tes.

There were points, of course, upon which Bill and Jim couldn't
agree--subjects upon which they argued long and loud and often in the
old days; and it sometimes happens that Bill across an article or a
paragraph which agrees with and, so to speak, barracks for a pet theory
of his as against one held by Jim; and Bill marks it with a chuckle and
four crosses at the corners--and an extra one at each side perhaps--and
sends it on to Jim; he reckons it'll rather corner old Jim. The crosses
are not over ornamental nor artistic, but very distinct; Jim sees them
from the reverse side of the sheet first, maybe, and turns it over
with interest to see what it is. He grins a good-humoured grin as he
reads--poor old Bill is just as thick-headed and obstinate as ever--just
as far gone on his old fad. It's rather rough on Jim, because he's too
far off to argue; but, if he's very earnest on the subject, he'll sit
down and write, using all his old arguments to prove that the man who
wrote that rot was a fool. This is one of the few things that will make
them write to each other. Or else Jim will wait till he comes across a
paragraph in another paper which barracks for his side of the argument,
and, in his opinion; rather knocks the stuffing out of Bill's man; then
he marks it with more and bigger crosses and a grin, and sends it along
to Bill. They are both democrats--these old mates generally are--and
at times one comes across a stirring article or poem, and marks it with
approval and sends it along. Or it may be a good joke, or the notice of
the death of an old mate. What a wave of feeling and memories a little
par can take through the land!

Jim is a sinner and a scoffer, and Bill is an earnest, thorough,
respectable old freethinker, and consequently they often get a _War Cry_
or a tract sent inside their exchanges--somebody puts it in for a joke.

Long years ago--long years ago Bill and Jim were sweet on a rose of the
bush--or a lily of the goldfields--call her Lily King. Both courted her
at the same time, and quarrelled over her--fought over her, perhaps--and
were parted by her for years. But that's all bygones. Perhaps she loved
Bill, perhaps she loved Jim--perhaps both; or, maybe, she wasn't sure
which. Perhaps she loved neither, and was only stringing them on.
Anyway, she didn't marry either the one or the other. She married
another man--call him Jim Smith. And so, in after years, Bill comes
across a paragraph in a local