“If ever I do get a job again,” said Mitchell, “I'll stick to it while there's a hand's turn of work to do, and put a few pounds together. I won't be the fool I always was. If I'd had sense a couple of years ago, I wouldn't be tramping through this damned¹ sand and mulga now. I'll get a job on a station, or at some toff's house, knocking about the stables and garden, and I'll make up my mind to settle down to graft² for four or five years.”  
“But supposing you git the sack?” said his mate.
 
“I won't take it. Only for taking the sack I wouldn't be hard up to-day. The boss might come round and say:
 
'I won't want you after this week, Mitchell. I haven't got any more work for you to do. Come up and see me at the office presently.'
 
“So I'll go up and get my money; but I'll be pottering round as usual on Monday, and come up to the kitchen for my breakfast. Some time in the day the boss'll be knocking round and see me.
 
“'Why, Mitchell,' he'll say, 'I thought you was gone.'
 
“'I didn't say I was going,' I'll say. 'Who told you that—or what made you think so?'
 
“'I thought I told you on Saturday that I wouldn't want you any more,' he'll say, a bit short. 'I haven't got enough work to keep a man going; I told you that; I thought you understood. Didn't I give you the sack on Saturday?'
 
“'It's no use;' I'll say, 'that sort of thing's p............