stranger with some blunt philosophy which might sound brutal in cities. If he knew of a place where there was a chance of a job, on the back track, he'd fix up a swag, water-bag and tucker for the stranger, and start him on the track with full directions that sounded like a stiff lecture from a magistrate. And if he had a commission to take a new hand back to his station, he'd be happy; happier still if he had a commission to take two, for then he would look up a second likely stranger and fix him up, and take them both back with him at the end of his spree, when he would appear exactly the same as when he started it.
Jimmy's boss was one of the best-hearted squatters west the Darling. He was a small squatter, but he was a squatter, not a bank, syndicate nor manager. Jimmy was said to be the real boss, as far as station work went, by virtue of his long years of service, his capacity for hard work and his obstinate honesty. About sundown he'd come over to the "travellers' ' (strangers') hut, put his head in at the door, and demand, in the tone of a boss who would take no nonsense—
"Enny trav'ler here?"
One or two new chums or green hands might start to their feet, expecting to be ordered off the station; but some one would answer: "Yes."
"Then come up an' git yer tea."
After tea—
"You chaps got enny tobaccer?"
And he'd hand out a stick to be divided amongst them.
