er something,"
said the old man; and they walked along outside the fence, and he
hobbled along inside, till he came to a little gate at the corner.
He opened the gate and stumped out. He had a wooden leg. He wore his
trouser-leg down over it, and the palings had hidden the bottom from
Steelman and Smith.

He wanted them to stay to dinner, but Steelman didn't feel comfortable,
and thanked him, and said they'd rather be getting on (Steelman always
spoke for Smith); so the old man gave them some cooked meat, bread, and
a supply of tea and sugar. Steelman watched his face very close, but he
never moved a muscle. But when they looked back he was leaning on his
hoe, and seemed to be shaking.

"Took you back a bit, Steely, didn't it?" suggested Smith.

"How do you make that out?" snorted Steelman, turning on him suddenly.
"I knew a carpenter who used to soak his planes in raw linseed oil to
preserve them and give them weight. There's nothing funny about that."

Smith rubbed his head.

A BUSH PUBLICAN'S LAMENT

... For thirst is long and throats is short
Among the sons o' men.
M. J. C.

I Wish I was spifflicated before I ever seen a pub!

You see, it's this way. Suppose a cove comes along on a blazin' hot
day in the drought--an' _you_ ought to know how hell-hot it can be out
here--an' he dumps his swag in the corner of the bar; an' he turns round
an' he ses ter me, "Look here boss, I ain't got a lonely steever on me,
an' God knows when I'll git one. I've tramped ten mile this mornin', an'
I'll have ter tramp another ten afore to-night. I'm expectin' ter git
on shearin' with of Baldy Thompson at West-o'-Sunday nex' week. I got a
thirst on me like a sun-struck bone, an', for God sake, put up a couple
o' beers for me an' my mate, an' I'll fix it up with yer when I come
back after shearin'."

An' what's a feller ter do? I bin there meself, an--I put it to you!
I've known what it is to have a thirst on me.

An' suppose a poor devil comes along in the jim-jams, with every inch
on him jumpin' an' a look in his eyes like a man bein' murdered an' sent
ter hell, an' a whine in his voice like a whipped cur, an' the snakes
a-chasing of him; an' he hooks me with his finger ter the far end o'
the bar--as if he was goin' ter tell me that the world was ended--an' he
hangs over the bar an' chews me lug, an' tries to speak, an' breaks off
inter a sort o' low shriek, like a terrified