Humility is not a word easily located in the handbook of Australian cricket, but it is one of the emergent traits of Steve Smith's team. Even in a contest of pulse-slowing inequality, Smith's bowlers followed humble lines and workmanlike lengths.
Even with a 280-run lead over a spirit-sapped opponent, Smith's refusal to enforce the follow-on raised questions about whether law 13 had any more relevance than the human appendix. Amid the swamp of lament over West Indian cricket, it was as if Smith and his men still saw the ogres of the 1980s under those crimson skull-caps, and treated them with due respect. If it was a little dull, it was refreshingly so. 
Earlier Australian outfits, intent on standover tactics, would have tried to blast the West Indians out, belittle them verbally, and take the chance to embarrass their manhood. The strength of those teams, when they were strong, was their self-belief. Their weakness was hubris and overreach.
The effect of the follow-on law was to give a dominant captain a boot to place on a prone opponent's throat. But cricket has changed since the abolition of the rest day, and Australian cricket is shifting subtly. All-out intimidation is not the way of Smith, nor is it the character of his slips-cordon colleagues Peter Nevill, Adam Voges and Nathan Lyon. Even David Warner has learnt to enact respectfulness.
Time and tougher opponents will tell whether this is timidity or a new animating spirit, but in their professional, systematic pursuit of their methods, Smith's men are playing without that arrogance which would be the last thing this summer needs. Out in the middle, at least, the West Indians are being treated as a worthy opponent. The Australians are respecting them into the dust. But the visitors responded on Monday by finding a sense of their own worth. Respected, they discovered self-respect. Darren Bravo would be called a franchise player, if he were playing for a franchise. Playing for the West Indies, he is the man around whom a future can be built. His defence had an epic quality, and his temperament was as unflappable as Shiv Chanderpaul's, as he accumulated not runs but balls faced.
Bravo never looked troubled. And this is one of the odd things about the West Indians' batting. For long patches of play, Rajendra Chandrika, Kraigg and Carlos Brathwaite, even Kemar Roach in the tail, and certainly Bravo, have looked untroubled by the bowling. But that is a response to this disciplined, methodical and, let's face it, less than thrillseeking path the Australians have taken: they sandpaper patiently away, waiting for the batting error or rogue pop of ball off pitch to take their wickets.
Their best bowler was Lyon, wheeling away like a grindstone, shaving away one molecule at a time. Their notable miscreant was James Pattinson, who had to hand back two dismissals after overstepping the crease, a rare outbreak of amateurism from a professional bowling unit. For the most part, Pattinson and Josh Hazlewood bowled like Peter Siddle, who bowled like himself. A team of Siddles: that might bring a yawn to the after-dark crowd, but not those of us who like Test cricket played with quiet toughness and humble discipline.
The follow-on is no longer about runs scored but about overs faced. Although the West Indian first innings never got near the 200-run deficit, the follow-on was averted once Bravo, with Carlos Brathwaite and then Roach, batted into the afternoon and made Australia take a second new ball. Once his bowlers had sent down 80 overs, Smith was no longer interested in making them go around again. They ended up bowling 100; Hobart showed that an Australian captain will only enforce the follow-on after an ODI-length first innings.
Even the late-afternoon wizardry of Smith's batting had no Las Vegas showmanship about it. The Australian captain brought out his full repertoire of swats, flicks, ramps and switch-hits, but ran through them as if they were drills, not tricks. When he miscued what can only be called an overhead spike, he kept grimly practising it, as if it was a forward defence to be grooved.
Like the bookmakers who have gladly accepted his money at the track over the years, Smith would take a five-dollar bet with the same straight face as a five-thousand. The Australian way of cricket is no longer to play the bully, but to join the dots of plans and processes. And that's probably a good thing. If West Indian cricket's recent history shows anything, it's that pride does come before a fall. Smith's team may eventually fall at higher hurdles than this, but they can't be accused of having played with excessive pride.