Here had been
laid the foundation of a great inland city by a bush publican, two
storekeepers, a wheelwright, and a blacksmith. Another city had been
started at the western side of Wandong Creek, but its existence was
ignored by the eastern pioneers.
The shepherd soon began to forget or despise the advice of his wife,
Julia; his tongue grew loose again, and at the bar of the inn of the
crossroads his voice was often heard loud and abusive. He felt that
he had become a person of importance, as the possessor of a secret
which nobody could discover. What he said and what he did was
discussed about the township, and the chief constable listened to
every report, expecting that some valuable information would
accidentally leak out.
One day a man wearing a blue jumper and an old hat came down the
road, stepped on to the verandah of the inn, and threw down his swag.
Nosey was there, holding forth to Bill the Butcher, Dick Smalley,
Frank Barton, Bob Atkins, Charley Goodall, and George Brown the Liar.
A dispute occurred, in which the presumptuous stranger joined, and
Nosey promptly knocked him off the verandah into the gutter. A valid
claim to satisfaction was thus established, and the swagman showed a
disposition to enforce it. He did not attempt to regain his position
on the boards, but took his stand on the broad stone of honour in the
middle of the road.
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