It was a very mean station, and Mitchell thought he had better go himself and beard the overseer for tucker. His mates were for waiting till the overseer went out on the run, and then trying their luck with the cook; but the self-assertive and diplomatic1 Mitchell decided2 to go.
“Good day,” said Mitchell.
“Good day,” said the manager.
“It's hot,” said Mitchell.
“Yes, it's hot.”
“I don't suppose,” said Mitchell; “I don't suppose it's any use asking you for a job?”
“Naw.”
“Well, I won't ask you,” said Mitchell, “but I don't suppose you want any fencing done?”
“Naw.”
“Nor boundary-riding'?”
“Naw.”
“You ain't likely to want a man to knock round?”
“Naw.”
“I thought not. Things are pretty bad just now.”
“Na—yes—they are.”
“Ah, well; there's a lot to be said on the squatter's side as well as the men's. I suppose I can get a bit of rations3?”
“Ye-yes.” (Shortly)—“Wot d'yer want?”
“Well, let's see; we want a bit of meat and flour—I think that's all. Got enough tea and sugar to carry us on.”
“All right. Cook! have you got any meat?”
“No!”
To Mitchell: “Can you kill a sheep?”
“Rather!”
To the cook: “Give this man a cloth and knife and steel, and let him go up to the yard and kill a sheep.” (To Mitchell) “You can take a fore-quarter and get a bit of flour.”
Half an hour later Mitchell came back with the carcass wrapped in the cloth.
“Here yer are; here's your sheep,” he said to the cook. “That's all right; hang it in there. Did you take a forequarter?”'
“No.”
“Well, why didn't you? The boss told you ............