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 get something to eat before the corporation carts came along. So did the rats.

Some men can't sleep very well on an empty stomach―at least, not at first; but it mostly comes with practice. They often sleep for ever in London. Not in Sydney as yet―so we say.

Now and then one of our outcasts would stretch his cramped limbs to ease them but the cold soon made him huddle again. The pavement must have been hard on the men's 'points,' too; they couldn't dig holes nor make soft places for their hips, as you can in camp out back. And then, again, the stones had nasty edges and awkward slopes, for the pavements were very uneven.

The Law came along now and then, and had a careless glance at the unemployed in bed. They didn't look like sleeping beauties. The Law appeared to regard them as so much rubbish that ought not to have been placed there, and for the presence of which somebody ought to be prosecuted by the Inspector of Nuisances. At least, that was the expression the policeman had on his face.

And so Australian workmen lay at two o'clock in the morning in the streets of Sydney, and tried to get a little sleep before the traffic came along and took their bed.

The idea of sleeping out might be nothing to bushmen, not even an idea; but 'dossing out' in the city and 'camping' in the bush are two very different things. In the bush you can light a fire, boil your billy, and make some tea―if you have any; also fry a chop (there are no sheep running round in the city).