Gayters. You won't want no more cheques, unless you're drove to dummying all round him.
Mr. Polyblock. Dummy, sir! Damme! What d'ye mean by that expression? Are you aware that I'm a member of the Hupper 'Ouse, Mr. Gayters?
Gayters. Beg pardon, sir. I meant perhaps other parties might desire to select on his pre-lease and might want a bit of assistance, like.
Mr. Polyblock. That's another matter! I always make a point of advancing money to the struggling free selector—as long as I get a proper mortgage on the land—Bonus Allround sees to that. But about this young chap?
Gayters. He won't take the cheque; all but threw it at me.
Mr. Polyblock (much astonished). Won't take the cheque! and won't go out?
Gayters. Not he; won't hear of it. Called you and—well his language was horful!
Mr. Polyblock. What did he call me—me?
Gayters. Said we was a pair of damned scoundrels! and he'd kick me off his ground.
Mr. Polyblock (solemnly). This is what the country's a-comin' to! What with universal sufferage, bushranging, and free selection—as is land robbery by Act of Parliament—pore old Australia ain't a country for a gentleman to live in. Are you sure he called me, the Hon'ble Rufus Polyblock, a scoundrel, or was it only you?