"Order, order! ye sheep-eatin' blackguards," shouted Paddy, hitting a table with his riding-whip. The gathering ceased their chatter, and Bill rhymed out:
"We're the Kangaroo Marines, We're not Lager-fed machines, But Bushmen, Bushmen, Bushmen from the plains. We can ride, and we can cook, Ay, in shooting know our book, We're out to wipe off Kaiser Billy's stains.
"We're not trim--and not polite, And, perchance, get on the skite-- We're Bushmen, Bushmen, Bushmen from the plains. Yet though we can't salute, We can bayonet and can boot The wily, wily Turk from our domains.
"So when we ride away, Off hats and shout 'Hooray' For Bushmen, Bushmen, Bushmen from the plains. And, parsons, say your prayers That we may pass "Upstairs" Should a nasty little bullet hit our veins.
"Now, boys, stand up and sing God save our good old King, And Bushmen, Bushmen, Bushmen from the plains."
"Good, Bill, good!" shouted Claud, gripping the rough rhymster by the hand.
"Rot! D---- rotten jingo slush! What the hades has the King done for you and me?" roared a red-faced passenger at the other end of the car. This was none other than Bill Neverwork, secretary of the Weary Willies' Union and Socialist M.P. for the town of Wearyville.
"Go an' boil yer old fat 'ead!" said Bill, calmly lighting his pipe.
"Ye turnip-faced spalpeen, oi'll cut yer dirty thrapple wid my gully knife."
"You beastly fellow!" said Claud, giving him a scornful look.
But this Socialist gentleman was not to be denied. He would speak. "Listen, boys," he roared above the din.
"All right, father--we'll listen," said Bill, giving the others a nod. Peace reigned, then Neverwork commenced.
"Boys, you've been fooled. Why should you fight for Hengland----"
"Britain, please--I'm a Scot," interjected Sandy.
"Well, what has Britain done for Australia? We don't want Hengland to hinterfere with our business and get hour boys killed. We've enough work 'ere to do. This is the working man's paradise. And we can make it a sight bigger paradise. We want more men like me."
"Yes, mates; we want Socialism. We're going to get a Republic. We'll cut the painter. Curse England!"
"Britain, auld cock!" interjected Sandy again.
"Curse Britain--and you, ye porridge-faced hemigrant! It's the hemigrants that spoil this country. Kick them out, I say. Australia for Australians. That's my motto, mates. I know what I'm talking about. I'm Bill Neverwork----"