Enter Mitchell恩特尔·米切尔

The Western train had just arrived at Redfern railway-station with a lot of ordinary passengers and one swagman1.

西方号列车刚刚抵达雷德芬火车站，车上有很多普通乘客，还有一个流浪汉。

He was short， and stout， and bow-legged， and freckled， and sandy. He had red hair and small， twinkling， grey eyes， and—what often goes with such things—the expression of a born comedian. He was dressed in a ragged， well-washed print shirt， an old black waistcoat with a calico back， a pair of cloudy moleskins patched at the knees and held up by a plaited greenhide belt buckled loosely round his hips， a pair of well-worn， fuzzy blucher boots2， and a soft felt hat， green with age， and with no brim worth mentioning， and no crown to speak of. He swung a swag on to the platform， shouldered it， pulled out a billy3 and water-bag， and then went to a dog-box in the break van.

他身材矮小，敦实，罗圈腿，满脸雀斑，沙色皮肤。（剩余4308字）