First arrives the cook-in-chief to the shearers, with two assistants to lay in a few provisions for the week’s consumption of 70 able-bodied men.  I must here explain that the cook of a large shearing-shed is a highly paid and tolerably irresponsible official.  He is paid and provided by the shearers.  Payment is generally arranged on the scale of half-a-crown a head weekly from each shearer.  For this sum he must provide punctual and effective cooking, paying out of his own pocket as many “marmitons” as may be needful for that end, and to satisfy his tolerably exacting and fastidious employers.

In the present case he confers with the storekeeper, Mr de Vere, a young gentleman of aristocratic connexions who is thus gaining an excellent practical knowledge of the working of a large station and to this end has the store-keeping department entrusted to him during shearing.

He does not perhaps look quite fit for a croquet party as he stands now, with a flour-scoop in one hand and a pound of tobacco in the other.  But he looks like a man at work, and also like a gentleman, as he is.  “Jack the Cook” thus addresses him: 

“Now, Mr de Vere, I hope there’s not going to be any humbugging about my rations and things!  The men are all up in their quarters, and as hungry as free selectors.  They’ve been a-payin’ for their rations for ever so long, and of course now shearing’s on, they’re good for a little extra!”

“All right, Jack,” returns de Vere, good-temperedly, “all your lot was weighed out and sent away before breakfast.  You must have missed the cart.  Here’s the list.  I’ll read it out to you:  three bags flour, half a bullock, two bags sugar, a chest of tea, four dozen of pickles, four dozen of jam, two gallons of vinegar, five pounds pepper, a bag of salt, plates, knives, forks, ovens, frying-pans, saucepans, iron pots, and about a hundred other things.  Now, mind you, return all the cooking things safe, or pay for them—­that’s the order!  You don’t want anything more, do you?  You’ve got enough for a regiment of cavalry, I should think.”

“Well, I don’t know.  There won’t be much left in a week if the weather holds good,” makes answer the chef, as one who thought nothing too stupendous to be accomplished by shearers, “but I knew I’d forgot something.  As I’m here I’ll take a few dozen boxes of sardines, and a case of pickled salmon.  The boys likes ’em, and, murder alive! haven’t we forgot the plums and currants?  A hundredweight of each, Mr de Vere!  They’ll be crying out for plum-duff and currant buns for the afternoon; and bullying the life out of me, if I haven’t a few trifles like.  It’s a hard life, surely, a shearers’ cook.  Well, good-bye, sir, you have ’em all down in the book.”