So we had to do something. I told my brother that I must have some work to do, and then we might manage some little business. What else could we do? It was either that or we would have to go and live in a top-garret somewhere. So we took a house with a shop attached in Rundle-street. It stood this side of the Tavistock Hotel, but it was pulled down many years ago. There is now a saddler's business there. I had it fixed up as tearooms, and my brother made furniture. In any case I had to face a new kind of life, and I had no right to grumble. When we were children I remembered the happy comradeship which always existed between my brother and myself, and I was glad to be alone with him. It was a splendid time and we did fairly well, and had something to give thanks for. I could not expect that happiness to continue, and when we had been there for some time I had a strong belief that all the rest would come right in time. It was a joy to feel that I was working for my brother. Such trivial incidents may not seem worth recording, but that was my only experience in business on my own account. Youth is full of hope, but I did not know what I hoped for. There was the present and the future to think about.
Just at that time a Scotch corps of volunteers were raised. It was the first in South Australia to wear the kilts. There was such merriment about this dressing every day. Mr. Buik had an ironmongers shop in Rundle-street, and he was the captain. My brother also became a kilted volunteer. The kilts were sent from Scotland partly made, and then altered so as to make a suitable fit. They looked nice, only the stockings were of some kind of checked tartan, with no shape or figure. I knew how to knit, so I knitted a pair of stockings for my brother, and set in the wool in different coloring and in diamond shape. They looked unlike the others, and they were made to fit. Mr. Buik came to me and asked me if I would do a hundred pairs. I was so surprised, that I thought I would not knit any more stockings which could be seen. In the Foot Police at that time there was a Scotchman who stood, so they said, over six feet in height; his name was Archie Dixon. He had his own kilts and knitted stockings, together with the bagpipes. He brought all the equipage with him from Scotland, and truly he did look a picture in the kilts. The past is, indeed, past, but it all comes back to me when I want it.