Children of the Bush | Page 5

way, dropped a quid into it, and nodded resignedly
at the Giraffe.
The Giraffe caught up the hint and the hat with alacrity. The hat went
all round town, so to speak; and, as soon as his leg was firm enough not
to come loose on the road German Charlie went home.
It was well known that I contributed to the Sydney Bulletin and several
other papers. The Giraffe's bump of reverence was very large, and
swelled especially for sick men and poets. He treated me with much
more respect than is due from a bushman to a man, and with an odd
sort of extra gentleness I sometimes fancied. But one day he rather
surprised me.
"I'm sorry to trouble yer," he said in a shamefaced way. "I don't know
as you go in for sportin', but One-eyed Bogan an' Barcoo-Rot is goin' to
have a bit of a scrap down the Billybong this evenin', an'---"
"A bit of a what?" I asked.
"A bit of fight to a finish," he said apologetically. "An' the chaps is
tryin' to fix up a fiver to put some life into the thing. There's bad blood
between One-eyed Bogan and Barcoo-Rot, an' it won't do them any

harm to have it out."
It was a great fight, I remember. There must have been a couple of
score blood-soaked handkerchiefs (or "sweat-rags") buried in a hole on
the field of battle, and the Giraffe was busy the rest of the evening
helping to patch up the principals. Later on he took up a small
collection for the loser, who happened to be Barcoo-Rot in spite of the
advantage of an eye.
The Salvation Army lassie, who went round with the War Cry, nearly
always sold the Giraffe three copies.
A new-chum parson, who wanted a subscription to build or enlarge a
chapel, or something, sought the assistance of the Giraffe's influence
with his mates.
"Well," said the Giraffe, "I ain't a churchgoer meself. I ain't what you
might call a religious cove, but I'll be glad to do what I can to help yer.
I don't suppose I can do much. I ain't been to church since I was a
kiddy."
The parson was shocked, but later on he learned to appreciate the
Giraffe and his mates, and to love Australia for the bushman's sake, and
it was he who told me the above anecdote.
The Giraffe helped fix some stalls for a Catholic Church bazaar, and
some of the chaps chaffed him about it in the union office.
"You'll be taking up a collection for a joss-house down in the
Chinamen's camp next," said Tom Hall in conclusion.
"Well, I ain't got nothin' agen the Roming Carflics," said the Giraffe.
"An' Father O'Donovan's a very decent sort of cove. He stuck up for the
unions all right in the strike anyway." ("He wouldn't be Irish if he
wasn't," someone commented.) "I carried swags once for six months
with a feller that was a Carflick, an' he was a very straight feller. And a
girl I knowed turned Carflick to marry a chap that had got her into
trouble, an' she was always jes' the same to me after as she was before.
Besides, I like to help everything that's goin' on."
Tom Hall and one or two others went out hurriedly to have a drink. But
we all loved the Giraffe.
He was very innocent and very humorous, especially when he meant to
be most serious and philosophical.
"Some of them bush girls is regular tomboys," he said to me solemnly
one day. "Some of them is too cheeky altogether. I remember once I

was stoppin' at a place--they was sort of relations o' mine--an' they put
me to sleep in a room off the verander, where there was a glass door an'
no blinds. An' the first mornin' the girls--they was sort o' cousins o'
mine--they come gigglin' and foolin' round outside the door on the
verander, an' kep' me in bed till nearly ten o'clock. I had to put me
trowsis on under the bed-clothes in the end. But I got back on 'em the
next night," he reflected.
"How did you do that, Bob?" I asked.
"Why, I went to bed in me trowsis!"
One day I was on a plank, painting the ceiling of the bar of the Great
Western Hotel. I was anxious to get the job finished. The work had
been kept back most of the day by chaps handing up long beers to me,
and drawing my attention to the alleged fact that I was putting on the
paint wrong side out. I was slapping it on over the last few boards
when:
"I'm very sorry to trouble yer; I always seem to be troublin' yer; but