The Great Crushing at Mount Sugar-Bag | Page 3

Royal Hotel. And at the bar they were always
welcome, for even if--as sometimes did occur--a disheartened,
stone-broke customer drank too much of Mr. Cohen's irregular whisky
and died in his back yard, leaving a few shillings recorded against his
name on the bar-room slate, Ikey forgave the corpse and debt and
buried him (he was the Mount Sugar-bag undertaker) for the trifling
sum of £10- paid by sending round the hat on the day of the funeral. In
due course Ikey was made a J.P., and then began to think of Parliament.
About two years after his arrival at Sugar-bag, Ikey had occasion to
visit Townsville on business, and on his return was accompanied by his
newly-wedded wife, a Brisbane-dressed lady of thirty or so. Somewhat
to his surprise, a number of the miners at Sugar-bag who had, during
their travels, visited the southern capitals, greeted her as an old friend,
and congratulated him on securing such an excellent life-partner; and,
as he had married the lady after only a few days' acquaintance, he
naturally enough accepted her explanation of having presided over
various bars in Melbourne and Sydney, where she had met a great
number of Queenslanders. Of course there were not wanting, even at
Sugar-bag, evil minded beings to openly assert that Mr. Cohen's
expression of surprise at the wide circle of his wife's friends was all
bunkum, and that "Greasy face," as the lady was nicknamed, was only
another of his cute financial investments.
If this was correct it certainly showed his sound judgment, for her
presence in the bar of the Royal proved highly lucrative to him; and
showed as well that he was above any feelings of unworthy jealousy.
For although the title of "Greasy-face" was not althogether an
inappropriate one, the bride was by no means bad-looking and
possessed to a very great degree that peculiar charm of manner and
freedom from stiff conventionality so noticeable among the fair sex on
new rushes to goldfields. Perhaps, however, Mr. Cohen did think that
her preference for Rody Minogue was a little too openly shown to the
neglect of his other customers and her admirers; but, being a business
man, and devoid of sentiment, he said nothing, but charged Rody and
his mates stiffer prices for the rations he sold them, and was quite

satisfied.
On the morning after the three mates had discussed their precarious
condition, Rody, instead of going up to the claim with Durham and
Buller, remained in camp to write a letter. It was addressed to "Mr.
James Kettle, c/o Postmaster, Adelong, N.S. Wales," and contained an
earnest request, for old friendship's sake, to send Mr. Harry Durham a
telegram, as per copy enclosed, as quickly as possible.
Then, lighting his pipe, Rody left the hut, and walked up towards the
Royal. When about half-way he sat down on a log and waited for the
mailman, who he knew would be passing along presently on his way
down to Cleveland Bay. He had inteded to go up to Cohen's the
previous evening and write and post his letters there, but Ikey being the
postmaster, and Rody a particularly cute individual, the latter changed
his mind. The mail man usually slept at Cohen's on his way down to the
Bay, and being a good-natured an convivial soul, and a
fellow-countryman of Rody, the two were on very good terms.
Presently Rody saw him ride out of Cohen's yards, leading a pack-horse,
and turn down the track which led past the place where he was waiting.
"How are you, Dick?" said Rody; 'pull up a minute, will you? I've got a
letter here I want you to post for me in Townville. It's not good enough
leaving a letter in old Ikey's over night."
"Right," said the mailman, taking the letter; "want anything else done,
Rody?"
"Yes; would you mind bringing me out as much lead as you can carry
when you come back, 40 or 50 lb. Don't bring it to the humpy; just
dump it down here behind this log, where I can get it. I'll pay you for it
in a week or two; and buy me a horseshoer's rasp as well."
"O.K., old man. I can get it easily enough, and drop it here for you
when I come back on Thursday. So long" and Dick the mailman jogged
off.

Ten minutes later Rody sauntered up to Mr. Ikey Cohen's store. Mrs.
Isaac was there, opening a box of mixed groceries.
"Hallo, Rody! how are you? Here, quick; stick this in your shirt before
the little beast comes in;" and "Greasy-face" pushed a bottle of pickles
into his hand, just as Ikey entered--in time to see the pickles.
"Not at work this morning, Mr. Minogue?"
"No; I've come up to have