Such is Life | Page 6

had ran in his veins; he was a gentleman. Well for the world
if all representatives of his Order were as harmless, as inexpensive, and

as unobtrusive as this poor fellow, now situated like that most
capricious poet, honest Ovid, among the Goths.
One generally feels a sort of diffidence in introducing one's self; but I
may remark that I was at that time a Government official, of the ninth
class; paid rather according to my grade than my merit, and not by any
means in proportion to the loafing I had to do. Candidly, I was only a
Deputy-Assistant-Sub-Inspector, but with the reversion of the
Assistant-Sub-Inspectorship itself when it should please Atropos to
snip the thread of my superior officer.
The repast being concluded, the drivers went into committee on the
subject of grass--a vital question in '83, as you may remember.
"It's this way," said Mosey imperatively, and deftly weaving into his
address the thin red line of puissant adjective; "You dunno what you're
doin' when you're foolin' with this run. She's hair-trigger at the best o'
times, an' she's on full cock this year. Best watched station on the track.
It's risk whatever way you take it. We're middlin' safe to be collared in
the selection, an' we're jist as safe to be collared in the ram-paddick.
Choice between the divil an' the dam. An' there's too big a township o'
wagons together. Two's enough, an' three's a glutton, for sich a season
as this."
"I think Cooper and I had better push on to the ram-paddock,"
suggested Thompson. "You three can work on the selection. Division
of labour's the secret of success, they say."
"Secret of England's greatness," mused Dixon. "I forgit what the
(irrelevant expletive) that is."
"The true secret of England's greatness lies in her dependencies, Mr.
Dixon," replied Willoughby handsomely; and straightway the serene,
appreciative expression of the bullock driver's face, rightly interpreted,
showed that his mind was engaged in a Graeco-Roman conflict with
the polysyllable, the latter being uppermost.
"Well, no," said Mosey, replying to Thompson; "no use separatin' now;
it's on'y spreadin' the risk; we should 'a' separated yesterday. I would n't
misdoubt the selection, on'y Cunningham told me the other day,
Magomery's shiftin' somebody to live there. If that's so, it's up a tree,
straight. The ram-paddick's always a risk--too near the station."
"The hut on the selection was empty a week ago," I remarked. "I know
it, for I camped there one night."

"Good grass?" inquired a chorus of voices.
"About the best I've had this season."
"We'll chance the selection," said Mosey decidedly. "Somebody can
ride on ahead, an' see the coast clear. But they won't watch a bit of a
paddick in the thick o' the shearin', when there's nobody livin' in it."
"Squatters hed orter fine grass f'r wool teams, an' glad o' the chance,"
observed Price, with unprintable emphasis.
"Lot of sense in that remark," commented Mosey, with a similar
potency of adjective.
"Well, this is about the last place God made," growled Cooper, the
crimson thread of kinship running conspicuously through his
observation, notwithstanding its narrow provinciality.
"Roll up, Port Phillipers! the Sydney man's goin' to strike a match!"
retorted Mosey. "I wonder what fetched a feller like you on-to bad
startin'-ground. I swear we did n't want no lessons."
Cooper was too lazy to reply; and we smoked dreamily, while my
kangaroo dog silently abstracted a boiled leg of mutton from Price's
tuckerbox, and carried it out of sight. By-and-by, all eyes converged on
a shapeless streak which had moved into sight in the restless, glassy
glitter of the plain, about a mile away.
"Warrigal Alf going out on the lower track," remarked Thompson, at
length. "He was coming behind Baxter and Donovan yesterday, but he
stopped opposite the station, talking to Montgomery and Martin, and
the other fellows lost the run of him. I wonder where he camped last
night? He ought to be able to tell us where the safest grass is,
considering he's had a load in from the station. But to tell you the truth,
I'm in favour of the ram-paddock. If we're caught there, we'll most
likely only get insulted--and we can stand a lot of that--but if we're
caught in the selection, it's about seven years. Then we can make the
Lignum Swamp to-morrow from the ram-paddock, and we can't make
it from the selection. So I think we better be moving; it'll be dark
enough before we unyoke. I've worked on that ram-paddock so often
that I seem to have a sort of title to it."
"But there's lots o' changes since you was here last," said Mosey.
"Magomery he's beginnin' to think he's got a sort o' title to the
ram-paddick now, considerin' it's all purchased. Tell