Chapter XV
“Looks like ole Joe Page ev’ry time,” said Moody.
Danny spanked a hogget forward by application of the draughting gate, and smudged the sweat from his forehead.
“It don’t look like him, yer idjit,” he said explosively. “It is him. Now you just hook it, Joe. I ain’t goin’ ter be done wi’ these pants ’fore shearin’s over. An’ there won’t be anythin’ but the equivocating buttings lef’ then.”
Joe was a password in the district sheds. He cadged a coat here, a pair of boots somewhere else, and cast dungarees and old hats by the score. He hooked his arms over the rail and smiled blandly.
“Yer’ll kip the buttons fur me, anyways, Danny,” he suggested.
“I’m makin’ them inter a teething necklace fur me sister’s baby,” said Danny, stolidly. “Go an’ ring yer little game outer Lou.”
Further down the heat of the sun-swept race Lou was hustling sheep with his cap, with a manuka bough, with sharp whistles, and the
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