to
grumble--about their tucker, and then he'd make a roughly pathetic
speech, with many references to his age, and the hardness of his work,
and the smallness of his wages, and the inconsiderateness of the men.
Then the joker of the shed would sympathize with the cook with his
tongue and one side of his face--and joke with the other.

One day in the shed, during smoke-ho the devil whispered to a shearer
named Geordie that it would be a lark to shear the cook's dog--the Evil
One having previously arranged that the dog should be there, sitting
close to Geordie's pen, and that the shearer should have a fine lamb
comb on his machine. The idea was communicated through Geordie to his
mates, and met with entire and general approval; and for five or ten
minutes the air was kept alive by shouting and laughter of the men, and
the protestations of the dog. When the shearer touched skin, he yelled
"Tar!" and when he finished he shouted "Wool away!" at the top of his
voice, and his mates echoed him with a will. A picker-up gathered the
fleece with a great show of labour and care, and tabled it, to the
well-ventilated disgust of old Scotty, the wool-roller. When they let
the dog go he struck for home--a clean-shaven poodle, except for a
ferocious moustache and a tuft at the end of his tail.

The cook's assistant said that he'd have given a five-pound note for a
portrait of Curry-and-Rice when that poodle came back from the shed. The
cook was naturally very indignant; he was surprised at first--then he
got mad. He had the whole afternoon to get worked up in, and at tea-time
he went for the men properly.

"Wotter yer growlin' about?" asked one. "Wot's the matter with yer,
anyway?"

"I don't know nothing about yer dog!" protested a rouseabout; "wotyer
gettin' on to me for?"

"Wotter they bin doin' to the cook now?" inquired a ring leader
innocently, as he sprawled into his place at the table. "Can't yer let
Curry alone? Wot d'yer want to be chyackin' him for? Give it a rest."

"Well, look here, chaps," observed Geordie, in a determined tone, "I
call it a shame, that's what I call it. Why couldn't you leave an old
man's dog alone? It was a mean, dirty trick to do, and I suppose you
thought it funny. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves, the whole lot
of you, for a drafted mob of crawlers. If I'd been there it wouldn't
have been done; and I wouldn't blame Curry if he was to poison the whole
convicted push."

General lowering o