"Hear, hear!" shouted the crowd. 

 "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." 

 "Rot!" 

 "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." 

 "'Ave a banana," chirped Bill. 

 "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——" 

 "B.F. for Wearyville," interjected Bill as he got up.  "And now, you puddin'-headed red flagger, if you'll sit down, I'll have a cut in." The bucolic M.P. collapsed in his seat, wiping the perspiration off his beetled brow with the aid of a navvy's red handkerchief. 

 "Now, boys, you know me." 

 "Good old Bill—give it him!" 

 Prev. P 6/77 next