Yes, I'll find a job with some old cocky, with a good-looking daughter or two. I'll get on ploughing if I can; that's the sort of work I like; best graft about a farm.
'By-and-bye the cocky'll have a few sheep he wants shorn, and one day'll he'll say to me, "Jack, if you hear of a shearer knockin' round let me know—I've got a few sheep I want shore."'
'How many have you got?' I'll say.
"Oh, about fifteen hundred."
'And what d'you think of giving?'
"Well, about twenty-five bob a hundred, but if a shearer sticks out for thirty, send him up to talk with me. I want to get 'em shore as soon as possible." 'It's all right,' I'll say, 'you needn't bother; I'll shear your sheep.'
"Why," he'll say, "can you shear?"
'Shear? Of course I can! I shore before you were born,' It won't matter if he's twice as old as me.
'So I'll shear his sheep and make a few pounds, and he'll be glad and all the more eager to keep me on, so's to always have someone to shear his sheep. But by-and-bye I'll get tired of stopping in the one place and want to be on the move, so I'll tell him I'm going to leave.
"Why, what do you want to go for?" he'll say, surprised, "ain't you satisfied?"
'Oh, yes, I'm satisfied, but I want a change.'
"Oh, don't go," he'll say; "stop and we'll call it twenty-five bob a week."
'But I'll tell him I'm off—wouldn't stay for a
