to find out that sort
of thing. Ah, well! If a woman caused all our trouble, my God! women
have suffered for it since--and they suffer like martyrs mostly and with
the patience of working bullocks. Anyway it goes, if I'm the last man
in the world, and the last woman is the worst, and there's only room
for one more in Heaven, I'll step down at once and take my chances in
Blazes."

THE SEX PROBLEM AGAIN

It was Mitchell's habit to take an evening off now and then from yarning
or reflecting, and proceed, in a most methodical manner, to wash his
spare shirts and patch his pants. I was in the habit of contributing to
some Sydney papers, and every man is an editor at heart, so, at other
times, Mitchell would take another evening off, and root out my swag,
and go through my papers in the same methodical manner, and make
alterations and additions without comment or reference to me; and
sometimes he'd read a little thing of my own which didn't meet his
views, and accidentally drop it into the fire; and at other times he'd
get hold of some rhyme or sketch that was troubling me, and wrap it
up and give it to a passing mailman unbeknown to me. The unexpected
appearance of such articles in the paper, as well as the effects of
the involuntary collaboration in other pieces, gave me several big
surprises.

It was in camp on