“Oh, we have to board them, of course, and we have to board their horses, as most of the shearers travel on horseback. But the feed of a horse isn’t of much consequence, as we simply turn him into the paddock and let him graze there. Sometimes we hire a fiddler to play for the men while they are at work in the shearing house, and also in the evening, when they are off duty. Sometimes a gang of shearers brings along its own cook. They pay the cook’s wages themselves, but the employer supplies the material out of which the shearers’ meals are made. These fellows are very particular as to their treatment, and if they feel that they are ill-used in any way, they are liable to quit work and go away.”
“They ought to earn a very nice little sum of money during the shearing season,” observed Harry.
“They certainly do,” was the reply; “especially as, for the last two years, they have demanded four pence and even five pence for each sheep sheared. I expect they’ll get it up in time so as to take most of the profits of the business. It makes little difference to the great majority of them how much they get for their work, as it is generally gone by the end of the shearing season.”
“That reminds me,” said Mr. Johnson, “of the visit of a gentleman from Melbourne to a sheep station up country. He went there with a friend, reaching the station about dinner time. He was introduced to the owner of the station, who greeted him cordially enough, and invited the two of them to remain at dinner, which would be ready shortly. He strolled about the buildings for a little while, and when dinner was announced, he went in and joined the others at table.
“The table was well supplied, and he had no occasion to complain of the quality or quantity of the food set before him; but he was somewhat surprised to find that no one spoke to him, except in the briefest manner, and that every one seemed desirous of being rid of him as soon as possible. In fact, there was very little conversation at the table, anyway, and as soon as they were through dinner he suggested to his friend that they had better be moving. Their team was brought out, and they continued their journey, their temporary hosts not even taking the trouble to say good-day to him.
“When they were out of earshot of the place, the Melbourne gentleman remarked to his companion, who, by the way, was a good deal of a practical joker:—
“‘I don’t think much of your friends from a civility point of view. They were as rude to me as a party of savages could be.’
“‘I don’t wonder at it,’ was the reply. ‘Just for the fun of the thing, I told them you were president of the Sheep Shearers’ Union.’
“‘If you told them that outrageous lie,’ said the other, ‘I am not at all surprised that they treated me as they did, but please don’t do it again.’
“I don’t believe that the president of the Shearers’ Union would receive a hearty welcome at any sheep run in Australia. Sheep farmers have good reason for a serious grudge against the whole concern; but, after all, it is no worse than most of the other trade unions. Nearly all of them are oppressive to a high degree, and are a great injury to business and commercial prosperity.”