JERRY, JOURNALIST
In a small house, in a side street, on Moore Park, the woman who came to
Sydney with Glen Leigh, and the other two, had rooms. It had been
decided to call her Clara Benny, as it was necessary she should have a
name, and to install her here. Mrs. Dell, who kept the house, was a
widow, a respectable woman in reduced circumstances, and she had
promised to do what she could for her lodger. Clara could not understand
it. She wanted the three to be with her. They had always been together.
Why should they leave her alone? It was useless to try and explain, and
no attempt was made. Glen said it was necessary because they had to
work, and it would be better for her to have a kind motherly woman to
look after her; this made her more contented, and one of them called to
see her every day. Mrs. Dell was puzzled over her lodger; she fancied
she suffered from some brain trouble, but she liked her from the first,
and quickly came to love her; she looked upon her as a substitute for
her own girl, who had died of consumption at about the same age. Clara
repaid this affection, and in a very short time they became inseparable.
The money she received for her board and lodging was a great help to
Mrs. Dell, and Glen Leigh was always supplying some delicacy for the
table.
Bill Bigs succeeded in finding a small hotel to his liking in
Castlereagh Street. The seller came into some money, and sailing for
England, was glad to find a buyer at a reasonable price. The house was
in bad condition, but Bill, with his usual energy, quickly set to work,
and in a few weeks it was spick and span, clean and inviting. There was
a steady trade, and a fair number of customers frequented the
place--many theatrical, sporting and pressmen, with whom he became
popular.
Jerry Makeshift, of "The Sketch," found good copy in Bill. Jerry was
one of the most popular men in Sydney, a wonderfully clever black and
white artist, a born joker, and an excellent writer of highly
sensational news, in paragraphs, or columns, as required. He had one
failing, not an unusual one in these days. He was fond of his glass and
hilarious company, and as he always had a lot of admirers following in
his wake he soon brought genial customers to "The Kangaroo," as Bill
curiously named the place. Jerry Makeshift extracted from Bill much
interesting press matter about Boonara, and the district surrounding it;
also about the keepers of the fence.
The clever journalist was astounded at what he heard, especially about
the men on the rabbit-proof fence. In a hazy sort of way he had heard of
them before, but when Bill began to talk about them, with intimate
knowledge, Jerry opened his eyes.
"I'll introduce you to two of 'em," said Bill. "They are staying with
me. In fact they came to Sydney with me from the forsaken place. They
found the life too much for 'em, and you bet it must be awful when such
men as they throw it up."
"I'd like to meet them," replied Jerry. "How is it I have not done so
before?"
"Well, it's this way. They're busy. They've got a scheme in hand that I
suggested, and I think it's just the thing for 'em and will pay well,"
and he explained about the buckjumping exhibition.
"By Jove, that's a capital idea," said Jerry, who saw the possibilities
at once.
"You might be able to give it a lift," suggested Bill cautiously.
"Probably. I will if I can, but I must hear more about it," Jerry
answered.
"Come in to-night, and I'll introduce you to Glen Leigh. He's the chap,
a wonderful man, as straight as a die, big, strong, a rough customer,
but with the heart of a child when anything appeals to his better
nature. Why he went on the fence the Lord only knows. I remember him
arriving in Boonara. It caused quite a sensation. No one could make him
out then, and no one made him out before he left. A mystery man, that's
what he is. Don't forget to-night. I'll have a decent dinner for you,
and a bottle of the right stuff, and you can talk in my room to your
heart's content."
"That will suit me," said Jerry as he went out.
"He's a good sort," thought Bill. "He ought to be able to boom the show
when it starts."
Glen Leigh was averse to talking with strangers, but Bill persuaded him
to meet Jerry Makeshift.
"It's the fellow who draws those funny things that catch the eye on the
front page of 'The Sketch.' They're the cleverest things out, and 'The
Sketch' is the best paper of its kind in Australia. It goes all over the
place. It even got as far as Boonara," said Bill.
"And I've had many a copy in my hut," answered Glen. "I don't mind
meeting a man like that. He's out of the common. He can teach you
something."
"That's settled," said Bill. "He'll be here at seven, and mind you pitch
it him strong about the show. He'll ask you about work on the fence.
Tell him what it's like; he'll appreciate it."
Jerry Makeshift was punctual. He loved a good dinner and he sniffed
appreciatively as he came into the house. Jim Benny was away, so Glen
went upstairs with his companion, and they did full justice to Bill's
good things, which he laid himself out to supply.
Jerry at once saw that Glen Leigh was no ordinary man, and that he would
have to be handled in anything but an orthodox fashion. With his usual
skill in such matters he set to work to propitiate him, and succeeded so
well that at the end of the dinner Glen was talking freely to him. He
told him all about the glittering wire, of the awful loneliness of the
life, the terrible droughts, the millions of rabbits, how they died in
hundreds of thousands from lack of food, and their bones were piled up
in great heaps. He told of the losses of sheep and cattle, how squatters
were almost ruined, and had to borrow money to go on with. He pictured
the thousands of square miles of desolate land without a blade of
grass; then suddenly the rain fell in torrents and in twenty-four hours
came the glorious change from baked brown to verdant glistening green
which covered the earth like a brilliant carpet, dazzling the eyes, that
had been accustomed to dead colours for months at a stretch.
Then he went on to describe the life on the fence, the men, their varied
characters; some strange stories he told of crime and criminals that he
heard when he was one of the keepers. His language was plain and simple
so that every word hit home.
Jerry Makeshift listened with his eyes fixed intently on Glen Leigh's
face. As he talked he seemed to forget where he was; he was back again
in his old surroundings, in the hut, in Bill's shanty at Boonara. He
stopped suddenly. There must be no mention of Clara Benny, the woman in
the hut, or how they came to Sydney.
"I never heard such a thrilling, interesting, story before," said Jerry,
who knew he had discovered a storehouse of fresh copy in Glen Leigh.
Apart from this Leigh had won his wayward, roving nature completely.
Here was a man after his own heart, a man who had seen much and done
more, a worker at the hardest kind of work, who went grinding on in
solitude with no word of encouragement from a living soul.
Glen Leigh had made a staunch friend. He did not think he had done
anything, or said anything, out of the common. That was where he proved
so attractive to Jerry. The practised journalist knew every word he
heard was true, that no exaggeration was here. On the contrary the
reality must have been ten times worse than it was described.
"Tell me about this buckjumping show Bigs mentioned," said Jerry.
Glen smiled.
"Bill's sanguine, too sanguine, about that."
"I don't think he is. There are great possibilities in it," Jerry
answered.
"Maybe so, but it'll take a lot of working up."
"I'll do what I can for you," promised Jerry.
"You will! That's good of you. I reckon a few words from you, or a
sketch from your pen, goes a long way with the public," replied Glen.
Jerry laughed. There was not an atom of conceit about him.
"I do my best to amuse the public. I fancy I manage it all right
somehow, but heaven knows where the talent I possess comes from, for I
never had much education. I'm what they call self-taught."
"Then you were a better teacher than hundreds of men who profess to know
a heap of things," declared Glen.
"Perhaps so. A battle with the world when you're young is a good
education in itself," replied Jerry.
Glen told him how "The Sketch," and Jerry's drawings, were to be found
even on the fence and in Boonara.
"I've spent hours over 'em," he said. "The man who can make a keeper of
the fence laugh deserves a big pension for life."
Jerry pulled "The Sketch" out of his pocket.
"That's the latest. Just off the press. I'll leave it you."
A paper fell on the floor. Jerry picked it up.
"Have you seen this?" he asked.
"What is it?"
"Tattersalls' Hundred Thousand Pound Sweep on the Melbourne Cup. You
ought to try your luck in it," said Jerry.