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They was mostly English country people from Kent and Yorkshire and those places; and the most self-opinionated and obstinate people that ever lived when they got a thing into their heads; and they got it into their heads that Brummy Usen was shot while trying to bail up old Mr S and was dead and buried.
He thought that the least that Brummy might have done was to have shared the "stuff" with him. "Look here, Brummy," he said reproachfully, "we've shared and shared alike, and " "We never shared money," said Brummy, decidedly. "Do you think I want yer blasted money?" retorted Swampy, indignantly. "When did I ever ask yer for a sprat? Tell me that!"
This Brummy used to work for a publican in a sawmill that the publican had; and this publican and his daughter identified the body by a woman holding up a branch tattooed on the right arm. I'll tell you all about that another time.
Then he'd hand the plug to his mate, engage the stranger in conversation and try to hold his eye or detract his attention from Brummy so as to give Brummy a chance of cutting off a couple of pipefuls, and, maybe, nicking off a corner of the cake and slipping it into his pocket.
He was reg'lar disgusted with Brummy. He'd allers acted straight to him, and Brummy had acted like a "cow." He'd stand it no longer; but he'd have some satisfaction. He wouldn't be a fool. If Brummy was mean skunk enough to act to a mate like that, Swampy would be even with him; he would wait till Brummy was asleep, collar the stuff, and clear.
On reaching the hut the old man dumped the corpse against the wall, wrong end up, and stood scratching his head while he endeavoured to collect his muddled thoughts; but he had not placed Brummy at the correct angle, and, consequently, that individual fell forward and struck him a violent blow on the shoulder with the iron toes of his blucher boots. The shock sobered him.
He removed his hat, placed it carefully on the grass, held his hands out from his sides and a little to the front, drew a long deep breath, and said with a solemnity that greatly disturbed Five Bob: "Hashes ter hashes, dus ter dus, Brummy an' an' in hopes of a great an' gerlorious rassaraction!"
"Then, again, there was the case of Brummy Usen Hughison I think they spelled it the bushranger; he was shot by old Mr S , of E , while trying to stick the old gentleman up. There's something about it in a book called 'Robbery Under Arms', though the names is all altered and some other time I'll tell you all about the digging of the body up for the inquest and burying it again.
Presently he knelt down and examined the soles of the dead man's blucher boots, and then, rising with an air of conviction, exclaimed: "Brummy! by gosh! busted up at last! "I tole yer so, Brummy," he said impressively, addressing the corpse. "I allers told yer as how it 'ud be an' here y'are, you thundering jumpt-up cuss-o'-God fool.
This girl remembered how she used to watch this tattooed woman going up and down on Brummy's arm when he was working in the saw-pit going up and down and up and down, like this, while Brummy was working his end of the saw. So the bushranger was inquested and justifiable-homicided as Brummy Usen, and buried again in his dust and blood stains and monkey-jacket.
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