110 FISHING GOSSIP. 
was just too late. However, I’ve reached our fishing- 
place in safety—and now to work. So—that’s a con- 
venient seat, though rather warm. My line is all 
ready ; what had I better bait with? 
Veteran. It matters very little; put on half one 
of those little herrings, taking care to fix it firmly on 
the hook. I shall try a lump of raw beef. There— 
that will do very well ; now, don’t stir your bait till 
you haul it in with or without a fish. It is very easy 
to get foul among the rocks here. Ah! ah! do that 
again, will you? 
New Chum. Whom are you appealing to so ear- 
nestly? Not King Billy, I am sure—no danger of 
his doing anything just now. Look at the perfect 
repose of his attitude, stretched on the warm sand, 
with his head propped against that round stone. 
Veteran. I was apostrophising not Billy, but a 
' cod-fish, who has just been mouthing my bait and 
can’t make up his mind to bolt it, or bolt with it. 
But I suspect Billy’s repose is not so perfect as you 
can imagine. He has the characteristic fondness of 
his colour for tobacco, the only thing an Australian 
aboriginal is ever known to hoard, and though I 
know he has plenty of his own, he will much prefer 
smoking ours. See—he is moving; now for it. Well, 
Billy, what is it? 
Billy. You got any matches, governor ? 
Veteran. Yes, plenty ; take three or four. 
