up
sometimes--and that's what makes him sweat his barmaids and servants,
and hate us, and run us in; and perhaps when he cuts up extra rough it's
because his conscience kicks him when he thinks of the damned soft fool
he used to be. He's all right--take my word for it. It's all a mask.
Why, he might be one of the kindest-hearted men in Bourke underneath."

Tom Hall rubbed his head and blinked, as if he was worried by an idea
that there might be some facts in Mitchell's theories.

"You're allers findin' excuses for blacklegs an' scabs, Mitchell," said
Barcoo-Rot, who took Mitchell seriously (and who would have taken
a laughing jackass seriously). "Why, you'd find a white spot on a
squatter. I wouldn't be surprised if you blacklegged yourself in the
end."

This was an unpardonable insult, from a Union point of view, and the
chaps half-unconsciously made room on the floor for Barcoo-Rot to
fall after Jack Mitchell hit him. But Mitchell took the insult
philosophically.

"Well, Barcoo-Rot," he said, nursing the other leg, "for the matter of
that, I did find a white spot on a squatter once. He lent me a quid when
I was hard up. There's white spots on the blackest characters if
you only drop prejudice and look close enough. I suppose even
Jack-the-Ripper's character was speckled. Why, I can even see spots on
your character, sometimes, Barcoo-Rot. I've known white spots to spread
on chaps' characters until they were little short of saints. Sometimes
I even fancy I can feel my own wings sprouting. And as for turning
blackleg--well, I suppose I've got a bit of the crawler in my
composition (most of us have), and a man never knows what might happen
to his principles."

"Well," said Barcoo-Rot, "I beg yer pardon--ain't that enough?"

"No," said Mitchell, "you ought to wear a three-bushel bag and ashes for
three months, and drink water; but since the police would send you to
an asylum if you did that, I think the best thing we can do is to go out
and have a drink."

Lord Douglas married an Australian girl somewhere, somehow, and brought
her to Bourke, and there were two little girls--regular little fairies.
She was a gentle, kind-hearted little woman, but she didn't seem to
improve him much, save that he was very good to her.

"It's mostly that way," commented Mitchell. "When a boss gets married
and has children he thinks he's got a greater right to grind his
fellowmen and rob their wives and children. I'd never work fo