orchard," he gulped. "Six or seven times I've nearly caught him an'
young Bray in it, but to-night I run 'em down, an' only they escaped
me I'd have give 'em the father of a skelpin'. If I ketch them there
again I'll bring 'em before the court an' give 'em three months; but
you being a neebur, I'd like to give you a show of keepin' him out
first."
The old dame, _à la_ herself, had been in the act of pouring milk and
sprinkling sugar on some boiled rice which frequently appeared on the
menu during Carry's week in the kitchen, previous to handing it to
Miss Flipp, but she waved her hand, thereby indicating that in so dire
an extremity we were to be trusted with the sugar-basin ourselves,--in
fact, that any laxity in this item would have to be let slide for
once.
After the manner of finely-strung temperaments with the steel in them,
which wear so well, and to the last remain as sensitive as a youth or
maiden, Mrs Martha Clay then rose from her seat, visibly trembling,
but with a flashing battle-light in her eyes.
"What have you got to say to this?" she demanded, turning on her
grandson.
"I never touched none of his bloomin' old oranges. It was Jack Bray,
it wasn't me."
"Yes," said she; "and if you was listening to Jack Bray it would be
you done it all, an' he who never done nothink. What's the charge, and
what damages have you laid on it?" she demanded of the accuser,
fixing him with a fiery glance.
"I ain't goin' to lay any damages this time, I only thought you'd
rather me warn you than not; I know I would with a youngster. I
suppose after all he ain't done no more than you an' me done in our
young days, an' my oranges bein' ripe so extra early was a great
temptation," familiarly said the man.
"Well, I don't know what _you_ done in your young days, but I know I
never took a pin that didn't belong to me, none of me children or
people neither; and as for Jim Clay, he wouldn't think of touchin' a
thing--he was too much the other way to get on in the world. An' it
ain't any fault of my rarin' that me grandson is hounded down a
vagabond," said the old lady in a tragic manner.
Seeing her fierce agitation, the lad's pursuer was alarmed and sought
to pacify her by further remarking--
"He ain't done nothink out of the way, an' I admit the oranges was a
great temptation."
The old lady snorted, and the colour of her face heralded something
verging on an apoplectic seizure.
"Temptation! If people was only honest and decent by keepin' from the
things that ain't any temptation, we'd be all fit for jail or a
asylum. Pretty thing, if he's only to leave alone that which ain't any
temptation to him! You could put other people's things before me, I
wouldn't take 'em, not if me tongue was hanging out a yard for 'em.
That's the kind of honesty that I've always practised to me neighbours
and rared into any one under me, and that's the only kind of honesty
that is honesty at all," she splendidly finished. "An' I'm very
thankful to you for informin' me. I wish you had caught him an'
skelped the hide off of him. It's what I'll do meself soon as I sift
the matter."
The old man bade good-night and departed with his stick.
"He's always sneakin' about the lanes, an' only poked his tongue out
at me w'en I wanted to know where he was," maliciously said Uncle Jake
in reference to his grand-nephew.
"Mean old hide, always likes to sit on any one when they're down,"
whispered Dawn and Carry to each other. "A pity Andrew hadn't two
tongues to stick out at him."
Miss Flipp was too dull to be aroused by even this disturbance. The
only time she showed any feeling was when her "uncle" paid her
clandestine visits. Her life seemed to be in a terrible tangle--more
than that, in a syrtis,--but I did not take a hand in further crushing
her. She had been kind to me during my indisposition, and except in
extreme cases, "live and let live" was an axiom I had learned to
carefully regard. Knowledge of the slight chance of circumstances or
opportunity--which too frequently is the only difference between a
good person and a bad one, success and failure--reminds one to be very
lenient regarding human frailty.
"Now, me young shaver! I'll deal with you," said grandma, turning to
Andrew, in whom there appeared to be left no defence. Never have I
seen so old a woman in such a towering rage, and rarely have I seen
one of seventy-five with vigour sufficiently unimpaired to feel so
extremely as she gave evidence of doing.
"This is the first time anythink like this ever happened in my family,
and if I thought it wouldn't be the last I believe I'd kill you where
you are."
Andrew emitted no sound, he had given himself up with that calmness
one evinces when the worst is upon them--when there is nothing further
beyond.
"Go off to bed as you are without a bit to eat," she continued,
plucking at her little collar as though to get air. "To-morrow I'll
see the Brays about this, and I'll skelp the skin off of you. I'd do
it now, only there's no knowing where I'd end, I feel that terrible
upset. What would Jim Clay think now, I wonder? You God-forsaken young
vagabond, bringin' disgrace upon me at this time of me life. I'd be
ashamed to walk up town and give me vote as I was lookin' forward to,
and me grandson nearly in jail for stealing. _Stealing_! It's a nice
sounding word in connection with one of your own that you've rared
strict, ain't it? You snuffed up mighty smart when I asked you your
doings, now it comes out why you couldn't account for 'em. 'Might as
well be in a bloomin' glass case as have to carry a pocket-book round
an' make a map of where he's been,' sez he. It appears a map of your
doin's wouldn't pass examination by the police. How would you have
been makin' a honest way in the world if I wasn't here to be
responsible for you?"
"Oh, grandma!" said Dawn, seeking to calm her, lest the excitement
would be too much. "After all it mightn't be so bad. Lots of boys take
a few paltry oranges out of the gardens and no one makes such a fuss
but that old creature. He just wants to be officious." This was an
injudicious attempt at peace.
"Is that you speakin', Dawn? '_Lots of boys do it._' Perhaps you will
also say, 'Lots of girls come home with a baby in their arms.' Once
you get the idea in your head that there's no harm because lots do it,
you're on a express train to the devil. Lots of people do things and
some don't, and that's the only difference between the vagabonds I've
never been, and the decent folk I'd cut me throat if I wasn't among.
An' you're the last person I ever would have thought would have upheld
a _thief_!"
"Well, grandma!" protested Dawn, "I don't uphold him. I'm ashamed to
be related to him, but don't make yourself ill now. Sleep on it, and
to-morrow give him rats."
"Remember this," continued grandma, "an' carry the knowledge through
life with you, that I can't make your character for you. Each one has
to make their own, but seeing the foundation you've been give, makes
you a disgrace to it. It takes you all your time for years an' years
puttin' in good bricks to make a good character, but you can get rid
of it for ever in one act, don't forget that; an' remember that
belongin' to a respectable family won't stop you from bein' a thief.
You are very quick to talk about some of these poor rag-tag about
town, an' I suppose you an' Jack Bray thought you couldn't be the
same, but you've found out your mistake! Go to bed now, and I'll
leather you well to-morrer," she concluded encouragingly; and Andrew
lost no time in taking this remand, looking, to use his own
expression, as though he had the "pip."
"Dear me!" sighed the old lady, "them as has rared any boys don't know
what it is to die of idleness an' want of vexation. If it ain't
somethink beyond belief, one might be that respectable theirself they
could be put in a glass case, an' yet here would be a young vagabond
bringin' them to shame before the whole district."
"But I don't see that he has done anything very terrible," hazily
interposed Miss Flipp.
"Good gracious! If he had been cheekin' some one or playin' a
far-fetched joke, I might be able to forgive him, but there must be
reason in everythink, an' to go an' meddle with other's property is
carryin' things too far. 'Heed the spark or you may dread the fire,'
is a piece of wisdom I've always took to heart in rarin' _my_ family,
and I notice them as are inclined to look leniently on evil, no matter
how small, never come out the clean potato in the finish," trenchantly
concluded the old woman; and Miss Flipp was so disconcerted that she
immediately retired to her room, but noticed by no one but me.
Probably the poor girl, if gifted with any capacity for retrospection,
wished that she had heeded the spark that she might not now be in
danger of being consumed by the fire.
TWELVE.
SOME SIDE-PLAY.
As Andrew was banished, and grandma determined to retire to ponder
upon his sin, she waived it being Carry's week in the kitchen and
consequently her duty to prepare supper coffee, and suggested that we
younger women should all go to the meeting, but Miss Flipp refused on
the score of a headache.
"Poor creature!" observed grandma, "I think she's afraid of a attack
of her old complaint, she looks that terrible bad, and don't take
interest in anythink. She wants rousin' out of herself more. She ain't
a girl that will confide anythink to one, but her uncle is comin' up
again to-morrer, an' I think I'll speak to him."
When Carry, Dawn, and I arrived at the Citizens' Hall, Ernest was
already waiting to act groom, while Larry Witcom also accidentally
hovered near. He quite as casually took possession of Carry, so there
was nothing for a common individual like myself but to become
extremely self-absorbed, so that my keen observation might not be an
interception of any interest likely to circulate between the knight
and the lady. The latter seemed to be in one of her contrary moods, so
attached herself to me like a barnacle, settled me in a seat one from
the wall, and peremptorily indicating to Ernest that he was to take
the one against it, put herself carefully away from him on the
outside. A wag would have arranged the party to suit himself, but that
was beyond Ernest. He meekly sat down beside me, with a helplessness
possible only to the sturdiest athlete in the room when in the hands
of a fair and wilful maid. I could have come to his rescue, but deemed
it wiser not to thrust him upon Dawn for the present. We had arrived
very early, so there was time for conversation. Encouraged by me,
Ernest leant forward and addressed a few remarks to Dawn, which she
received so coolly that he distraitly talked to me instead, and as
people began to gather, above the majority towered the fair head and
striking profile of him I had first seen dealing in pumpkins, and who
was colloquially known as "Dora" Eweword. Dawn beckoned him to the
seat beside her, which he took with alacrity, a rollicking laugh and a
crimsoning face, which, in conjunction with a double chin, bespoke the
further partnership of a large and well-satisfied appetite.
"I haven't seen you for an age," said Dawn with unusual graciousness.
"Are you sure you wanted to see me?" he inquired, with an amorous
look.
Dawn used her bewitching eyes of blue in a laughing glance.
"You know you only have to give me the wink and you'll see me as often
as you want," straightforwardly confessed "Dora"; but Dawn having
encouraged him to a certain distance, had a mind to bring him no
nearer.
"I don't care if I never saw you again," she said bluntly, "but
grandma likes yarning with you, that's why I inquired."
"Dora" looked very red in the face indeed.
"How's Miss Cowper?" mercilessly pursued Dawn, going to the point
about which she was curious, as is characteristic of swains and maids
of her degree. "I hope she's well."
"So do I," said Eweword.
"You used to ask after her health about twice a-day. I thought you
would be taking her to Lucerne Farm to relieve your anxiety;" and in
response to this "Dora" sealed his fate, as far as my feeling any
compunction whether he singed his wings or not in the light of Dawn's
bright candle, for he said with a touch of bravado--
"Oh, I was only pulling her leg."
To do the man justice he did not seem down to the full unmanliness of
this statement; it appeared more one of those nasty and idle remarks
to which all are prone when in a tight corner, and speaking on the
spur of the moment.
"Oh, was that all!" said Dawn mockingly. "It was very nice of you. Are
you always so kind and thoughtful?"
"I'm thinking of clearing out to Sydney in a day or two, I've spent
enough time loafing. The only thing that has kept me here so long is
that I wanted to hear how Les. got on in his maiden speech. We're not
much to each other, but when a fellow has no one belonging to him he
feels a claim on the most distant connection," said Ernest on the
other side of me. His interest in Leslie Walker's maiden speech had
been developed as suddenly as his opinion that he had spent enough
time in a boat on the river Noonoon.
The connection he mentioned between himself and the candidate about to
speak was that old Walker, whose only son the latter was, had married
a widow with one son, by name Ernest Breslaw. Both these parents were
now dead, leaving the step-brothers as their only offspring. The lads
had been reared together, and though of utterly different tastes and
callings, a mutual regard existed between them. Walker had passed his
examinations at the bar, and Breslaw had been trained to electrical
engineering, but both being wealthy, neither followed their
professions except in a nominal way. Walker had put in his time in
society, motoring, flirting, travelling, dabbling in the arts, and
building a fine town mansion, while Ernest had spent all his time in
athletic training, with the result that Walker had fallen a prize in
the marriage arena, while Ernest was yet in full possession of his
bachelorhood.
Any further conversation was out of the question, as the candidate--a
smart, clean-shaven man with clearly cut features--now appeared, and
announced himself by removing his new straw "decker," and calling
out--
"Ladies and gentlemen, before we begin I would like to follow the
democratic principle of asking you to choose a chairman from among
yourselves."
"We propose Mr Oscar Lawyer!" called several voices, naming a popular
townsman, and this being seconded, the candidate and the people's
chairman, two very gentlemanly-looking men for the hustings, ascended
to the stage side by side.
The chairman took up a position behind a little red table supporting a
water-bottle and smudgy tumbler, while Leslie Walker sat on another
chair at the end of it.
Many members of parliament, having risen to their position from
coal-heaving or hotel-keeping, when going on the war-path a second
time, take great pains to get themselves _up_ in accordance with
their idea of the dignity of their office. Many old fellows, roaring
"Gimme your votes, I'm the only bloke to save the country and see you
git yer rights," dress this modest _rôle_ in a long-tailed satin-faced
frock-coat, a good thing in the trouser line, and a stylish
button-hole; but Leslie Walker, one of the champagne set, had made
equally palpable efforts to dress himself _down_ to his present
_début_.
For sure! his suit, which comprised an alpaca coat with a crumpled
tail, must have been the shabbiest he had, while the glistening new
white sailor hat had probably been procured at the last moment in the
vain imagination that, dress as he would, it was not evident at a
first glance that he had had the bread-and-butter problem solved for
him by a provident parent before his birth, and that he had lived what
is designated the cultured life, far and autocratically above sympathy
with the vulgar and despised herds, upon whose sweat his class build
the pretty villas fronting the harbour, charge haughtily along the
roads in automobiles, and sail the graceful yachts on the idyllic
waters of Port Jackson.
"By Jove! Les. has different ambitions from mine," said Ernest. "I'd
rather have to stand up to a mill with the champion pug. than face
what he's on for to-night. Doesn't he look a case in that get up?
Supposing he gets in, what the devil good will it do then, and it
takes such crawling to get into parliament nowadays. There are too
many at the game. I could never face the way one has to flatter some
of these old creatures for their vote. I'd rather plug them under the
jaw."
Mr Oscar Lawyer having introduced the speaker, he came forward, and
after explaining it was his first appearance in politics, charmingly
proceeded, "I hope I shall not bore you with my remarks as I
endeavour to outline the various planks in the platform of the party
to which I have the honour to belong."
Quite superfluous for him to explain that he was a new chum in
politics. Only a fledgling from a Brussels or Axminster carpeted
reception-room would stand on the hustings and publish a fear that he
might be boring his audience. One familiar with the trade of
electioneering, as it has always been conducted by men, would strut
and shout and brag, never for a moment worrying whether or not he came
anywhere near the truth or feeling the slightest qualm, though he
deafened his hearers with his trumpeting or bored them to complete
extinction, and would refuse to be silenced even by "eggs of great
antiquity."
"Les. ought to stick to society," observed his step-brother; "flipping
around a drawing-room and making all the girls think they were equally
in the running was more in his line."
"He's a nice, clean, good-looking young fellow at any rate, and
doesn't look as if he gorged himself--hasn't that red-faced, stuffed
look," said Dawn. "If I had a vote I'd give it to him just for that,
as I'm sick of these red-nosed old members of parliament with
corporations."
"He's the real lah-de-dah Johnny, isn't he?" laughed "Dora" Eweword.
"Don't you say he's any relation of mine," said Ernest. "It would give
me away, and he thinks I'm in Melbourne. I told every one that's where
I was bound. I hope he won't catch sight of me."
There was little fear of this; one has to be accustomed to facing a
crowd before they can distinguish faces.
After the meeting, which dispersed early, Ernest and I hurried out
into the galvanised iron-walled yard, in which those coming from a
distance put their horses and vehicles.
Having noted the disconsolate manner in which a pair of dark eyes
below a thatch of generous hue surreptitiously glanced towards a
tormentatious maiden with ribbons of blue matching her eyes and
fluttering on her bosom, I thought it time to come to his rescue.
"If you would care to talk to your friend, he can drive you home while
I walk with 'Dora'; he says he has something to say to me," said Dawn
in an aside.
"Are you sure you want to hear it?" I asked.
"How could I tell until I hear it?"
"That is not a fair answer, Dawn."
"Well, it wasn't a fair question," she pouted.
"Very well, I will not press you more, but you'll tell me of it after,
will you not?"
"Well, what would you like me to do?" she asked.
"Oh, I'd like you to be naughty. Mr _Dora's_ complacence inspires me
to inveigle him into having to drive me home while you walk with some
one else."
"Very well, anything for fun," she responded with dancing eyes; and as
Ernest had the horse in I got into the sulky and said--
"There is room for three here, Mr Eweword, and we would be glad of you
to put the horse out when we get home."
He took the reins and a seat, and moved aside to make room for the
loitering Dawn, but she said--
"No, I'll walk; I must keep Carry company, and she doesn't want to
come just yet."
"Drive on," I commanded, and there was nothing for the entrapped
"Dora" to do but obey.
I saw Carry go on with another escort. "Will you permit me to see you
to your gate?" I heard Ernest saying as we went, and Dawn asserting
that it was unnecessary.
It was a beautiful starry night, with a prospect of a slight frost, as
we turned down the tree-lined streets of the friendly old town, whose
folk on their homeward way dawdled in knots to discuss the
interposition of the women's vote.
"Now the women will do strokes," said one.
"The men have things in such a jolly muddle it will take a long time
to improve them," another retorted.
"The women will make bloomin' fools of themselves!"
"Couldn't be worse than the men!"
"The women'll all go for this chap because he's good-looking."
"Just as good a reason as going for another because he shouted grog
for you," and similar remarks, drifted to my ears, but "Dora's" mind
did not seem to be running on politics.
"Who was that red-headed fellow sitting the other side of you?" he
inquired.
"Which one?"
"A short block of a fellow with a clean face."
"Oh, he's a man I know."
"Pretty cool of us leaving Dawn. The old dame won't like it."
"She won't mind, considering Dawn has about the most reliable escort
procurable."
"I suppose it's all right if you know him, but to me he looked like a
bagman or bike-rider or something in the spieler line."
"Oh no," and pulling my boa about me I smiled to think of the chagrin
of Dora. He was so beautifully transparent too, but to do him justice
did not seem to resent the scurvy trick I had played him, as soon his
equanimity was restored, and we laboured cheerfully but unavailingly
to promote a conversation.
"Do you really like farming--take a pleasure in it?" I inquired.
"When I'm knocking a decent amount of money out of it I do. There's
not much fun in anything when it doesn't pay."
"Quite true."
"There might be a frost to-night, but they're nothing here--always
disappear as soon as the sun is up. Great Scott! aren't these roads?
The council want stuffing in the Noonoon. It would be an all right
place only for the roads."
This brought us to Clay's gate, and no further conversational effort
was necessary. I lingered outside till Eweword had disposed of the
pony and trap, and by that time Ernest and Dawn, bearing evidence of
quick walking, appeared, and we went into grandma and Uncle Jake in a
body.
"The women are going to form a committee to work for Mr Walker if he's
selected," announced Dawn, "and I want to join it, grandma. I am not
old enough to vote, but I'd like to work for Mr Walker. He looks worth
a vote. He's nice and thin, and speaks beautifully without shouting
and roaring,--not like these old beer-swipers who buy their votes with
drink."
"He is a decent-looking fellow," said Eweword.
"Oh, well, he'll go in then; that's all the women will care about,"
said Uncle Jake in one of his half-audible sneers.
"Well," contended Dawn, "men always sneer at women for doing in a
small degree what men do fifty times worse. If a pretty barmaid comes
to town all the men are after her like bees, and if a pretty woman
stood for parliament the men would go off their heads about her, and
yet they get their hair off terribly if a woman happens to prefer a
nice gentlemanly man to a big, old, fat beer-barrel, with his teeth
black from tobacco and his neck gouging over his collar from eating
too much. Can I join the committee, grandma?"
"If it's proper, and he's my man, you can, an' work instead of me, but
I must hear them both first."
"If Walker could get you to make a speech for him, we'd all vote for
him in a body," laughed Eweword; but Dawn replied--
"Oh, you, I suppose you say that to every girl."
Eweword sizzled in his blushes, while Ernest's face slightly cleared
at this rebuff dealt out to another.
Grandma brought in the coffee and grumbled to Dawn about Carry's
absence.
"That Larry Witcom ain't no monk, and while a girl is in my house I
feel I ought to look after her. I believe in every one having liberty,
but there's reason in everythink."
The girl did not appear till after the young men had gone and Dawn and
I had withdrawn, but we heard grandma's remonstrance.