We give ourselves about half an hour here, by which time we are cooled and refreshed, as is apparently the day. Sol is lower and more reasonable. We sling on, by no means done—rather improving pace than otherwise—till overtaken by a friend and his family in a buggy. He kindly proffers to drive us in; but we have made it a point of honour to walk every yard, so we decline. He will leave the valise at our hotel—which kindness we accept. The rest is easy going. We lounge into the 'Commercial' as if we had just dismounted, and order a warm bath and dinner, with the mens conscia recti in a high state of preservation.
THE FREE SELECTOR
A Comedietta
ACT I
Enter The Honourable Rufus Polyblock, Member of Upper House, and immensely rich squatter—his Overseer, Mr. Gayters (imperfectly educated).
The Hon. Rufus. Well, Gayters, how's everything gettin' on? I mean the sheep, of course. Splendid season, ain't it? Grand lambing, tremendous heavy clip, eh? Why, you look dubersome?
Gayters. Marked 92 per cent of lambs all round. The clip'll be heavier than it was last year—that means money off a hundred and fifty thousand sheep, but——
Hon. Rufus. Sheep right; lambs too; shearing all to the good; why, what can be wrong? (Walks up and down.) Must be them infernal, underminding free selectors. Rot 'em! if they ain't worse than blackfellows or dingoes—and you can't shoot 'em or poison 'em legally; not yet, that is—not yet!
Gayters. You've about hit it, sir. I'd hardly the face to tell you, one of 'em's taken up the main camp, opposite the big water-hole—a half-section, too! [320 acres.]
Hon. Rufus. What! Our main camp! Good Gad! Why, the country's goin' to destruction! The best water-hole on the creek, too. Why, I thought that had been secured. Wasn't Sam Appinson to take it up last Thursday?
Gayters. Yes, sir; cert'nly, sir; but his mother went and died the day afore, and he had to go down the country. Didn't think it would matter for a week; when this young chap pops in, all on a sudden like, and collars it. It's turned out quite contrairy, ain't it, sir?