He took another spell.
Then he drew in his breath, shut his teeth hard, shouldered his swag, stepped into the doorway, and faced round again.
The dog limped out of the corner and looked up anxiously.
“That there dog,” said Macquarie to the hospital staff in general, “is a better dog than I’m a man—or you too, it seems—and a better Christian. He’s been a better mate to me than I ever was to any man—or any man to me. He’s watched over me; kep’ me from getting robbed many a time; fought for me; saved my life and took drunken kicks and curses for thanks—and forgave me. He’s been a true, straight, honest, and faithful mate to me—and I ain’t going to desert him now. I ain’t going to kick him out in the road with a broken leg. I—Oh, my God! my back!”
He groaned and lurched forward, but they caught him, slipped off the swag, and laid him on a bed.
Half an hour later the shearer was comfortably fixed up.
“Where’s my dog!” he asked, when he came to himself.
“Oh, the dog’s all right,” said the nurse, rather impatiently. “Don’t bother. The doctor’s setting his leg out in the yard.”
GOING BLIND
I met him in the Full-and-Plenty Dining Rooms. It was a cheap place in the city, with good beds upstairs let at one shilling per night—“Board and residence for respectable single men, fifteen shillings per week.” I was a respectable single man then. I boarded and resided there. I boarded at a greasy little table in the greasy little corner under the fluffy little staircase in the hot and greasy little dining-room or restaurant downstairs. They called it dining-rooms, but it was only one room, and them wasn’t half enough room in it to work your elbows when the seven little tables and forty-nine chairs were occupied. There was not room for an ordinary-sized steward to pass up and down between the tables; but our waiter was not an ordinary-sized man—he was a living skeleton in miniature. We handed the soup, and the “roast beef one,” and “roast lamb one,” “corn beef and cabbage one,” “veal and stuffing one,” and the “veal and pickled pork,” one—or two, or three, as the case might be—and the tea and coffee, and the various kinds of puddings—we handed them over each other, and dodged the drops as well as we could. The very hot and very greasy little kitchen was adjacent, and it contained the bathroom and other conveniences, behind screens of whitewashed boards.