Now this is the creed from the Book of the Bush—
Should be simple and plain to a dunce:
“If a man’s in a hole you must pass round the hat
Were he jail-bird or gentleman once.”
“Is it any harm to wake yer?”
It was about nine o’clock in the morning, and, though it was Sundaymorning, it was no harm to wake me; but the shearer had mistaken me for a deafjackaroo, who was staying at the shanty and was something like me, and hadgood-naturedly shouted almost at the top of his voice, and he woke the wholeshanty. Anyway he woke three or four others who were sleeping on beds andstretchers, and one on a shake-down on the floor, in the same room. It had beena wet night, and the shanty was full of shearers from Big Billabong Shed whichhad cut out the day before. My room mates had been drinking and gamblingovernight, and they swore luridly at the intruder for disturbing them.
He was six-foot-three or thereabout. He was loosely built, bony,sandy-complexioned and grey eyed. He wore a good-humoured grin at most times,as I noticed later on; he was of a type of bushman that I alwaysliked—the sort that seem to get more good-natured the longer they grow,yet are hard-knuckled and would accommodate a man who wanted to fight, orthrash a bully in a good-natured way. The sort that like to carrysomebody’s baby round, and cut wood, carry water and do little things foroverworked married bushwomen. He wore a saddle-tweed sac sui