Maksim Kovsh, a simple, modest man from Ruthenia, was very happy in his new homeland. He never had it as good. He lived like a prince here in comparison with how he used to fare back in his native country.

"Even a Primary School professor was not paid such wages in my village before the war," he used to say when he had an opportunity to converse with somebody in Ukrainian, of which he spoke a particular dialect.

His only trouble was English. He was half illiterate even in his own native tongue and was therefore unable to learn English from even the most simple textbooks. Neither could he pick up much English from his mates, no matter how hard he tried.

He got, however, well with his job, for it was easy and simple. He also got on well with his mates in the factory, although he could converse with them more with the help of signs than words. Nevertheless he was even popular with his mates and there were two reasons for that.

On the one hand, he was almost the only New Australian in the factory, who would admit that he was just a simple farm-hand in his country, not a surgeon, a teacher, an army officer, a lawyer, an astonomer or something like that, as almost all other New Australians used to pretend. On the other hand, he was of lower intelligence than most of his Australian mates, so that they had a good opportunity to exercise a patronizing attitude towards him, which was pleasing to them.

The only thing they disliked in him was his eagerness to work harder than they considered being appropriate. So they often had to censure him. Indeed, every day, on countless occasions, he would be told with a varying degree of irritation: "Don't work so hard, you bloody fool!"

Apart form that, his relations with his mates were very good and at his lunch or tea-breaks he often was surrounded by the circle of his Australian friends, being the centre of their attention.

"You, Max, are our friend and brother now," they would tell him in unison. "You are an Australian now. You don't speak your bloody New Australian language any more, you speak Australian now, for you are a dinkum Aussie now, just like us. Australian is your language now. Understand, Max?"

Max did not understand, but he smiled and nodded in agreement to his workmates' delight.

So everything was in order and Maksim Kovsh was happy and had every reason to look forward towards a long career in the factory, where the job was so easy, the wages so good and the people so friendly.

All, however, was ruined just in one day.

His misfortune arose from a necessity to have his signature witnessed on an official document. He asked his foreman for a half day off, so that he could go to a Notary Public. The foreman, of course, could not understand what he wished and sent for a worker in the neighbouring section of the factory, who knew Ukrainian and was strong in English. This man explained the problem of Maksim Kovsh to the foreman.

"There is no need to go to a Notary Public, who will charge a fee for his service," said the foreman. "The same can be done by a Justice of the Peace, who will charge nothing. Tell Max to go to a Justice of the Peace."

"But where he can find one?" asked the interpreter.

"There are many of them around. As a matter of fact, we have one here in our factory. That's our personnel officer, Mr. Wise. Tell Max that I will make an appontment for him to Mr. Wise for tomorrow. Tell him also not to forget to take along his document."

Max was very happy because of such an easy solution of his problem and in the remaining time tried to memorize the words "Justice of the Peace", repeating them endlessly to himself in a whisper. It was, however, not so easy, particularly as far as the word "Justice" was concerned. No matter how much he tried, he could not remember this word properly. As to the word "Peace", it was much easier, but it sounded in his pronunciation like "piss".

When the appointed time arrived, the man, who spoke Ukrainian, approached the foreman and volunteered to accompany Max to the Justice of the Peace, so that he could help him out as regards English.

"Don't waste your time, Ivan, he'll be aliright!" was foreman's decision.

So Max had to go alone to Mr. Wise's office. The girl in the reception room knew already why he came and motioned towards the door of Mr. Wise's office.

Max knocked timidly and entered.

"What do you want?" Mr Wise asked coldly.

"Heavens! What it was?" flashed through Max' mind. "Was it Justis, Justtee or Justto?"

"Well, what do you want?" the personnel officer repeated impatiently.

"Justtee Piss," Maxim Kovsh was at last able to say.

"What? What? Say again!" ordered Mr. Wise, who could not believe his ears.

"Justto Piss!" quickly corrected himself Kovsh, trying to say it as clearly as possible.

"What an idiot!" exclaimed Mr. Wise. "Well, come with me," he added and rose from behind his desk.

He led Kovsh out of his office and pointed towards the door of the lavatory nearby. "See the sign? You can have a piss there!" he said and went back to his office.

Maksim Kovsh hopefully went into the lavatory, but there was no official in sight able to certify his document. So he returned to the Personnel Office and made straight towards the door of Mr. Wise's room.

"Stop! Don't go there!" screamed the secretary, but it was in vain, — Kovsh knocked and went in.

"What? You again!" murmured in annoyance Mr. Wise, lifting his eyes from some papers on his desk. "What do you want now?"

"Justto Piss," said Maksim Kovsh as clearly as he could.

"O you stupid idiot! I showed you where you could have your piss!" shouted Mr. Wise.

"No Justto Piss there," answered poor Kovsh. "Justto Piss here."

"Out! Out!" shouted Mr. Wise. "Never dare to come here again!"

And he pushed him out of his office and out of his reception room, red from rage.

Maksim Kovsh returned to his working place being at loss to understand why things had taken such a bad turn. Neither was he able to explain the matter to his curious mates. In half an hour, however, all could realize that Max must have committed some grave act of misdemeanour for he was handed a pay envelope and told to leave the factory at once.

Without understanding anything, Kovsh returned to the foreman his tools, changed his dress and left the factory, — a sad and shattered man.

At the same time Mr. Wise was dictating a letter to his short-hand typist.

"To the Commonwealth Employment Office," he dictated "We let you know that we have terminated today at short notice the employment of Maksim Kovsh, directed to us by you a year ago for the duration of his contract obligation. Although his contrast time has not yet expired, find it impossible to keep him owing to his mental condition bordering on lunacy in our opinion, a person of his state of mind should not be simply directed to another place of employment, where he would not fait to make a nuisance of himself like he did it here, but whether deported to the country of hi! , origin or placed, for some tone, in a mental institution, in which he could have a chance of recovery. At this would be the most thoughtful and charitable solution of his problem, I be only too pleased to procure the two signatures required for his committal to a mental institution. With sincere regards, Yours faithfully J. H. S. Wise, O. B. E., J. P., Employment Officer."

And so it was that Maksim Kovsh had unexpectedly landed in a mental institution, — all because it was necessary for him to have his signature certified by a Justice of the Peace.

There is no need to mention that it was much easier for Maksim Kovsh to find himself in the mental institution than to get out of there.