FREE DRINKS MEANT GOOD BUSINESS

Old-Time Sale Hospitality Paid For Itself

Modern auctioneers have modern business methods, perhaps, but for efficiency, 'Kerriki' points to old-time sales, where everyone was a good fellow.

Probably very few readers have ever had the experience of attending an old-time bush auction, where a big property was up for sale. Outwardly, the methods employed by the auctioneer may have seemed unsophisticated and unbusinesslike, but few modern go-getting estate agents would have had much to teach the old timers.

The property, plant and stock were lavishly advertised for weeks in advance, and on the great day free transportation was the order. Every coach, buggy, dray and workable vehicle for miles around was hired or borrowed, and bidders without means of conveyance of their own were brought in by the station staff, or drivers hired from outside.

Sundowners usually made a point of arriving for rations and whatever was going, and were seldom turned away. Even the country-town hanger-on had a day out. Food was supplied on a lavish scale in the shearers' quarters, while the star turn of the whole two or three days the sales usually took up was the arrival of a lorry, groaning under the weight of liquid refreshment. Barrels of beer simply had the heads staved in, while all and sundry helped themselves freely with pannikins. Small casks of rum and other spirits were poured out into tubs, whence a station hand, detailed as steward, saw its distribution with rough equality.

Long before the first item was put up for sale, half the bidders were rolling drunk, with a victory-at-any-price notion firmly set in their heads. The brisk bidding and fancy prices of the first afternoon alone usually far more than recouped the outlay. Plant, sundries and fittings were usually disposed of on the first day as a kind of sale-warmer, the second day the stock went off, still looking glamorous through drink-bleared eyes. Old mares with ring-bone often fetched as much as four-year-old working Clydesdales.

The last day of the sale was short and sudden. The property itself went up, and usually fell after an hour's bidding at most. The rest of the day was given up to finishing the refreshments, reviving the casualties, and carting off the purchases.

On one occasion, a well-known district squatter in one locality landed in at the very beginning of the sale, and proceeded to make a thorough hog of himself, for usually the more a man has the more he appreciates what appears to be something for nothing. For two days he held the main bidding in his own hands for plant and stock. Towards the end he was almost automatically nodding his head at every bang of the auctioneer's hammer. The third day saw the property going. The squatter ran the bidding up to a splendid sum, and it was promptly knocked down again.

Sick and sorry the next day, he drove into town to see the auctioneer and explained that he had come to buy plant and stock, but not the place, for he had bought one a week or two before and was merely endeavoring to equip it as cheaply as possible. The bid for the property had been either drink the devil, or sheer force of habit! What was the auctioneer going to do about it?

The auctioneer explained that the squatter was legally bound to his bargain and could be forced to stick to it, but if he could persuade the next highest bidder to take the purchase off his hands, the auctioneer would raise no objection. The squatter went to see the man, who had hardly sobered up himself.

With a twinkle of devilment in his eye, he laid down his conditions. 'Put the place up again,' he said, 'it's yours now. I'll come along and bid, though!'

The same ritual was duly gone through again, the squatter this time shouting the drink for all hands and comers, as well as paying the auctioneer's commission and dropping a good round sum on his own purchase price. Ever afterwards he was noted for the wariness and alacrity with which he turned down free drinks! — 'Kerriki.'

Resourceful Bush Mother

A couple of years ago two of us had accepted the hospitality of a selector for the night, and after the selector's wife and his two small children had gone to bed, the three of us sat talking out on the verandah.

A couple of hours later we heard a sleepy voice call out, 'Mummy, there is a snake on my arm.' The mother could not have been asleep, and her subsequent action showed how resourceful she was.

Calling out to the child to keep still and not move and also telling the father to remain where he was, the mother hastily lit a lamp and went into the room next to hers, where the children were. The light had evidently caused the snake to move, and in answer to the mother's call we three hurried in, grabbing the nearest things available as weapons. The mother was standing at the door holding the lamp, and by the light we could see the snake trying to find a way to wriggle out in one of the corners of the room.

My mate, who had grabbed a broom soon gave the snake its reward, and with the snake still there we gave our attention to the little girl to see if she had been bitten. Luckily she hadn't, and with the exception of the mother the little girl was the calmest of us all. She said that she had been awakened by feeling something cold on her arm, and by the dim light of the moon she had seen what it was.

Had she tried to brush the snake off, a brown one about four feet in length, the child would probably have been bitten. Such would possibly have happened too had we rushed in at the time of the girl's cry. I don't know about the others, but I spent a rest less night wondering if the snake had a mate about the place. — 'Up North.'

The Poison Which Failed

Many years ago a landholder was annoyed by a person who was fond of hare hunting. He had warned the delinquent with no result.

He got a neighbor who was friendly with the sportsman to bring out from the town an ounce of strychnine for him. The messenger told the sportsman the intention of the landholders, and warned him to 'keep off the grass' until the baits would be past deleterious consequences.

The sport asked that the bottle of poison be brought along to him when procured, and being a man used to parcelling up goods, carefully unsealed the bottle, emptied the contents, and refilled the container with Epsom salts, and as carefully re-sealed it.

In due course the baits were prepared and laid out with the expectation of great mortality among foxes and the hunts man's dogs in particular. But the landlord found neither fox nor other animal, and could not understand it, for he considered himself an expert in poisoning vermin. 'TANTA-TYGA.'

'Chinaman's Luck'

The story of the Chinaman who backed every horse in the race in order to select the winner, is not an unusual event in racing nowadays. It was, though, in the early days of racing at Broken Hill.

I recall seeing a humorous and exciting steeplechase at the Silver City, and a much excited Chinese afterwards. There were only three starters in the race, and 'John' invested a pound on each horse. But the three horses passed the post locked together!

When he received only thirty shillings he was mystified! 'Me back winner,' shouted 'John.' 'No savee!' The bookmaker tried in vain to explain, but 'John's' only retort was, 'Me no more bet!' The gibbering Celestial attracted a large crowd, and many thought he was being imposed upon.

The bookmaker, however, briefly explained the position. There were several standing around who had also backed the winner, but nevertheless were out of pocket, so the situation was quickly sized up. Unfortunately, perhaps, for him, the Chinaman left the course grumbling and cursing almost immediately. Had he remained he may have picked the winner of the next race — a rank outsider in a field of 10 —who started at 100 to 1. Still, I suppose that was 'Chinaman's luck.' 'A. DALY.'