XVII
"MILES'S BEGGARS"
Iris Lodge, during the first half of August, became for once gay, not tosay festive--in a small way, as befitted a first experiment. Mauricemanaged to wrest his hard-earned annual holiday from the bank, and, onthe very first day of the fourteen allotted him, back came Dick fromabroad, bringing with him his friend Flint. After a remarkable displayof obstinacy on this gentleman's part, Dick had at last prevailed uponhim to leave his tenants to their own devices for one more week, andtarry by the Thames. But, though this was brought about by dint of hardpersuading, in the end Mr. Flint somehow saw his way to doubling theweek which at first he had grudgingly promised.
In his excuse it can only be urged that he enjoyed himself beyondexpectation. The weather was very nearly faultless, the river at itsbest, formalities few, and the ladies--charming. The lawn-tenniscourt--though several inches short--was quite of the billiard-tableorder. The music in the evenings, though it did not run in a man's head,possessed a certain odd, mysterious, soothing, saddening, pleasingquality, that silenced one at the time, and left an impression that MissEdmonstone could make her piano speak, if she tried. Perhaps it wasclassical music; very likely Chopin. Lastly--and last thing--thespirituous nightcap, though approached in a spirit of moderation, had away of imparting the proper Eucalyptian flavour to all reminiscences oflife among the gum-trees. Could there be better conditions for apleasant visit? Flint asked himself. And if the house was the smallesthe had ever stayed in, would not Castle Flint seem cheerless, vast,sepulchral, by comparison?
But indeed they were wonderfully bright and happy days: the ones on theriver, when, in the bushmen's phrase, they all "camped," and Flint madetea in true bush fashion, and Dick a "damper" which no one but bushmencould eat; the afternoons at tennis, spent in wonderfully keen, if notdeeply scientific, struggles; the morning at Hampton Court, when Flintowned himself completely "bushed" in the Maze, and when they were allphotographed on the Green, bringing away with them the atrocious resultin a gilt frame; and the day when Dick hired the four-in-hand (itcreated some sensation in the little road) and drove them all throughChertsey and Ascot, to Windsor, and back by Staines and Shepperton.
Certainly any outsider must have voted them a jovial, light-heartedparty, without a serious care to divide among them; and even Flint, whohad some power of observation, and also knew his friend thoroughly--evenFlint told himself that old Dick had got back his good spirits, and was,in fact, "getting over it." But Flint did not know. Ever since theirhurried interview on the 2nd of July, Dick had been as reticent as hehad then been communicative of all that lay nearest his heart.
Yet never for one moment did Dick forget. He had no wish to forget. Solong as he could keep his disappointment to himself, deep down withinhim, he would suffer and smile. For the sake of the others he could notrise in his place at the feast and declare himself the skeleton he felt.They must find it out sooner or later--then let it be later. Here histhoughts were all of his mother and Fanny; they would be heart-brokenwhen he told them of his determination to go back to Australia. But adetermination it was, growing more solid day by day, though as yet toldonly to Colonel Bristo, and that in the unguarded spontaneity of suddenemotion. But as for his people, better tell them just before hewent--say the week before, or why not on the very day of sailing? Whymake them unhappy before their time, when their happiness in having himback was still boundless?
After all, it would only be a temporary trouble; for Dick had evolved agreat scheme for the future, which was this: He would go out and buy asmall station in a first-rate district--at arm's length, indeed, fromtowns and railroads, but still just in touch with civilisation. Then hewould send home for them all. Yes, all. For Maurice would make an idealbook-keeper. Fanny would revel in the life, and Mrs. Edmonstone wouldcertainly prefer it to the small house at Teddington. This plan wasconceived, matured, calculated out, and found feasible, during the manylong summer nights wherein Dick never closed his eyes, when perhaps itwas well that there was this object of focus for his mind.
As for his attitude towards Flint, Dick was well aware that his accessof reserve, after the way in which he had unburdened his soul at theirfirst meeting, must appear strangely inconsistent. He had rushed to joinhis friend on the Continent, travelled with him for nearly a month, andnot told him another word of his affairs. It could not be helped; itwould be impossible to tell Flint anything of what had followed theirfirst talk at Teddington without making a clean breast of his discoverythat Miles the Australian was no other than Sundown the bushranger, andthis Dick would not tell a soul unless Miles broke faith with him. Leastof all would he confide in Flint, for Flint would be the very first toturn round and call him madman.
Nevertheless the days seemed to chase each other pleasantly enough forone and all, actually doing so for all but one; and, as always happensin such cases, the fortnight drew far too quickly to its close.
"To-day is Thursday--the Twelfth, by-the-bye--and here we are withinsight of Sunbury Lock; and on Monday, and ever afterwards, the bank; theblessed bank!"
This cheerful reminder proceeded (one day up the river) from the lipsand soul of the man in the stern, who was steering. There was asympathetic groan from the man in the bows, who was smoking. The workinghalf of the crew received the observation, which was thrown outgratuitously to all, in business-like silence, broken only by the flashof four sculls as one, and the swish of the feather blades through theair. The groan in the bows was followed by a reflection of kindredpathos, delivered in a high key:
"We will call next Monday Black Monday; for to me it means Holyhead,Dublin, Kerry, and tenants! blessed tenants! But not for always," addedFlint suddenly; "I don't say 'ever afterwards;' why should you? Whyshould I be a slave to my Castle and you to your City? Why shouldn't weemigrate together?"
No one in the boat could see the speaker's face; it was impossible totell whether he was jesting or serious.
"Oh, I'm game!" cried Maurice, very much in earnest at once.
"Well, then, just hold on till I give Castle Flint the sack."
"Or until it is sacked about your ears," suggested stroke jerkily. "Butwhat nonsense you two are talking!"
"Not at all, Miss Edmonstone--if you will allow me. You can't expect aman to live out his life in troubled Ireland when there's a happyAustralia to go to: there, you know, you may combine the blessings ofliberty, equality, and Home Rule of the most advanced kind, with thepeculiar satisfaction of calling yourself a staunch Tory, and believingit! But as for our friend here, station life would add a year to hislife for every year the City is capable of shortening it. He'd make afirst-rate jackeroo."
"What is that?"
"What's a jackeroo? Oh, a young gentleman--for choice, the newest newchum to be found--who goes to a station to get Colonial experience. Hehas to work like a nigger, and revels in it, for a bit. If he is a blacksheep, and has the antique ideas of the Colonies held by those who senthim out to whiten him, his illusions may last a couple of days; if hehas read up Australia on the voyage, they will probably hold out alittle longer, while he keeps looking for what his book told him hewould find; the fact being that the modern bush life hasn't yet beendone into English. Meanwhile he runs up the horses, rides roundboundaries, mends fences, drives sheep to water--if it is a drought--andskins the dead ones, weighs out flour and sugar, cleans harness, campsanywhere, and lives on mutton and damper, and tea."
"But what does he get for all that?" asked Maurice, with visions ofmoney-bags.
"Rations and experience," replied Flint promptly. "When he's admitted tobe worth his salt he will be asked to make other arrangements. Then somestill newer new chum will be selected for the post, through theintroductions he has brought to the stock and station agents, and in histurn will drive his teeth into the dirty work of the station, which theordinary pound-a-week hands refuse, and so get his Colonial experience!"
"Thanks; I'll stop where I am," said Ma
urice.
"He isn't fair," said Dick, speaking for the first time. "You know youaren't fair, old chap, raking up your own case as typical, when it wasexceptional. Jackeroos are treated all right, and paid too, so long asthey're smart and willing--the two things needful. Come, I've been asquatter myself, and can't hear my class run down."
"You won't hear me defend the landlords on that ground," remarked Flint,who had contracted eccentric politics.
"Well," said Dick, experimentally, "if I go back to it, Maurice shall bemy jackeroo, and judge for himself whether you haven't painted us tooblack."
He shipped his oars. Flint was standing up with the boat-hook to pilotthem through the open lock-gates.
"Then I'll ride the boundaries!" cried Fanny, who sat a horse like aleech, but had had no mount for years.
"In that case," added Flint quietly, "I'll apply for overseer's billet,with the right of sacking slack hands."
For a moment Dick looked really pleased: this jesting about a station inAustralia was, so far, feeling the way, and might make matters a trifleeasier when the time came. But the smile quickly faded from his face. Intruth, on no day during these last weeks had he been so troubled inspirit, so tossed between the cross-currents of conflicting feelings.
That morning he had received two letters, apparently of contrarycharacter: for while the perusal of one gratified him so intensely thathe could not help handing it round for them all to see, the mere sightof the other was sufficient to make him thrust the unopened envelopehurriedly into his pocket.
The first letter was indeed a matter for congratulation, for it was themost completely satisfactory, though not the first, of several similarcommunications which Dick had received since his return from Australia.It was a short note from the editor of the "Illustrated BritishMonthly," accepting (for immediate use: a great point) a set of sketchesentitled "Home from Australia," which set forth the humours and trialsof a long sea voyage, and were, in fact, simply a finished reproductionof those sketches that had delighted the passengers on board the Hesper.But it was more than a mere formal acceptance: besides enclosing acheque (in itself a charming feature) to meet the present case, the notecontained a complimentary allusion to the quality of the "work," and adistinct hint for the future. This in a postscript--observing that asAustralian subjects were somewhat in demand since the opening of theColonial Exhibition--he (the editor) would be glad to see anythingthoroughly Australian that Mr. Edmonstone might chance to have ready.
Of course the precious note was read aloud, and greeted with cries ofdelight. Fancy an opening with the "Illustrated British" at this stage!What could be better? And it did look like a real opening. The hero ofthe moment alone sat silent; the unread letter in his pocket checked hisspeech; it was from Yorkshire.
"Why did you ever leave us, when you can do so splendidly here at home?"Mrs. Edmonstone asked him, half in regret for the past, half in joy forthe future.
Flint saw his friend's preoccupation, and answered for him.
"He didn't know it was in him till he got out there, I fancy. I rememberhim sending his first things to the Melbourne and Sydney papers; andbefore a year was out, his famous buck-jumping picture was stuck up inevery shanty in New South Wales and Victoria."
"Eh?" said Dick, looking up abruptly. "Oh, they coloured it vilely! Whatdo you say, mother? No, I say, don't jump to conclusions. How do youknow I can do any real good? I've been lucky so far, but I'm only at thevery, very beginning. I may fail miserably after all. And then whereshould I be without my little pile?"
After breakfast Dick read the letter from Yorkshire in his own room.
"At the risk of being unduly persistent," wrote Colonel Bristo, "I mustask you to reconsider your decision." (Dick had refused a short butpressing invitation the week before.) "I know something of your reasonsfor refusing, and I believe them to be mistaken reasons. If you havereally settled to return to Australia, that is all the more reason whyyou should come. If you like, I will undertake not to press you to staybeyond one day; only do come to bid us good-bye. Do not, however, fearto offend me by a second refusal. I shall be grievously disappointed,but nothing more. We really want you, for we shall be short of guns; twoof the men only stay till Monday, so come on that day. But apart fromall this, I am very sure that your coming will make the days a littleless dull and dreary for one of us. Everything else has failed."
The letter ended abruptly. Dick read it through twice, and put it backin his pocket with a full heart.
But what was he to do? Here was the good Colonel honestly trying, in hisown way, to set matters right between him and Alice; but it was achildlike, if not a childish way--a way that ignored causes and refusedto realise effects.
Dick trusted he was no such fool as to be affected by the hope thatbreathed in the Colonel's letter. The Colonel was confessedly unversedin women's ways--then why did he meddle? Surely it would have been morenatural, more dignified, to send him, Dick, to the deuce, or to theColonies--they were much the same thing in the Old Country--than towaste another thought on the man whom his own daughter (who could surelyjudge for herself) had chosen to jilt? Dick savagely wished that theformer had been his treatment; and, rowing down from Sunbury thatafternoon, he was so far decided that the phrases of his refusal were inhis head. Call it rude, churlish, obstinate; he was obstinate, and waswilling to own it; he had refused the Colonel once, and that refusalshould be final.
Nevertheless, he was absent and distrait all day, whereas the otherswere in rather higher spirits than usual, and the contrast wasuncomfortable. Dick therefore invented an excuse for running up to town,promising himself a quiet corner of his club, in which to write to theColonel and pull himself together. He needed pulling together: he wasyearning to see Alice again--perhaps only to ask her forgiveness and bidher good-bye--yet vowing between his teeth to see her no more; he wouldnot be entirely himself until his refusal was penned and posted.
He walked absently to the station, forgot his change at theticket-office, and jumped into the nearest compartment of the firsttrain that came in. A man and a woman got into the same compartment.Dick did not see them, for he was attempting to interest himself in anevening paper; but he could not help hearing their voices as they satopposite him in close conversation. And, hearing, Dick was startled. Hispulse beat violently; his fingers tightened upon the edges of thenewspaper.
"His fine friends," the man was saying, "are gone into the countrysomewhere. We must find out where."
The tones were Jem Pound's.
"Why?" asked the same woman's voice that Dick had heard in Bushey Park.
"Because if Ned Ryan hasn't fled the country, that's where he is!"
"But he has gone back to Australia."
"Not he! He daren't go out there again. He'd be a fool to do it if hedared. No, no. He cleared out o' this because of you and me. He crackedhe was going out there again, because he knew we'd come asking after himand they'd tell us that yarn. But he's no more gone than I have. Markme, missis, we'll find him at this here Colonel's country place! But wemust find the place first."
Dick did not lower his paper until the train reached Waterloo. Longbefore that his mind was filled with one absorbing idea. A swift butcomplete reaction had taken place within him; he was charged withnervous energy and primed with impatience. Some of the impatience heworked off in a rapid walk to his club, where he answered ColonelBristo's note in a dozen words; but one idea continued in fiercepossession of his mind, to the exclusion of all others.