Saltbush Bill, J. P Part 5

So, if you find they're off the place, It's up to you to go And flash a quid in Hogan's face-- He'll know the blokes that know.

But listen, if you're feelin' dry, Just see there's no one near, And go and wink the other eye And ask for ginger beer.

The blokes come in from near and far To sample Hogan's pop; They reckon once they breast the bar They stay there till they drop.

On Sundays you can see them spread Like flies around the tap.

It's like that song "The Livin' Dead"

Up there at Hogan's Gap.

They like to make it pretty strong Whenever there's a charnce; So when a stranger comes along They always holds a darnce.

There's recitations, songs, and fights-- A willin' lot you'll meet.

There's one long bloke up there recites, I tell you--he's a treat.

They're lively blokes all right up there, It's never dull a day.

I'd go meself if I could spare The time to get away.

The stranger turned his horses quick.

He didn't cross the bridge; He didn't go along the crick To strike the second ridge;

He didn't make the trip, because He wasn't feeling fit.

His business up at Hogan's was To serve him with a writ.

He reckoned if he faced the pull And climbed the rocky stair, The next to come might find his hide A land-mark on the mountain side, Along with Hogan's brindled bull And Hogan's old grey mare!

A Singer of the Bush

There is waving of gra.s.s in the breeze And a song in the air, And a murmur of myriad bees That toil everywhere.

There is scent in the blossom and bough, And the breath of the Spring Is as soft as a kiss on a brow-- And Spring-time I sing.

There is drought on the land, and the stock Tumble down in their tracks Or follow--a tottering flock-- The scrub-cutter's axe.

While ever a creature survives The axes shall swing; We are fighting with fate for their lives-- And the combat I sing.

"Shouting" for a Camel

It was over at Coolgardie that a mining speculator, Who was going down the township just to make a bit o' c.h.i.n.k, Went off to hire a camel from a camel propagator, And the Afghan said he'd lend it if he'd stand the beast a drink.

Yes, the only price he asked him was to stand the beast a drink.

He was cheap, very cheap, as the dromedaries go.

So the mining speculator made the bargain, proudly thinking He had bested old Mahomet, he had done him in the eye.

Then he clambered on the camel, and the while the beast was drinking He explained with satisfaction to the miners standing by That 'twas cheap, very cheap, as the dromedaries go.

But the camel kept on drinking and he filled his hold with water, And the more he had inside him yet the more he seemed to need; For he drank it by the gallon, and his girths grew taut and tauter, And the miners muttered softly, "Yes, he's very dry indeed!

But he's cheap, very cheap, as the dromedaries go."

So he drank up twenty buckets--it was weird to watch him suck it, (And the market price for water was per bucket half-a-crown) Till the speculator stopped him, saying, "Not another bucket-- If I give him any more there'll be a famine in the town.

Take him back to old Mahomet, and I'll tramp it through the town."

He was cheap, very cheap, as the speculators go.

There's a moral to this story--in your hat you ought to paste it, Be careful whom you shout for when a camel is about, And there's plenty human camels who, before they'll see you waste it, Will drink up all you pay for if you're fool enough to shout; If you chance to strike a camel when you're fool enough to shout, You'll be cheap, very cheap, as the speculators go.

The Lost Drink

I had spent the night in the watch-house-- My head was the size of three-- So I went and asked the chemist To fix up a drink for me; And he brewed it from various bottles With soda and plenty of ice, With something that smelt like lemon, And something that seemed like spice.

It fell on my parching palate Like the dew on a sun-baked plain, And my system began to flourish Like the gra.s.s in a soft spring rain; It wandered throughout my being, Suffusing my soul with rest, And I felt as I "scoffed" that liquid That life had a new-found zest.

I have been on the razzle-dazzle Full many a time since then But I never could get the chemist To brew me that drink again.

He says he's forgotten the notion-- 'Twas only by chance it came-- He's tried me with various liquids But oh! they are not the same.

We have sought, but we sought it vainly, That one lost drink divine; We have sampled his various bottles, But somehow they don't combine: Yet I know when I cross the River And stand on the Golden Sh.o.r.e I shall meet with an angel-chemist Who'll brew me that drink once more.

Mulligan's Mare

Oh, Mulligan's bar was the deuce of a place To drink and to fight, and to gamble and race; The height of choice spirits from near and from far Were all concentrated on Mulligan's bar.

There was "Jerry the Swell", and the jockey-boy Ned, "Dog-bite-me"--so called from the shape of his head-- And a man whom the boys, in their musical slang, Designed as the "Gaffer of Mulligan's Gang".

Now Mulligan's Gang had a racer to show, A bad 'un to look at, a good 'un to go; Whenever they backed her you safely might swear She'd walk in a winner, would Mulligan's mare.

But Mulligan, having some radical views, Neglected his business and got on the booze; He took up with runners--a treacherous troop-- Who gave him away and he "fell in the soup".

And so it turned out on a fine summer day, A bailiff turned up with a writ of "fi. fa."; He walked to the bar with a manner serene, "I levy," said he, "in the name of the Queen."

Then Mulligan wanted, in spite of the law, To pay out the bailiff with "_one_ on the jaw"; He drew out to hit him, but, ere you could wink, He changed his intentions and stood him a drink.

A great consultation there straightway befel 'Twixt jockey-boy Neddy and Jerry the Swell, And the man with the head, who remarked "Why, you bet!