THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE 



at it. Yeah, it could be worse. Pass the 

 cake, Kid." 



Two more Australians, whom I know 

 only as Phil and Steve, are ready for tea. 

 As I pour, I ask the big one, "What's 

 that you're wearing in your hat?" 



To which he replies unsmilingly, 

 "Kangaroo feathers, of course." 



And when I want to know what his 

 friend carries that enormous knife for in 

 his belt, he unhesitatingly answers, "Ap- 

 pendicitis." 



"Say, this is a boshter (fine) place, eh 

 Phil?" says the red-haired one. 



Phil nods in hearty assent, though his 

 mouth is truly too full for utterance. 

 After a little while, however, he slows 

 up, and begins to tell me about some of 

 the fun they've been having. The best 

 evening was the one on which they began 

 by beating up a taxi driver because he re- 

 fused to take them five miles into the 

 country. 



"By thunder, lady, that bloomin' 

 blighter was a funny sight, wasn't he, 

 Steve?" 



THE AUSTRALIANS' DINNER PARTY 



Steve says, "Righto, especially when 

 his nose bled the most." 



The aunt of another pal, having dis- 

 covered their presence in Paris, invited 

 them to dinner. They left their hotel 

 "perfectly good citizens, at peace with 

 all the world." After they'd finished 

 with the chauffeur they got into his car, 

 pulled down their sleeves, leaned back, 

 and "lighted up." Arrived close to their 

 destination they stopped the taxi, got out, 

 overwhelmed the frightened and bloody 

 driver by the size of the tip, and then 

 proceeded the rest of the way on foot, 

 'cause they "had the wind up" at the 

 thought of eating with a lady. 



"You tell the rest, Pete," says Phil 

 shyly. 



But Pete insists that he "hasn't brought 

 his music," so Phil continues : 



"You see, we really wanted to meet 

 Sam's aunty, and we really wanted to eat 

 that dinner, but the nearer we got to her 

 house the scairder we got. We went past 

 three times, and once Pete had his foot 

 on the lowest step; but we got seasick 

 again and hurried away. Fourth time, 

 just as I said, 'Let's smoke one more be- 



fore going in/ the door opened and a 

 little, round lady, with nice twinkly eyes, 

 came out and said : 'This is the house, 

 boys. Come right in. Dinner's almost 

 ready.' 



"So we did, and first thing you know, 

 Pete here was having a fine time, like he 

 always does. We both spied a big photo- 

 graph of Sydney harbor on the wall, and 

 that gave Pete something else to talk 

 about. As for me, well, I just couldn't 

 think of a word to say, and I got to wor- 

 rying about what the lady must be think- 

 ing of me. Poor soul ! She married a 

 'Froggie,' but at that she seems happy. 



"When the time came to go in to din- 

 ner, a lady servant with awful nice feet 

 looked in at the door and said : 'Madum, 

 eh survyf She looked right at me, too, 

 and though I didn't savvy, I winked back. 

 But nothing happened. Aunty just said, 

 'Mercy' (Merci), and we all 'fell in/ 



"Mr. Froggie was very nice and yery 

 polite — very. Always saying 'Pardong' 

 and making funny little bows. > But I 

 liked him at that ; for of course he can't 

 help his ways, now, can he? He told us 

 that Madum was deelighted to have us 

 in 'cause she'd never gotten over being 

 Australian. Everything to eat was going 

 to be Australian, not a single sauce on 

 nothin\ 



"When we got into the mess-room, first 

 thing I noticed was a treemennjus bowl 

 of Australian wattle blossoms." 



"You're crazy," bursts in Pete. "It 

 was French mimosa." 



"my name's the gusher, but tonight 

 i can't say a word" 



"Oh it was, was it?" shouts Phil. 

 "You call it by any new-fangled French 

 name you want to. It'll always be plain 

 old golden wattle to me. As I said be- 

 fore, there was a huge bunch of zvattle 

 blossoms on the table. I gave one look 

 and sniffled right out loud. I just couldn't 

 stand it a bit longer; so I said: 'Mrs. 

 Australia' — I called her that for, in the 

 first place, I could never pronounce her 

 Froggie name, and in the second place, I 

 think 'Mrs. Australia's' mighty pretty, so 

 I said, 'Mrs. Australia — most of us have 

 got a nickname in the army. Mine's the 

 'Gusher,' 'cause I talk so much. But to- 

 night I can't talk at all. I'm thinking of 



