nd I vas going home dis
year." Then the words jerked out of him by physical agony: "Der girl vas
vaiting dree year, und--by Got! I must go home."

The publican--Watty Braithwaite, known as "Watty Broadweight," or, more
familiarly, "Watty Bothways"--turned over the Giraffe's hat in a tired,
bored sort of 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 Giraff