have anything to do with Scabby Thompson, or you'll be sorry for it. Better tramp to hell than take a job from him.'
'Well, I think I'll move on. Would I stand any show for some tucker?'
'Him! He wouldn't give a dog a crust, and like as not he'd get you run in for trespass if he caught you camping on the run. But come along to the store and I'll give you enough tucker to carry you on.'
He patronised literature and arts, too, though in an awkward, furtive way. We remember how we once turned up at the station hard up and short of tucker, and how we entertained Baldy with some of his own ideas as ours―having been posted beforehand by our mate―and how he told us to get some rations and camp in the hut and see him in the morning.
And we saw him in the morning, had another yarn with him, agreed and sympathised with him some more, were convinced on one or two questions which we had failed to see at first, cursed things in chorus with him, and casually mentioned that we expected soon to get some work on a political paper.
And at last he went inside and brought out a sovereign.
'Wrap this in a piece of paper and put it in your pocket, and don't lose it,' he said.
But we learnt afterwards that the best way to get along with Baldy, and secure his good will, was to disagree with him on every possible point.
