Presently―suddenly it seemed to our drowsy senses―two of the shearers and the bagman commenced arguing with drunken gravity and precision about politics, even while a third bushman was approaching the climax of an out-back yarn of many adjectives, of which he himself was the hero. The scraps of conversation that we caught were somewhat as follow. We leave out most of the adjectives.
First Voice: 'Now look here. The women will vote for men, not principles. That's why I'm against women voting. Now, just mark my'
Third Voice (trying to finish yarn): 'Hold on. Just wait till I tell yer. Well, this bloomin' bloke, he says'
Second Voice (evidently in reply to first): Principles you mean, not men. You're getting a bit mixed, old man.' (Smothered chuckle from comedian over our head).
Third Voice (seeming to drift round in search of sympathy): 'You will?' sez I. 'Yes, I will.' he sez. 'Oh, you will, will yer?' I sez; and with that I'
Second Voice (apparently wandering from both subjects): 'Blanker has always stuck up for the workin' man, an' he'll get in, you'll see. Why, he's a bloomin' workin' man himself. Me and Blanker'
Disgusted voice from a bunk: 'Oh, that's damn rot! We've had enough of lumpers in Parliament! Horny hands are all right enough, but we don't want any more blanky horny heads!'
Third Voice (threateningly): 'Who's talkin' about 'orny heads? That pitch is meant for us, ain't it? Do you mean to say that I've got a 'orny head?'
