Guess you fullas get too much money these days to realise its value. You'll need every penny you can get later.” Boy laughed. He needed every penny he could get now; those 12 inch trousers he wanted, the orange draped coat, a few more new records—thousands of things he wanted now but couldn't afford. Later perhaps. Charlie Beeman's a bit of a square he decided, just how can a guy save enough for a trip overseas with all that? All the same he's not a bad old fulla, at least he can talk a bit of Maori and he comes from home. “Do you like the city Boy? I mean as a place to live and work.” “Yeah it's okay. Plenty fun—not like home. Only trouble is sometimes us fullas don't feel like being part of it. You know how everyone knows everyone else at home and yells out in town, well here you rub shoulders with people all day and most of them look the other way. Maybe it's my long hair and clothes or something but they're sort of snobs here—the squares anyway.” “Give me the country any day Boy. When I was at Mariu everyone was like you said—simple perhaps—but real friendly all the same.” Well into the night they talked—mainly about the life they had both known on the other side. Friends they had in common, places they knew, even old Maori stones and legends about Te Kohatu and Mariu. Charlie knew a lot about old Maori ways and songs and Boy listened with admiration eagerly, but felt a little jealous that a Pakeha should know a bit more than he. Often he broke in and argued about some little point that he had learnt from his grandmother back home although deep down he knew that the Pakeha was right and that he had forsaken so much of his own life when he went away. In fact Boy felt like a tramp trying to find his way around some barn he had slept in years ago. He was glad when talk got back to the freezing works and town and even outdid Charlie in a bid to show his knowledge of this new world. Charlie enjoyed it all. Sleep came much later. For Boy the next day passed quickly. This old square was really okay—good fulla. For Charlie, the same day was a treat. This so called bodgy wasn't a bad kid. Good natured and well meaning. At heart he was a Maori and Charlie didn't know a Maori that wasn't friendliness itself. They had talked about all sorts of things: catching crayfish, hakas, rock and roll, the black bottom, horses, cars, kumara weeding, shearing sheep, clothes, hair-styles (Charlie reckoned they were like a couple of old women), everything. Then before sleeping late that night they had both gone over the conversation in their minds. Memories were stirred. Boy thought of his brown and white horse and wondered where it was. He painted pictures of himself out weeding kumara with the rest of the kids and again digging in the sand for pipis with some of the old kuias. He missed them tonight and thought he'd go home and see them as soon as his chest was fixed up. First time he had really felt a bit homesick. Charlie was trying to think of the second line to an action song he had been taught at Mariu