THE FREE SELECTOR
A Comedietta
ACT I
The Hon. Rufus. Well, Gayters, how's everything gettin' on? I mean the sheep, of course. Splendid season, ain't it? Grand lambing, tremendious 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 waterhole—a half-section, too! [320 acres.]
Hon. Rufus. What! our main camp! Good Gad! Why, the country's goin' to destruction! The best waterhole 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.
