On the Grand Stand. a Pioneer Sketch

There was a lot of men from up-country staying at the Kamilaroi. One could easily tell them by their bronzed hands and faces, and creased or brand-new clothes, from the city members of the well-known Pastoralists' Club.

‘Hello,' suddenly exclaimed a fine-looking man, whose thick moustache lay snow-white against the deep tan of his cheek, ‘here's Boorookoorora in the market! H'm, one hundred and sixty thousand sheep (so they've got the jumbucks on it at last). Capital homestead... stone-built house... splendid garden and orchard. How things must have changed out there since Wal Neville and Jimmy Carstairs and myself took that country up, and lived for months at a time on damper, bullock and pigweed in a bark humpy. Stone house and orchard! Well, well,' he concluded, laying down the newspaper with a sigh, ‘I hope they haven't disturbed the boys. I left them there sleeping quietly enough side by side over five-and-twenty years ago.'