'Aye, ye might,' said the bullocky. 'An', if ye see him, tell him ye
met me--Bill's my name--Bill Gray, ye see--an' tell him-- Oh, tell him
I said to mind his ----y p's an' q's, ye know, an' be good to his ----y
self.'
I readily promised that I would, and our conversation lapsed for a
time, while Bill Gray filled his pipe, cutting the tobacco on the ball
of his left thumb from a good-sized black plug. For the rest of our
walk together, I used extreme circumspection, and was able to confine
our desultory exchanges to such safe topics as the bullocks, the
weather, the roads, and so forth, all favourite subjects with bushmen.
And then, as we drew near the one street of the little township, there
was the saw-mill, and my opportunity for bidding good-day to a too
inquisitive companion.
'So long, sonny,' said he, in response to my salutation. 'Take care of
your ----y self.' (His favourite adjective had long ceased to have any
meaning whatever for this good fellow. He now used it even as some
ladies use inverted commas, or other commas, in writing. And
sometimes, when he had occasion to use a word as long as, say,
'impossible,' he would actually drag in the meaningless expletive as
an interpolation between the first and second syllables of the longer
word, as though he felt it a sinful waste of opportunities to allow so
many good syllables to pass unburdened by a single enunciation of his
master word.)