woman, an' he says, "For
Mother o' Christ's sake, giv' me a drink!" An' what am I to do? I bin
there meself. I knows what the horrors is. He mighter blued his cheque
at the last shanty. But what am I ter do? I put it ter you. If I let him
go he might hang hisself ter the nex' leanin' tree.

What's a drink? yer might arst--I don't mind a drink or two; but when it
comes to half a dozen in a day it mounts up, I can tell yer. Drinks is
sixpence here--I have to pay for it, an' pay carriage on it. It's all up
ter me in the end. I used sometimes ter think it was lucky I wasn't west
o' the sixpenny line, where I'd lose a shillin' on every drink I give
away.

An' supposen a sundowner comes along smokin' tea-leaves, an' ses ter
me, "Look her, boss! me an' my mate ain't had a smoke for three days!"
What's a man ter do? I put it ter you! I'm a heavy smoker meself, an'
I've known what it is to be without a smoke on the track. But "nail-rod"
is ninepence a stick out here, an' I have ter pay carriage. It all
mounts up, I can tell yer.

An' supposen Ole King Billy an' his ole black gin comes round at holiday
time and squats on the verander, an' blarneys an' wheedles and whines
and argues like a hundred Jews an' ole Irishwomen put tergether, an'
accuses me o' takin' his blarsted country from him, an' makes me an' the
missus laugh; an' we gives him a bottl'er rum an' a bag of grub ter get
rid of him an' his rotten ole scarecrow tribe--It all tells up. I was
allers soft on the blacks, an', beside, a ole gin nursed me an' me
mother when I was born, an' saved me blessed life--not that that mounts
to much. But it all tells up, an' I got me licence ter pay. An' some
bloody skunk goes an' informs on me for supplyin' the haboriginalls with
intossicatin' liquor, an' I have ter pay a fine an' risk me licence. But
what's a man ter do?

An' three or four herrin'-gutted jackaroos comes along about
dinner-time, when the table's set and the cookin' smellin' from the
kichen, with their belts done up three holes, an' not the price of a
feed on 'em. What's a man ter do? I've known what it is ter do a perish
on the track meself. It's not the tucker I think on. I don't care a
damn for that. When the shearers come every one is free to go inter the
kitchin an' forage for hisself when he feels hungry--so long as he pays
for his drink. But the jackaroos can't pay for drinks, an' I have ter
pay carriage on the flour an' tea an' sugar an' groceries--an' it a