ur others who were
sleeping on beds and stretchers, and one on a shake-down on the floor,
in the same room. It had been a wet night, and the shanty was full of
shearers from Big Billabong Shed which had cut out the day before. My
room mates had been drinking and gambling overnight, and they swore
luridly at the intruder for disturbing them.

He was six-foot-three or thereabout. He was loosely built, bony,
sandy-complexioned and grey eyed. He wore a good-humoured grin at most
times, as I noticed later on; he was of a type of bushman that I always
liked--the sort that seem to get more good-natured the longer they grow,
yet are hard-knuckled and would accommodate a man who wanted to fight,
or thrash a bully in a good-natured way. The sort that like to carry
somebody's baby round, and cut wood, carry water and do little things
for overworked married bushwomen. He wore a saddle-tweed sac suit two
sizes too small for him, and his face, neck, great hands and bony wrists
were covered with sun-blotches and freckles.

"I hope I ain't disturbin' yer," he shouted, as he bent over my bunk,
"but there's a cove--"

"You needn't shout!" I interrupted, "I'm not deaf."

"Oh--I beg your pardon!" he shouted. "I didn't know I was yellin'. I
thought you was the deaf feller."

"Oh, that's all right," I said. "What's the trouble?"

"Wait till them other chaps is done swearin' and I'll tell yer," he
said. He spoke with a quiet, good-natured drawl, with something of the
nasal twang, but tone and drawl distinctly Australian--altogether apart
from that of the Americans.

"Oh, spit it out for Christ's sake, Long'un!" yelled One-eyed Bogan, who
had been the worst swearer in a rough shed, and he fell back on his bunk
as if his previous remarks had exhausted him.

"It's that there sick jackaroo that was pickin'-up at Big Billabong,"
said the Giraffe. "He had to knock off the first week, an' he's been
here ever since. They're sendin' him away to the hospital in Sydney by
the speeshall train. They're just goin' to take him up in the wagonette
to the railway station, an' I thought I might as well go round with the
hat an' get him a few bob. He's got a missus and kids in Sydney."

"Yer always goin' round with yer gory hat!" growled Bogan. "Yer'd blanky
well take it round in hell!"

"That's what he's doing, Bogan," muttered Gentleman Once, on the
shake-down, with his face to the wall.

The hat was a genuine "cabbage-tree," one of the sort that