g shivered and whimpered; he seemed to want to get away from the
crowd.

"But then, you see, you ain't going to carry that swag through the
streets, are you?" asked the cabman.

"Why not? Who'll stop me! There ain't no law agin it, I b'lieve?"

"But then, you see, it don't look well, you know."

"Ah! I thought we'd get to it at last."

The traveller up-ended his bluey against his knee, gave it an
affectionate pat, and then straightened himself up and looked fixedly at
the cabman.

"Now, look here!" he said, sternly and impressively, "can you see
anything wrong with that old swag o' mine?"

It was a stout, dumpy swag, with a red blanket outside, patched with
blue, and the edge of a blue blanket showing in the inner rings at the
end. The swag might have been newer; it might have been cleaner;
it might have been hooped with decent straps, instead of bits of
clothes-line and greenhide--but otherwise there was nothing the matter
with it, as swags go.

"I've humped that old swag for years," continued the bushman; "I've
carried that old swag thousands of miles--as that old dog knows--an'
no one ever bothered about the look of it, or of me, or of my old dog,
neither; and do you think I'm going to be ashamed of that old swag,
for a cabby or anyone else? Do you think I'm going to study anybody's
feelings? No one ever studied mine! I'm in two minds to summon you for
using insulting language towards me!"

He lifted the swag by the twisted towel which served for a
shoulder-strap, swung it into the cab, got in himself and hauled the dog
after him.

"You can drive me somewhere where I can leave my swag and dog while I
get some decent clothes to see a tailor in," he said to the cabman. "My
old dog ain't used to cabs, you see."

Then he added, reflectively: "I drove a cab myself, once, for five years
in Sydney."

Stiffner and Jim

(Thirdly, Bill)

We were tramping down in Canterbury, Maoriland, at the time, swagging
it--me and Bill--looking for work on the new railway line. Well,
one afternoon, after a long, hot tramp, we comes to Stiffner's
Hotel--between Christchurch and that other place--I forget the name
of it--with throats on us like sunstruck bones, and not the price of a
stick of tobacco.

We had to have a drink, anyway, so we chanced it. We walked right into
the bar, handed over our swags, put up four drinks, and tried to look as
if we'd just drawn our cheques and didn't care a curse for any man. We
l