says you ought to be jolly well ashamed of yourself, Johnny Mears,
for not bringing your wife on New Year's Night. And so you ought!"

Johnny did not look shame-faced, for reasons unknown to them.

"The boys couldn't find the horses," put in Mrs. Mears. "Johnny was just
going down the gully again."

He gave her a grateful look, and felt a strange, new thrill of
admiration for his wife.

"And--there's a bottle of the best put by for you, Johnny," added Pat
McDurmer, mistaking Johnny's silence; "and we'll call it thirty bob!"
(Johnny's ideas were coming slowly again, after the recent rush.)
"Or--two quid!--there you are!"

"I don't want two quid, nor one either, for taking my wife to a dance on
New Year's Night!" said Johnny Mears. "Run and put on your best bib and
tucker, Mary."

And she hurried to dress as eager and excited, and smiling to herself
as girlishly as she had done on such occasions on evenings before the
bright New Year's Night twenty years ago.--For a related story, see "A
Bush Dance", in "Joe Wilson and His Mates".--A. L., 1998.--

Black Joe

They called him Black Joe, and me White Joe, by way of distinction and
for the convenience of his boss (my uncle), and my aunt, and mother; so,
when we heard the cry of "Bla-a-ack Joe!" (the adjective drawn out until
it became a screech, after several repetitions, and the "Joe" short
and sharp) coming across the flat in a woman's voice, Joe knew that the
missus wanted him at the house, to get wood or water, or mind the baby,
and he kept carefully out of sight; he went at once when uncle called.
And when we heard the cry of "Wh-i-i-te Joe!" which we did with
difficulty and after several tries--though Black Joe's ears were of the
keenest--we knew that I was overdue at home, or absent without leave,
and was probably in for a warming, as the old folk called it. On some
occasions I postponed the warming as long as my stomach held out, which
was a good while in five-corner, native-cherry, or yam season--but the
warming was none the cooler for being postponed.

Sometimes Joe heard the wrong adjective, or led me to believe he
did--and left me for a whole afternoon under the impression that the
race of Ham was in demand at the homestead, when I myself was wanted
there, and maternal wrath was increasing every moment of my absence.

But Joe knew that my conscience was not so elastic as his, and--well,
you must expect little things like this in all friendshi