Peter Anderson and Co by Henry Lawson — Read

He had offices in Sydney, not so many years ago, And his shingle bore the legend 'Peter Anderson and Co. ', But his real name was Careless, as the fellows understood -- And his relatives decided that he wasn't any good. 'Twas their gentle tongues that blasted any 'character' he had -- He was fond of beer and leisure -- and the Co. was just as bad. It was limited in number to a unit, was the Co. -- 'Twas a bosom chum of Peter and his Christian name was Joe.

'Tis a class of men belonging to these soul-forsaken years: Third-rate canvassers, collectors, journalists and auctioneers. They are never very shabby, they are never very spruce -- Going cheerfully and carelessly and smoothly to the deuce. Some are wanderers by profession, 'turning up' and gone as soon, Travelling second-class, or steerage (when it's cheap they go saloon); Free from 'ists' and 'isms', troubled little by belief or doubt -- Lazy, purposeless, and useless -- knocking round and hanging out. They will take what they can get, and they will give what they can give, God alone knows how they manage -- God alone knows how they live! They are nearly always hard-up, but are cheerful all the while -- Men whose energy and trousers wear out sooner than their smile! They, no doubt, like us, are haunted by the boresome 'if' or 'might', But their ghosts are ghosts of daylight -- they are men who live at night!