WALLY
But when the world went wild with Spring
What days we had! Do you forget?
—_V. J. Daley._
BEFORE the homestead the lawn stretched smoothly away, its green expanse
broken here and there by a gay flower bed or a mass of shrubbery. Tall
palms tossed their feathery heads aloft, above lower growing roses and
tumbling masses of creepers. The mellow brick of the house itself was
half concealed beneath a mantle of ivy and Virginia creeper, while, on
the verandah posts, masses of tecoma and bougainvillæa made a blaze of
colour. Beyond the garden fence the water of the lagoon could be seen—a
blue gleam, studded with lazily swimming waterfowl. Further off, the
yellow grass seemed to tremble under a mist of shimmering heat.
Jim came in from the paddocks, welcoming the silent coolness of the
house after the blazing sun of the parched outer world. No one was
visible in any of the rooms into which he poked an inquiring head.
Finally the sound of Wally’s laugh guided him to the side verandah, and
he made his way thither through the French windows of the
breakfast-room.
It was always cool on the side verandah after the morning sun had
considerately mounted so high that a great pine tree flung its shade
across that part of the house. The verandah was very wide, with a low
trellis fencing it in from the lawn. Just now its lattice work was
covered with nasturtiums and sweet peas, which even sent intrusive
tendrils creeping across the red tiles of the floor. On the posts hung
clusters of climbing roses, so thick that all the verandah seemed a
bower, the green of the garden blending with the ferns that were planted
in tubs here and there. Rugs lay on the tiles, and here were tables,
littered with books and magazines, and big rush easy chairs and lounges,
made more inviting by red cushions. Altogether, the side verandah was a
pleasant place, and the Billabong folk were accustomed to spend a great
deal of time there in the summer days and the long, hot evenings.
Norah and Jean were at present occupying a wide lounge, the former
curled up in a corner, sewing violently at a rent in one of Jim’s white
coats, while Jean spread herself over the remaining portion, with a book
in her hand, to which she was paying very little attention. Wally, at
full length on another couch, was discoursing on many topics, in his own
cheerful way, to the huge delight of Mrs. Brown, whose affection for him
was unbounded. A huge bowl of peas was in her lap, and Wally was resting
after the fatigue of assisting her to shell them.
“Here’s old Jimmy!” he said, as Jim’s long form came through the French
window. “You look warm, old man. Have this couch, won’t you?”
“Couldn’t think of turning you out, old chap,” Jim answered grinning.
“I was always a beggar to struggle,” said Wally, thankfully settling
himself anew. “Fearful visions were in my mind of how I should bear it
if you should accept my heroic offer. Is it warm outside, Jim?”
“Warm!” said Jim, briefly expressive. He dropped into an easy chair,
carefully casting the cushions far from him—cushions not being part of
his creed. “It’s a fierce day. I don’t envy Dad and the men, tailing
into Cunjee behind those cattle.”
“Did you go far with them, Jim?” Norah asked.
“No—only to the second gate. They didn’t need me at all; only Dad
wanted to give me directions about some bullocks he wants moved. We’ll
have to do that presently, Wal.”
“Certainly,” said Wally, affably. “Judging by my feelings just now, I
don’t think I’ll be alive presently, so I can promise without any
trouble. Are there many, James, and is it far?”
“Only two, worse luck,” Jim answered. “Two can generally be relied upon
to give more trouble than two hundred. It isn’t far, but you can be
pretty certain that they’ll make it far.”
“Cheerful brute you are!” Wally ejaculated. “Well, I’m ready any time
you are, old man, though I think it would be kind to the cattle not to
disturb them until the cool of the evening!”
“I like your kind forethought for the bullocks,” Jim told him, laughing.
“They’d appreciate it, I know. You’ll end up as a philanthropist, if
you’re not careful, Wally. Unfortunately we’ve a job with the sheep for
the time you mention, so the cattle must come first—it’s very certain
that we wouldn’t get a move out of the sheep just now.”
Wally sighed heavily.
“It’s a laborious life I lead,” he said, stretching his long limbs on
the couch. “I come up here with beautiful hopes of getting fat, and I
always go back about two stone lighter. Norah, I wish you wouldn’t sew
so hard; it makes a fellow ache to see you.”
“Jim will ache if this coat isn’t ready,” said Norah, stitching
vigorously. “His coats are in a dreadful state—there isn’t one cool one
that doesn’t need mending. As far as Brownie and I can tell he seems to
have locked them away carefully whenever he tore them. Why did you do
it, Jimmy?”
“An’ me ready an’ willin’ as ever was to mend ’em,” Brownie said; “an’
now Miss Norah’s doin’ of it, poor lamb! Why did you, Master Jim?”
“Blessed if I know,” said Jim, somewhat embarrassed. “I didn’t know the
jolly things weren’t all right. Sorry—but it’s ripping practice for
you, Nor., all the same. You can tell old Miss Winter I kept you up to
the mark with your needle!”
“M-f!” said Norah, with much scorn in the terse remark. “In the
circumstances, Brownie, does he deserve a cool drink?”
“He don’t, but I expect he’ll have to get it,” said Brownie, laughing.
She rose with the deliberate majesty that pertains to seventeen stone.
“There’s a new brew of lemonade coolin’ in the cellar, and I’ll bring a
jug along.”
“Bless you, Brownie, you’re my best friend,” said Jim. “You needn’t
bring any for the others—they haven’t earned it.”
“Haven’t I!” said Wally, indignantly. “Why, I’ve shelled peas until my
brain reeled! And I believe it’s hotter to be inside on a day like this
than out in the paddocks, so you needn’t be superior, James.” He
stretched himself, letting one brown hand fall on the railing of the
verandah. “I don’t think——”
He broke off suddenly, twisted himself off the lounge, and was on his
feet with one quick movement. Jim’s stock whip dangled from the arm of
his chair; Wally snatched it and struck furiously at a lithe form that
slid off the railing with a sinuous wriggle, and fell to the ground
beneath. The boy vaulted over the trellis as it fell, and thrashed
violently among the nasturtiums below. It was all done so quickly that
the others were scarcely on their feet before he hooked the still
writhing body of a black snake out of the creepers, and tossed it out on
to the lawn.
“You didn’t lose much time, young Wally!” said Jim, approvingly. “Fancy
that brute getting up here! Lucky you spotted him.”
“’M,” said Wally. Something in his tone made Norah swing round sharply.
“Wally! He didn’t bite you?”
“He did then,” said Wally. Something of the colour had died out of his
tanned face, but his voice was steady.
“Old man!” said Jim. Then he shut his lips tightly, and dived into his
pocket for his knife.
Wally took the verandah steps in one stride, and was beside him.
“I’ll do the chopping,” he said. “Lend me that, old chap. Is it sharp?”
Jim nodded.
“Slip round to Brownie,” he said, sharply, to Norah. “She knows where
the permanganate is—there’s some in the store, and some in the office.”
Norah’s racing feet sounded in the hall almost before he had spoken, and
he turned back to his chum.
“Would you rather do it, old man?” he asked.
Wally nodded, without speaking. There were two punctures plainly visible
on the lean hand he steadied on the verandah rail.
“Parallel cuts,” said Jim. “Quick, Wal.” He flung a hasty command over
his shoulder to Jean. “The men are at the stables—tell them I want the
dog-cart with the cobs, as hard as they can tear!”
The knife was razor-edged, and Wally did not flinch. He cut deep and
quickly, the blood spurting in the track of the blade. Jim was already
busy with a ligature on his arm, tightening it with a stick twisted
almost to breaking point. As the last cut went home, and Wally put down
the knife, Jim caught his hand and bent down to it. Wally uttered a
sharp exclamation, struggling.
“Get out, you old idiot! I’ll suck my own blessed hand!”
He tried to wrench his hand away, but the grasp on his wrist was iron.
Jim’s lips were on the wound, sucking it furiously.
“Oh, Lord, I wish you wouldn’t!” said Wally, miserably. “I can do it
perfectly well myself; and you may have a scratch about your mouth. For
goodness sake, stop it, old man! What’s the good of two of us getting
the dose?”
Jim, being otherwise engaged, did not answer. He continued his
operations strenuously, deaf to Wally’s entreaties, until Norah came
flying back with Brownie in the rear.
“Here are the crystals, Jim!”
The boy caught at the little bottle. Then he saw Brownie’s distressed
face, and gave them to her.
“You get ’em ready,” he said, briefly. “I’ll go on sucking for a moment.
Hurry the men, Norah!”
Almost by the time the permanganate crystals were worked into a paste
and rubbed into the cut about the punctures, the horses were in the
stable yard. Every man on Billabong liked the merry Queensland
boy—there were willing hands at every buckle of the harness that was
flung upon the brown cobs in breathless haste. The dog-cart, with Murty
O’Toole on the box, clattered to the front of the house—to the little
group that had been so merry when the shadow of death had suddenly fell
upon it.
Wally’s face was a little strained. The tightness of the ligature was
telling upon him, more than the snake bite itself. But he grinned up at
Murty in his old way.
“I’m giving you plenty of trouble, Murty,” he said. “Silly ass, to go
patting a snake at my time of life!”
“Begob, it might happen to the owldest of us,” said Murty, consolingly.
“Ye have that bandage tied tight, Mr. Jim?”
“He has that!” said Wally, ruefully. “Don’t you worry about Jim when it
comes to tying a ligature. My hand will drop off soon, I should say!”
“Y’can have it loosened just f’r a minute, presently,” said Murty. “Whin
it’s been on half an hour it’s due f’r a spell. Begob, I’ll bet it hurts
y’, me boy!”
“Oh—some,” said Wally, briefly. He glanced at his hand, swollen and
purple under the bandage Brownie had wrapped about the part that had
been bitten. “Pretty looking object, isn’t it? Well, I do think I was a
chump! That beggar must have been lying along the rail for ever so
long!”
“Y’ had no business to go killin’ it before ye attinded to y’r hand,”
said Murty. “Much better have let him get away on us than wait. Never
mind, there ain’t much time lost, an’ y’r as healthy as a rabbit. We’ll
have y’ right as rain in no time.”
“Oh, I guess so,” said Wally. Then Jim came plunging out, Norah and Jean
at his heels.
“Here’s your hat, old man,” Jim said, clapping it on its owner’s head.
“The girls are coming in with us. Hurry along—we don’t want to lose any
time.” He made as though to help his chum into the dog-cart, and Wally
grinned at him.
“What are you after?” he asked, swinging himself up with one hand. “I’m
not a dead man yet. Come on, you old nursemaid!” He waved his hat
cheerily to Brownie, whose kind old face was working with anxiety.
“Don’t go worrying, Brownie—I’ll be back for tea! May I have pikelets
if I’m a good boy?”
“You’ll have everything I can make for you,” said poor Brownie, tears in
her eyes as she looked at the merry, defiant face. “Only come back all
right, my dear!” Murty gave the cobs their heads, and they shot down the
drive. It was but fifteen minutes from the moment Wally had put his hand
on the black intruder lying along the railing of the trellis.
A man was waiting at each gate; there was no delay of opening and
shutting. Murty swung the horses through the narrow openings, shaving
gateposts by a hair’s breadth, but never slackening speed. Out on the
road, the brown cobs felt the unaccustomed indignity of the whip on
their backs, and resented it by trying to bolt; but the hand on their
mouths was rigid, and they came back from a gallop to a flying trot,
that spun over the long miles to Cunjee. The shining tyres flashed in
the sunlight. Now and then sparks flew from flints hard smitten by the
racing, iron-shod hoofs.
Wally kept up a plucky attempt at chatter for awhile. Then he grew
silent, nursing his swollen arm in a fruitless effort to relieve the
agony caused by the checked circulation. Jim loosened the ligature
momentarily, after a time, and the relief was great; but it had to be
tightened again, and gradually the boy’s set lips grew white. Once he
spoke, in a low voice.
“I say, old chap,” he said. “If things go wrong, you’ll let them know
all about it up at home, won’t you? Tell ’em it was all my own
stupidity.”
“You shut up,” returned Jim, gruffly. “Things aren’t going wrong—we’ve
got you in loads of time.”
“Oh, I know. I’m not expecting them to,” Wally answered. “Still, there’s
the chance. Don’t forget, old Stick-in-the-mud.” He pulled Norah’s hair
gently, and demanded to know why she was so quiet. “Something unusual to
have you civil for so long at a stretch!” he told her, laughing—to
which Norah tried to make a cheerful retort, but choked instead, and
averred that she had swallowed a fly.
“Hard lines on the fly!” said Wally. “See—there’s your father!”
He pointed ahead to a blur of dust on the track, which resolved itself
into Mr. Linton and two men, riding slowly behind some cattle. Murty
glanced over his shoulder at the same instant.
“Will I pull up, Mr. Jim?”
“Just for a moment,” Jim said, hesitating. “Dad won’t want much of an
explanation.”
Not much was needed. The racing hoofs and the grave faces told their own
story, as Mr. Linton checked his horse beside the road. Jim was brief,
in answer to his father’s hasty question.
“What’s wrong?”
“Snake,” he said. “He got Wally on the hand. We’re off to Dr. Anderson.”
“You’ve done all you can, of course?” Mr. Linton asked quickly.
“Yes—everything. Haven’t lost any time, either.”
“Well, Anderson’s not there,” Mr. Linton said. “I saw his motor going
out along the Mulgoa road half an hour ago. But go in; Mrs. Anderson may
know what to do, or where to send for him. Murty can go for him.
Meanwhile, I’ll see if I can catch him now; there’s no knowing where he
may have pulled up. You’ve got stimulants?”
“Two Thermos flasks of strong black coffee,” Norah said.
“That’s right. Don’t wait. Keep up your pecker, Wally, my boy.” The big
man smiled at Wally affectionately. “We’ll have you all right soon, my
dear lad.”
“I guess it’ll take a tough snake to kill me,” Wally answered. “I’m all
serene, sir.” The buggy whirled away again as Mr. Linton wheeled his
horse and went off at a hard gallop.
“Jove, old Monarch can travel!” said Wally, approvingly. A jolt shook
his swollen hand, and his lips tightened again.
Mrs. Anderson could give but a vague idea of her husband’s movements,
nor was there any one in the township able to do more to help the
patient. Murty dashed off on a fresh horse in search of the doctor; and
the four from Billabong sat in the shade of a big oak tree and tried to
talk—three watching covertly all the time for any new symptoms on
Wally’s part. After a while his eyes grew heavy, and Norah brought a
flask of coffee, strong and black, and dosed him at short intervals. The
boy made a brave fight to help them.
“This won’t do,” he said, after a while. “I’ll be asleep in five minutes
if I stay here. Get a pack of cards and we’ll play cribbage.”
They played on a rug in the shade—Jim and Jean against Norah and Wally,
the latter playing with one hand and occasionally cracking a laborious
joke, almost in the midst of which his head would nod to one side. He
always recovered himself with a jerk, and, despite his drowsiness, he
played with a keen quickness that shamed the others, who made the most
egregious mistakes with a total lack of concern as to their score. It
was long before Norah could ever again bear the sight of a cribbage
board.
Jim flung down his cards at last, his voice shaking.
“Well, I can’t stand this,” he said. “Hang that man! Will he ever come?
Let’s walk up and down, Wal., old man.”
They went up and down, up and down, along the garden path, in the hot
air, heavy with the scent of the doctor’s flowers—all the time fighting
the fatal drowsiness that threatened to overcome the boy they loved.
Mrs. Anderson kept the supply of coffee ready, and Wally took it
obediently whenever it was brought to him.
“If this blessed hand would only let me do anything, I’d be all right,”
he said sleepily. “I’d give something to be able to use an axe! Norah,
asthore, will you stick hatpins into me if I get any more stupid? I’m
not going to sleep, if I have to stick them into myself!”
Then, just as they were becoming sick with anxiety and the long
watching, came the far-off hum of a hurrying car, and presently little
Dr. Anderson swung round the corner, pulled up with a sudden jar that
would ordinarily have caused him extreme wrath, and came through his
garden at a run. He cast a swift professional eye over Wally.
“Good children!” he said, approvingly. “Come along to the surgery, my
boy; you, too, Jim. You girls go and let the wife take care of you.”
But Norah could not talk to any one just then. The long strain had been
too heavy a burden. She watched the three figures vanish within the
surgery door, the doctor’s hand on Wally’s shoulder, and then turned and
went blindly down a winding path. It ended in a fence. She put her head
down upon it, swallowing hard, dry sobs. Jean put an arm round her,
silent. There was not anything to say.
Within the surgery Wally had faced the little doctor.
“I say, sir,” he said, moistening dry lips, “you won’t let me make a
fool of myself if things get a bit beyond me, will you?”
“I will not,” said the doctor, sturdily. “But they won’t—don’t talk
nonsense!” He was unwrapping the hand swiftly. “Catch this bottle, Jim.”
Very long after—so it seemed to Norah and Jean—a quick step came down
the path behind them.
“Your nice brown lad is all right,” said Mrs. Anderson, happily. “Jack
says there’s no risk now. Everything was done in time. We’ll keep him
here to-night, just to watch him, and Jim will stay with him. Mr. Linton
is waiting for you two lassies; and you can come back to-morrow, and
take Wally home for Christmas. Unless you like to leave him with me for
a month or so? I like that boy!”
“So does Billabong,” said David Linton’s voice, not quite steady. “We
can’t spare him to any one, can we, Norah?”
Norah shook her head. She clung to her father’s hand as they went back
to the house, where Jim waited on the verandah, his face still grave.
“The patient sends his love, and you’re none of you to worry,” he said.
“And you’re to tell Brownie to keep the pikelets for to-morrow!”
[Illustration: “Wally snatched it and struck furiously at a lithe form
that slid off the railing with a sinuous wriggle, and fell to the ground
beneath.”]