"But you (adv.) well thought we 'd get rain," persisted the old man's antagonist—an open-mouthed, fresh-faced rouseabout, who was just undergoing that colonising process so much dreaded by mothers and deplored by the clergy.
"'Ow the (fourfold expletive) do you hundertake to know wot Hi thort? But wot war the hupshot? 'Look hout!' ses Hi; 'we'll git hit to rights!' An' did we, hor did we not? Straight, now, Dave?"
"You're like Cassandra, Jack," I observed, to fill up the pause which marked Dave's discomfiture.
"That bloke as spoke las', 'e's got more hunder 'is 'at nor a six-'underd-an'-fo'ty-hacre paddick full o' sich soojee speciments as you fellers," said the old man impressively. "Wich o' you knows hanythink about Cassandra? Hin 'twenty-six hit war, an' hit seems like las' week. Hi druv ole Major Learm'th to them races, Hi did; an' wen the 'osses comes hin, 'e looks roun' an' ses to 'is labour, a-stannin' aside the kerridge, 'Cassandra fust,' ses 'e, 'an' the rest nowheers,' ses 'e. Now what's the hupshot? Collings 'll see the day. Them 's ole Jack Goldsmith's words, an' jis' you mark 'em. Collings 'll see the day! Yes, Dave," continued the heart of the old man to the Psalmist; "Hi won ten bob on Cassandra that day; an' ten bob war ten bob them times," &c., &c.
All this while, I had been observing the silent swagman, who seemed to grow uneasy under my notice.
"I was remarking to a friend just now that I fancied I had seen you before," I explained.
"Well, they ain't actilly sore, so much as sort o' dazzly and dim," replied the man, in evident relief. "I been tryin' mostly everything this last four year, but I got better hopes now nor ever I had before. A boundary man he give me a little bottle o' stuff the other day; an' it seems to be about the correct thing. Jist feels like a spoonful o' red-hot ashes in your eye; an' if a drop falls outside, it turns your skin black. That ought to cut away the sort o' glassy phlegm off o' the optic nerve?"
"No; you want none of these burning quack remedies; you want three months' careful treatment"
"I ain't denyin' it," interrupted the man, sadly and sullenly. "An' I don't thank Tom for bein' so fast," he continued, raising his voice in attempted anger. "He ain't the man I took him for—an' I'm sayin' it to his face."
The general conversation dropped, and Tam, pannikin in hand, rose and advanced to his mate's side.
"An' wha' is 't ye 're sayin' till ma face, Andraw?" he asked loudly, but with gentleness and commiseration. "Puir body's haird o' hearin'," he explained to the company.
"I'm sayin' you 'd no right to go blurtin' out about a man gittin' a stretch for a thing o' that sort. Seems like as if there was a job for one of us on this station, an' you was takin' a mean advantage to collar it. It ain't like you"
"Od, whisht! ye puir thrawart body!" interrupted Tam hastily.
"You might 'a' went about it a bit more manly," continued the other,
