Tea that evening was the most expensive meal Jim Done had ever eaten, and far from being the best; but his appetite was equal to anything, and the fare on the Francis Cadman had not been so dainty as to give him any epicurean prejudices.  It was night when Jim came from the primitive restaurant, darkness having come down with a suddenness surprising to a new chum accustomed to long twilights.  Jim had taken tea in a tent near Paddy’s Market.  Here scores of tents of all sorts and sizes were huddled together.  All cooking was done out of doors.  Fires were everywhere, their glow, reflected brightly on the canvas of the ‘flies,’ giving a fantastic brilliance to the scene.  Life stirred around him, jubilant, bounteous, pulsing life.  The levity of the people was without limit.  Their childishness astonished Done, but he lived to find this a characteristic of the diggers in all parts; even the roughest men in the roughest camps exhibited a schoolboy’s love of horseplay and a great capacity for primitive happiness.  It was as if the people, having thrown off the more galling restraints of civilization and order, felt their limbs and spirits free for the first time, and exercised both with the freedom and, the austere critic may say, the foolishness of mountain goats.

Jim’s whole being was infected with the spirit of the place, his blood danced.  He had discarded his cap for a well-seasoned cabbage-tree, and wore a blue jumper under his coat, and now passed unheeded, excepting when a jovial digger, flown with brandy and success, roared a ’Good luck, mate!’ or commanded him in to drink.  Social restraints were gone; equality ruled the road; all men were brothers, and friendships of ten minutes’ standing were as sacred as the ties of kinship.

The night was young, but already turbulent.  The hot wind had passed, and the air was sweet and free from dust.  As he moved along the street, Done’s ear caught the squeak and the twang of fiddle and banjo coming through the confusion of voices.  Step-dancing and singing were the most popular delights.  The ability to sing a comic song badly was passport enough in digger society.  The streets were lit with kerosene.  Here and there a slush lamp or a torch blazed before an establishment seeking notoriety, shedding a note of lurid colour upon the faces of the bearded men thronging the footpath.  If there were laws controlling all these elements, Jim failed to discover a sign of them; neither did he see sign of the flagrant lawlessness he had been led to expect.  The absence of arms surprised him most of all.  He looked to find knives and revolvers in every belt, but saw no display of weapons, and noting the bluff, lumbering kindliness animating the crowd, he thought of his own small but carefully selected arsenal with some contempt.

Jim Done walked about the streets for two hours, interested in everything, disappointed with nothing.  All this satisfied the craving that had driven him from home.  Here he was one of the people, a man amongst men, accepted at his face and physical value by fellow-creatures who respected most the fearless eye and the strong arm.  Moreover, there were no signs of those hated forces, respectability, piety, conventionality, all of which had seemed to range themselves automatically on the side of his enemies.