He had about three ounces of tea. "Meant to fill up here meself," he
said in apology, as, with the generosity of a bushman, he offered it all
unconditionally. Let us hope the man has been rewarded, and has never
since known what it is to be tealess out-bush! We never heard his name,
and I doubt if any one of us would know the man again if we saw him. All
we saw was a dingy tuckerbag, with its one corner bulging heart-shaped
with tea!
We accepted one half, for the man had a three-days, journey before him,
and Sam doled it out so frugally that we spent two comparatively happy
days before fixing our attention on the north track, along which Billy
would return.
In four and a half days he appeared, carrying a five-pound tea-tin on his
head, and was hailed with a yell of delight. We were all in the
stockyard, and Billy, in answer to the hail, came there.
Dan wanted a "sniff of it right off," so it was then and there opened;
but as the lid flew back the yell of delight changed to a howl of
disappointment. By some hideous mistake, Billy had brought RAISINS.
Like many philosophers, Dan could not apply his philosophy to himself.
"It's the dead finish," he said dejectedly; "never struck anything like
it before.
