habits and respectability are out of place in the bush. I don't like a man who is all work neither. Your natural historian now, one who employs himself all day in poking nameless beetles out of holes and from under the bark of trees, hunting up new facts and observing all sorts of strange things, though he would never make a fortune, is a sort of man that one can put up with. In fact, I once had a weakness that way myself, and actually was credulous enough to fancy I had discovered a new animal, gave it a name (after myself of course), but the conceit was taken out of me when I found that it had been described over and over again and christened years before. The right sort to go-a-head here are just the men who would do as well anywhere else, perhaps better. Now I should say you two would find the bush a profitable and pleasant life. To me it is the latter certainly, not the former; why, I can't exactly say but I have a notion that if such things as bills and money, and debts, and lawyers, and such like had been unknown, I might have done very well. I have a great notion of selling myself up to save the lawyers trouble, and going shepherding or stock keeping, or any other equally gentlemanly occupation."
"At what wages?" Slinger inquired jokingly.
"Money no consideration whatever," was the reply: "a comfortable home and pleasant companions, every thing found, liberal rations, unlimited tobacco, no grog, as much work as you like, and just enough money to cover an annual spree in town, and I'm your man. I can do all sorts of bush work, splitting and fencing, carpentering, clearing, grubbing, ploughing, in fact, there's nothing a bushman ought to be able to do that I cannot do.—Try me."
Dodge appeared so very much in earnest that after consulting with Raymond, Slinger proposed to purchase his cattle and to engage his services forthwith. Dodge acquiesced readily, and
