The last straw that’s what it was, thought Joey Driscol. The last straw entirely. Macca was a good man and a grand boss but to be going to him with the begging bowl for more time off was a terrible reddener. Joey knew there would be talk around the place about him not pulling his weight now, or worse yet, he might be called a bludger. They were a grand bunch of lads, or blokes like they said in Australia, but the ore wouldn’t move itself about and wasn’t working the job you were paid just a man’s duty.
“Can ye plant the foot, mate?” he shouted out the car window. “Jaysus, isn’t green for go.” Two fingers were raised out the roof of the car in front and Joey started to shake his head. “Don’t be thinking that’s the way, Marti,” he said. “Sure, isn’t that just ignorance showing. The man cann
