near 3.00 p.m. and dizzy spells are affecting his vision for he sees more white spots and more visions. Like the boss he too adopts the air of nonchalance but those spots, those spots, ‘Ah thank God they're not spots at all, darn it, they're sheep, and more sheep. Am I dizzy? No, not any more’. The bell has gone for smoko. But he muses like the boss again. ‘By the time the season is over, I could be as good as the number one man. My tally should be 10,000, perhaps 15,000 and at so much per hundred my-oh-my. What's that story about the rainbow? Man, am I allowed to dream. Ah those white spots again, they're changing colour like the rainbow. No, no, that's not the story. ‘Bang! There goes the bell — 3.15 p.m. Smoko is over. Oh hell. The last run to home base, two hours to go, fancy allowing myself to dream at this time of day. That can wait till tonight when I go to bed dreaming, with my eyes open too. Not those white spots again. Ah — wool, wool away….’ The machines are humming again, the shedhands begin to sing and some of the weariness falls away. Freddy finds himself singing too and the rhythm is good, the mind is reacting, the body is loosening and the sinews and muscles are moving smoothly in co-ordination. That last run, the best one. ‘Don't hold me back,’ he shouts, ‘Rouseabout! Wool-away, woolaway!’ From where did that reserve of energy emerge? That beat, the rhythm. ‘The bell… gee… what's happened? The boss is counting out my pen. I can't believe it… the day's over. I could have lasted another hour. The white spots are gone. That's a change, hooray,’ Freddy takes off for the shower — ‘get rid of dirt and sweat, put those stinking clothes in the wash tub, change into clean fresh ones, and then I must lie down, a half hour wait for kai — and then off to bed. Rest those weary aching bones and muscles. Two weeks time they'll be conditioned and then I'll double that tally. Oh rest and slumber, tired and weary — gosh, those sheep are climbing into bed with me, or am I dreaming?’ The gang consists of eight shearers, eight rousabouts, including the two pressers and sheepo and the children, the Gang Boss, his wife who is the cook and their son who is only a loafer anyway, but they say he is going to university. What for? With a body like that he could be a crack shearer in no time. The kids today are getting it too easy. Make ‘em work. Those little kids are worrying Freddy though. Why aren't they at school? Well they can't be left at home, they'll set the place on fire, so out they come to the shed. ‘The teacher won't miss them anyway. Maybe he'll be happy without them,’ say the parents. This disturbs Freddy but he does not know what to say — after all they are not his kids. The Gang Boss makes a big impression on Freddy who says to himself that in five years he could be a big boss too, and since hard work never killed any man, this short experience should be enough to give him the managerial efficiency needed to run his own gang. ‘Do I need money? It'll come. Four or five years, that will do for a start, my farmer bosses will give me advances. I don't need to join the Shearing Contractors' Association. They can set their prices for the year, and I can set mine, and that way I will get away to a good start. Borrow money? How? Where? Do I need to do that?’ But Martha demands to know how they are going to obtain equipment, vehicles, and so on, and so on, ‘Freddy, we'll want a truck, pots, pans, cooking gear and all that.’ ‘Once the Farmers know I am a contractor, they will supply all those things, and our cheques will be paid through the firm. Food, groceries, anything we need. You see Martha.’ ‘What about the deposit, Freddy?’ asked Martha. ‘What's that you say? We don't need a deposit, heck. You make me tired. I know all about finance.’ ‘You mean money, don't you Freddy?’ ‘Yeah, the same thing.’ ‘Don't we need someone to take charge of our affairs? Like a secretary? You know Tom Jones at Omahu, he's got a bloke who counts all the money and pays all the wages for the gang.’ Martha cunningly added, ‘He's got a big home, a big car, two trucks and a tractor and he runs two gangs. Maybe we should have a counting-up bloke as well, just like that too.’ ‘Tom Jones, bah, he knows nothing. He's the one I was telling you about, the one