The news of Westonley's sudden death was a great shock to Gerrard. The
brief telegram from his half-sister had been forwarded to Port Denison,
and Lacey had sent it on to him at Fraser's Gully, by the mailman,
together with a copy of the _Clarion_, containing the telegraphed
account of the Dacre's bank failure. Had Gerrard looked at the
newspaper, he might perhaps have connected Westonley's sudden end with
the financial disaster, which had brought ruin to so many thousands of
Australian homes, for he knew that his brother-in-law banked at Dacre's.
But Mrs Westonley had said nothing of the cause of her husband's
death--“Edward died suddenly yesterday. Am writing you fully to-night to
Port Denison” was all that she had said.
“Dear old Ted!” he said as his eyes filled, and he saw before him the
great, bearded face with the kindly, mirthful eyes, and heard the deep,
gruff voice. “How can I tell Jim--the boy will be heartbroken.”
And Jim's grief almost unmanned “Uncle Tom,” as the boy now called him.
Putting the telegram in his pocket, he went down to the battery, where
his _protégé_ was being inducted into the mysteries of amalgamation by
Fraser.
“Jim,” he said quietly, “come along the creek with me for a bit of a
stroll.”
“Is your face paining you much this morning, Uncle Tom?” said the boy,
as they left the battery, and walked towards the creek, “you look quite
white.”
“No, sonny,” and he placed his hand affectionately on the boy's
shoulder, “my face isn't paining me, but I have a thundering big pain
in my heart, Jim--a pain which you must share with me. I have just had a
telegram 'from Marumbah--with very, very sad news.”
“Is it about Mary?” and the boy's lips quivered; “is she sick, Uncle?”
and then, with a gasp--“is she dead?”
“No, sonny, Mary is all right, but Mr Westonley is dead,” and then he
told him all that he could tell.
An hour later, when they returned to the house, and Kate Fraser wondered
why they looked so quiet and depressed, Gerrard told her of the news he
had received.
“Poor Jim!” she said, as she put her arms round the boy, who was trying
hard not to again break down.
Then Gerrard went on to say that he would now have to change his plans
somewhat.
“I must get back to Port Denison tomorrow, Miss Fraser. I want to send
some telegrams as well as letters. But as it will take my sister's
letter quite a fortnight to come from Marumbah, I shall put in most of
the time at Kaburie, and, if I may, also inflict myself upon your father
and yourself occasionally.”
“Do. We shall be so glad.”
Two days later he and Jim were back in Port Denison, and lunching with
Lacey at the Queen's Hotel. Then for the first time Gerrard heard of the
Dacre bank failure.
“It must have been a fearful shock to poor Ted,” he said to Lacey; “and
perhaps it was that that killed him, for, as you say, the bank suspended
on Saturday, and he died early on the Monday following. I fear he must
have been hit very badly by the smash, for he not only had a lot of
money in it, but was a big shareholder in the concern as well.”
“That's unfortunate, for yesterday's news gives further revelations of
the smash, which is the very worst that has occurred in the Colonies.
Every one thought that Dacre's bank was as solid as the rock of
Gibraltar.”
This intelligence disturbed Gerrard greatly--so much so that after lunch
he sent a telegram to Westonley's Melbourne agents--who were also his
own--and asked them if they could tell him how his sister would be
affected by the collapse of Dacre's. In a few hours he received an
answer--“Deeply regret to say everything will be swept away.”
“Poor Lizzie!” he said to Lacey after dinner, as they sat on the
verandah smoking; “this will be terrible news for her--if she does not
already know of it. Thank God, I can help her to some extent,” and he
meant to “help” her by giving her Kaburie, for which he had only a
few days previously sent Mrs Tallis a draft upon his bankers for six
thousand pounds.
“You were lucky not to have had anything in Dacre's.”
“Very, for Westonley was always cracking it up to me. He urged me
strongly only six months ago to buy a hundred shares--a pretty hole I
should be in now if I had taken the poor fellow's advice.”
“Yes, indeed. But no one ever dreamt of Dacre's being anything but one
of the soundest banks in the world It is a blackguardly affair--a cruel,
shameless fraud--and I hope that the men who are responsible for it will
each get seven years' hard labour.”
“They deserve it I suppose that Westonley, with Marumbah Downs, and
Comet Vale, and the funds he had in Dacre's was worth a hundred
thousand at least; and now my poor sister and little Mary Rayner will be
absolutely penniless. Thank heaven, I did not take his advice, but stuck
to the Capricornian Pastoralists' Bank.”
The editor of the _Clarion_ gasped and dropped his cigar. But he quickly
recovered himself, and turning his face away from Gerrard, puffed out
volumes of smoke most energetically, considering what he should do. He
soon decided. “Better tell him the grim truth at once,” he thought.
“Gerrard!”
The change in his voice struck his companion--it was low, grave, and
sympathetic.
“What is it, Lacey? Now, out with it. You have something unpleasant to
tell me, and don't like doing it. I'll bet you drinks that I can
guess what it is. I saw you start when I mentioned the Capricornian
Pastoralists' Bank. Has that 'busted' too?”
“Yes. It smashed yesterday as a result of the Dacre collapse. The news
was in my rag this morning.”
“Was it? I didn't look at the _Clarion_ to-day. Is it a bad case?”
“Very bad; about a shilling in the pound is all that will come out of
the wreck. Will you be hard hit?”
“Rather! Curls me up like a corkscrew. To pay Mrs Tallis her six
thousand pounds I gave a mortgage on Ocho Rios for five thousand pounds
as I only had about three or four thousand pounds in the Capricornian.
I'm deuced lucky that it wasn't more.”
He rose from his seat and paced angrily to and fro on the verandah for a
moment or two, then he stopped suddenly, and a smile lit up his scarred
face.
“What an ass I am, Lacey! The thing can't be helped, but only a little
while ago I had made up my mind to give Kaburie to my sister; and now I
can't pay for Kaburie, for my draft for six thousand pounds is worthless
to Mrs Tallis, and all the labouring of mustering and branding has gone
for nothing. Poor little woman! I am sorry for her! Isn't it a beastly
mess?”
“You think too much of others, Gerrard, and too little of yourself.”
“I don't! I'm very fond of being good to myself, I can assure you. But
a smack in the face like this is enough to make a saint swear like an
Australian Member of Parliament. Now, I bought Kaburie with the idea
of making it a breeding station--prize cattle and all that sort of
thing--for Ocho Rios. Then when I received this telegram from my agents
in Melbourne telling me that my sister would be left penniless, I made
up my mind to write to her by the next mail south, and tell her that
Kaburie was for her and my niece Mary. And another thing I wanted to do
was to give a man I know a good lift.” (He meant Fraser.) “And now I'll
be as good as stony-broke for the next two years.”
“I wish I could help you,” began Lacey, earnestly.
“Thanks, old man. It is awfully good of you, but I shall pull through
all right in the end, and with a good season or two should easily lift
the mortgage on Ocho Rios. All I am scared of now is a drought, but if
a drought does come, I can't stop it, and therefore, it is no use my
worrying about it.” He hoisted his feet upon the table, and touched
the bell for the waitress. “Well, thank heavens, Lacey, I still have
a thirst, and an iced brandy and soda is very soothing to the nerves.
Milly, bring the ice again please, and if you see the boy tell him to
come here.”
Jim soon appeared, still looking subdued and depressed.
“Sit down here, old son, and have a long drink of ginger ale with a lump
of ice in it,” and he put his hand on the boy's arm, and made him sit
down between himself and Lacey. “Jim, my son, I've just had some beastly
bad news. I've lost a lot of money, and you and I will have to work like
niggers when we get to Ocho Rios. Savvy?”
“Yes, Uncle Tom. I will work very, very hard for you.”
“For us both, Jim, and for Mary and Aunt Lizzie; for we are all in the
same boat I'll tell you the whole yarn by and by; but for the present
well talk about something else for a change.”
Lacey looked at him in silent admiration and wonder. “Nothing can
disturb the equanimity of such a serene mind,” he thought, “and I like
him for taking the youngster into his confidence like that.”
“I wonder what made Aulain leave so suddenly,” said Gerrard, as Milly
appeared with the ice, and the ginger ale for Jim. “It was strange of
him not to even leave a note for me.”
“Oh! when a man has fever he does very queer things. All he told me was
that he was off to Brisbane to tender his resignation in person, and as
that is against the regulations he hoped to be dismissed. He has been
very strange lately. I think that matters have gone wrong in a certain
quarter.”
Gerrard nodded. “I know. Well, I'm sorry if it is the case. She is a
bonny little lady.”
Milly again appeared. “If you please, Mr Gerrard, Sergeant Macpherson
would like to see you for a few minutes on important business.”
“All right, Milly! Ask him to come up. Jim, I hope you haven't been up
to any games while I was away.”
The local Sergeant of Police was shown up.
“Good evening, sir,” he said. “I have just had a wire from Cardwell from
Inspector Sheridan, saying that news had come through by the mail boat
from Somerset, that there has been a very bad bush fire up your way, and
Ocho Rios station is destroyed.”
“Any lives lost?”
“No, sir, but the fire spread all over the run for fifty miles about,
and your stockman thinks that there are hardly two hundred head of
cattle left I am sorry to bring you such bad news, sir.”
“Oh! don't apologise, Sergeant,” was the quiet reply, “I'm getting used
to bad news. Milly, bring a chair for Mr Macpherson, and another big
glass, and some more ice. Now sit down, Sergeant, and tell me all about
it. Jim, get off that railing, or you'll fall off into the street, and
break your leg. My luck is dead against me. Light your pipe, Sergeant,
and make yourself comfy.”