Whatever his work, there was never any certainty
that old Joe would not appear, to sit down, light his short, black pipe,
and make caustic remarks about his methods or his country--or both. Bob
took it all with a grin. He was a cheerful soul.
They used to meet for dinner--dinner consisting of corned beef and
potatoes until the corned beef ran out; then it became potatoes and
bread and jam for some days, until Joe amazed them by saddling an
ancient grey mare and riding into Cunjee, returning with more corned
beef--and more jam. He boiled the beef in a kerosene tin, and Bob
thought he had never tasted anything better. Appetites did not need
pampering on Howard's Farm. Work in the evening went on until there was
barely light enough to get home and find the cow; it was generally quite
dark by the time milking was finished, and Bob would come in with his
bucket to find Jim just in, and lighting the fire--"Major," not being
the milking hand, worked in the paddocks a little longer. Tea required
little preparation, since the only menu that occurred to old Joe seemed
to be bread and jam. Jim, being a masterful soul, occasionally took the
matter into his own hands and, aided by Bob, made "flap-jacks" in the
frying-pan; they might have been indigestible for delicately-constituted
people, but at least they had the merit of being hot and comforting on a
biting winter night.
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