“Tea ain’t any good to drink unless you can put a stick straight up in it, and it can stand alone there,” joked an old swagman, who had invited us to partake of a hospitable “billy-can” with him.

* * * * *

We had long, marvellous talks with different swagmen, as we slowly sauntered north to Newcastle....

We heard of the snakes of Australia, which workmen dug up in torpid writhing knots, in the cold weather ... of native corrobories which one old informant told us he had often attended, where he procured native women or “gins” as they called them, for a mere drink of whiskey or gin ... “that’s why they calls ’em ‘gins’” he explained ... (wrong, for “gin” or a word of corresponding sound is the name for “woman” in many native languages in the antipodes)....

The azure beauty of those days!... tramping northward with nothing in the world to do but swap stories and rest whenever we chose, about campfires of resinous, sweetly smelling wood ... drinking and drinking that villainous tea.

In Australia the law against stealing rides on freights is strictly enforced.  The tramp has always to walk—­to the American tramp this is at first a hardship, but you soon grow to like it ... you learn to enjoy the wine in the air, the fragrance of the strange trees that shed bark instead of leaves, the noise of scores of unseen Waterfalls in the hills of New South Wales.

The morning that the little sea-port of Newcastle lay before us, I felt as if I had been on tour through a strange world.  For the first time the story-books of my youth had come true.

But Hoppner rose from the camp fire that we’d been sleeping by, stretched, and remarked, “now, thank Christ, I’ll be able to find a good seat in a pub again, just like in Sydney, and all the booze I can drink.  We can go to some sailors’ boarding house here, tell them we want to ship out, and they’ll furnish us with the proper amount of drinks and take care of us, all hunky dory, till they find us a berth on ship ... of course they’ll be well paid for their trouble ... two months’ advance pay handed over to them by the skipper ... but that won’t bother me a bit.”

From the hill on which we lay encamped we saw all the ships in the harbour.  I no longer feared the sea.  Your true adventurer forgets danger and perils experienced as a woman forgets the pangs of childbirth.

* * * * *

We met a sailor on the street, who, though at first a stranger, soon became our friend and, with the quick hospitality of the sea, steered us to a pub known as the Green Emerald, bought us drinks, and introduced us to Mother Conarty, the proprietress.

“I’ll ship ye out all right, but where’s your dunnage?”

We confessed that we had run away from our ships down at Sydney.

The old sailor had spoken of Mother Conarty as rough-mannered, but a woman with “a good, warm heart.”