Then books were "cut out," after
that the house linen was looked to, and as I hesitated over the number of
pillow-cases we could manage with, Mac cried triumphantly: "You won't
need these anyway, for there's no pillows."
The Maluka thought he had prepared me for everything in the way of
roughness; but in a flash we knew that I had yet to learn what a bushman
means by rough.
As the pillow-cases fell to the ground, Mac was at a loss to account for
my consternation. "What's gone wrong?" he exclaimed in concern. Mac was
often an unconscious humorist.
But the Maluka came with his ever-ready sympathy. "Poor little coon," he
said gently, "there's little else but chivalry and a bite of tucker for a
woman out bush."
Then a light broke in on Mac. "Is it only the pillows?" he said. "I
thought something had gone wrong." Then his eyes began to twinkle.
"There's stacks of pillows in Darwin," he said meaningly.
It was exactly the moral fillip needed, and in another minute we were
cheerfully "culling our herd" again.
Exposed to Mac's scorn, the simplest comforts became foolish luxuries.
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