Still, though the Australian workman has many little ways which at first rub every atom of your fur up in the wrong direction—he is bumptious, he is cock-sure, he is condescending; “I don’t mind if I do” is his one form of accepting any proffered favour, while a shrug of the shoulders and the “My troubles” are his response to any advice or sympathy you may offer—he is also essentially clean, in other ways apart from those that I have mentioned. Besides this, he does not cadge for tips; indeed, he more often than not resents the offer of money. “What’s that for?” he will ask, with a glance at the proffered coin that makes you blush to your very boots. I’ve had a hard-worked lodging-house servant refuse a well-earned tip more than once. “Lord bless you, I ain’t going ter take yer money; you’ve enough to do with it!” has been said. Not long before I left the country I took lodgings down at the sea, to recoup from a long illness, with a carpenter and his wife and family of small bairns. When I left, the man walked to the station, carrying my bag for me, and as we shook hands on the platform, entreated me, in his wife’s name as well as his own, to come down and stay with them, if I was hard up or ill, for as long as ever I liked, and not to worry about the money. “For if there’s enough for us, there’s enough for you, providing you don’t mind our rough ways,” he added; “and don’t you go on working again till you’re fair worn out; for as long as we’ve a bit or a sup, or a roof over our heads, you’re welcome to a share.”