n whom we might set
down as a "chap."

"I wouldn't have thought the boss was a college man," said Steelman to
the chap.

"A what?"

"A University man--University education."

"Why! Who's been telling you that?"

"One of your mates."

"Oh, he's been getting at you. Why, it's all the boss can do to write
his own name. Now that lanky sandy cove with the birth-mark grin--it's
him that's had the college education."

"I think we'll make a start to-morrow," said Steelman to Smith in the
privacy of their where. "There's too much humour and levity in this camp
to suit a serious scientific gentleman like myself."

MACQUARIE'S MATE

The chaps in the bar of Stiffner's shanty were talking about Macquarie,
an absent shearer--who seemed, from their conversation, to be better
known than liked by them.

"I ain't seen Macquarie for ever so long," remarked Box-o'-Tricks, after
a pause. "Wonder where he could 'a' got to?"

"Jail, p'r'aps--or hell," growled Barcoo. "He ain't much loss, any
road."

"My oath, yer right, Barcoo!" interposed "Sally" Thompson. "But, now I
come to think of it, Old Awful Example there was a mate of his one time.
Bless'd if the old soaker ain't comin' to life again!"

A shaky, rag-and-dirt-covered framework of a big man rose uncertainly
from a corner of the room, and, staggering forward, brushed the staring
thatch back from his forehead with one hand, reached blindly for the
edge of the bar with the other, and drooped heavily.

"Well, Awful Example," demanded the shanty-keeper. "What's up with you
now?"

The drunkard lifted his head and glared wildly round with bloodshot
eyes.

"Don't you--don't you talk about him! _Drop it_, I say! DROP it!"

"What the devil's the matter with you now, anyway?" growled the barman.
"Got 'em again? Hey?"

"Don't you--don't you talk about Macquarie! He's a mate of mine! Here!
Gimme a drink!"

"Well, what if he is a mate of yours?" sneered Barcoo. "It don't reflec'
much credit on you--nor him neither."

The logic contained in the last three words was unanswerable, and Awful
Example was still fairly reasonable, even when rum oozed out of him
at every pore. He gripped the edge of the bar with both hands, let his
ruined head fall forward until it was on a level with his temporarily
rigid arms, and stared blindly at the dirty floor; then he straightened
himself up, still keeping his hold on the bar.

"Some of you chaps," he said huskily; "one of you