SHE WOULDN'T SPEAK
Well, we reached the pub about dinner time, dropped our swags outside, had a drink, and then went into the dinin'-room. There was a lot of jackeroo swells, that had been on a visit to the squatter, or something, and they were sittin' down at dinner; and they seemed to think by their looks that we ought to have stayed outside and waited till they was done―we was only two rough shearers, you know. There was a very good-looking servant girl waitin' on 'em, and she was all smiles―laughin', and jokin', and chyackin', and barrickin' with 'em like anything.
I thought a damp expression seemed to pass across her face when me and my mate sat down, but she served us and said nothing―we was only two dusty swaggies, you see. Dave said 'Good-day' to her when we came in, but she didn't answer; and I could see from the first that she'd made up her mind not to speak to us.
The swells finished, and got up and went out, leaving me and Dave and the servant girl alone in the room; but she didn't open her mouth―not once. Dave winked at her once or twice as she handed his cup, but it wasn't no go. Dave was a good-lookin'
