Malachi was very tall, very thin, and very round-shouldered, and the sandiness of his hair also cried aloud for an adjective. All the boys considered Malachi the greatest ass¹ on the station, and there was no doubt that he was an awful fool. He had never been out of his native bush in all his life, excepting once, when he paid a short visit to Sydney, and when he returned it was evident that his nerves had received a shaking. We failed to draw one word out of Malachi regarding his views on the city—to describe it was not in his power, for it had evidently been something far beyond his comprehension. Even after his visit had become a matter of history, if you were to ask him what he thought of Sydney the dazed expression would come back into his face, and he would scratch his head and say in a slow and deliberate manner, “Well, there's no mistake, it's a caution.” And as such the city remained, so far as Malachi's opinion of it was concerned.  
Malachi was always shabbily dressed, in spite of his pound a week and board, and “When Malachi gets a new suit of clothes” was the expression invariably used by the boys to fix a date for some altogether improbable event. We were always having larks² with Malachi, for we looked upon him as our legitimate³ butt⁴. He seldom complained, and when he did his remonstrance⁵ hardly ever went beyond repeating the words, “Now, none of your pranktical jokes!” If this had not the desired effect, and we put up some too outrageous⁶ trick on him, he would content himself by muttering with sorrowful conviction, “Well, there's no mistake, it's a caution.”
 
We were not content with common jokes, such as sewing up the legs of Malachi's trousers while he slept, fixing his bunk⁷, or putting explosives in his pipe—we aspired⁸ to some of the higher branches of the practical joker's art. It was well known that Malachi had an undying hatred⁹ for words of four syllables¹⁰ and over, and the use of them was always sufficient to forfeit¹¹ any good opinions he might have previously¹² entertained concerning the user. “I hate them high-flown words,” he would say—“I got a book at home that I could get them out of if I wanted them; but I don't.” The book referred to was a very dilapidated dictionary. Malachi's hatred for high-flown words was only equalled by his aversion to the opposite sex; and, this being known, we used to write letters to him in a feminine hand, threatening divers¹³ breach¹⁴ of promise actions, and composed in the high-flown language above alluded¹⁵ to. We used to think this very funny, and by these means we made his life a burden to him. Malachi put the most implicit¹⁶ faith in everything we told him; he would take in the most improbable yarn¹⁷ provided we preserved a grave demeanour and used no high-flown expressions. He would indeed sometimes remark that our yarns¹⁸ were a caution, but that was all.
 
We played upon him the most gigantic joke of all during the visit of a certain bricklayer, who came to do some work at the homestead. “Bricky” was a bit of a phrenologist, and knew enough of physiognomy and human nature to give a pretty fair delineation¹⁹ of character. He also went in for spirit-rapping, greatly to the disgust of the two ancient housekeepers²⁰, who declared that they'd have “no dalins wid him and his divil's worruk.”'
 
The bricklayer was from the first an object of awe²¹ to Malachi, who carefully avoided him; but one night we got the butt into a room where the artisan was entertaining the boys with a seance. After the table-rapping, during which Malachi sat with uncovered head and awe-struck expression, we proposed that he should have his bumps read, and before he could make his escape Malachi was seated in a chair in the middle of the room and the bricklayer was running his fingers over his head. I really believe that Malachi's hair bristled²² between the phrenologist's fingers. Whenever he made a hit his staunch admirer, “Donegal,” would exclaim “Look at that now!” while the girls tittered and said, “Just fancy!” and from time to time Malachi would be heard to mutter to himself, in a tone of the most intense conviction, that, “without the least mistake it was a caution.” Several times at his work the next day Malachi was observed to rest on his spade, while he tilted²³ his hat forward with one hand and felt the back of his head as though he had not been previously aware of its existence.
 
We “ran” Malachi to believe that the bricklayer was mad on the subject of phrenology, and was suspected of having killed several persons in order to obtain their skulls²⁵ for experimental purposes. We further said that he had been heard to say that Malachi's skull^{<............}