NO HOPE FOR HIM
"I'm afraid I have interrupted a very interesting conversation?" said
Gilroy, showing his teeth through his beard.
Naomi smiled coolly.
"What if I say that you have, Monty?"
"Then I'm sorry, but it can't be helped," replied the manager, jumping
off his horse, and hanging the bridle over a hook on one of the
veranda-posts.
"Ah, I thought as much," said Naomi, dryly. She held out her hand,
however, as she spoke.
But Gilroy had stopped before setting foot in the veranda. He stood
glaring at Engelhardt, who was not looking at him, but at the fading
sky-line away beyond the sand and scrub, and with a dazed expression
upon his pale, eager face. The piano-tuner had not risen; he had merely
turned round where he sat, at the sound of Gilroy's voice.
Now, however, he seemed neither to see nor to heed the manager, though
the latter was towering over him, white with mortification.
"Now then, Mr. Piano-tuner, jump up and clear; I've ridden over to see
Miss Pryse on urgent business----"
"Leaving your manners behind you, evidently," observed that young lady,
"or I think you would hardly be ordering my visitors out of my veranda
_and_ my presence!"
"Then will you speak to the fellow?" said Gilroy, sulkily. "He seems
deaf, and I haven't ridden in for my own amusement. I tell you it's an
important matter, Naomi."
"Mr. Engelhardt!" said Naomi, gently. He turned at once. "Mr. Gilroy,"
she went on to explain, "has come from the shed to see me about
something or other. Will you leave us for a little while?"
"Certainly, Miss Pryse." He rose in sudden confusion. "I--I beg your
pardon. I was thinking of something else."
It was only Naomi's pardon that he begged. He had not looked twice at
Gilroy; but as he rounded the corner of the building, he glanced sharply
over his shoulder. He could not help it. He felt instinctively that a
glimpse of their lovers' greeting would do something toward his cure.
All that he saw, however, was Naomi with her back to the wall, and her
hands laid firmly upon the wicker chair-back where her head had rested
a moment before. Across this barrier Gilroy had opened so vehement a
fire upon her that Engelhardt thought twice about leaving them alone
together. As he hesitated, however, the girl shot him a glance which
commanded him to be gone, while it as plainly intimated her perfect
ability to take care of herself.
Once out of her sight, the piano-tuner turned a resolute back upon the
homestead, determining to get right away from it for the time being--to
get away and to think. He did not, however, plunge into the plantation
of pines, in which Naomi and he had often wandered during these last few
days, that seemed a happy lifetime to him now that he felt they were
over. He took the broad, sandy way which led past the stables to the
men's hut on the left, and to the stock-yards on the right. Behind the
yards the sun was setting, the platform for the pithing of bullocks, and
the windlass for raising their carcasses, standing out sharp and black
against the flaming sky; and still farther to the right, where there
were sheep-yards also, a small yellow cloud rose against the pink like a
pillar of sand. Engelhardt knew little enough of station life, but he
saw that somebody was yarding-up a mob of sheep for the night. He went
on to have a look at the job, which was over, however, before he reached
the spot. Three horses were trotting off in the direction of the
horse-paddock, while, coming away from the yard, carrying their saddles
and bridles, were two of the station hands and the overseer, Tom
Chester.
"Hulloa, Engelhardt, still here?" said the latter, cheerily, as they
met. "How goes the arm?"
"First-rate, thanks. I'm off to-morrow."
"Yes? Come on back to the homestead, and help me shave and brush up.
I've been mustering seventeen miles from the shed. We've run the mob
into these yards for the night, and I'm roosting in the barracks."
"So is Mr. Gilroy, I fancy."
"The devil he is! Has he come in from the shed, then?"
"Yes; within the last ten minutes."
Chester looked black.
"You didn't hear what for, I suppose?"
"To speak to Miss Pryse about some important matter; that's all I know."
"I should have thought they'd had enough to say to each other yesterday,
to last Gilroy for a bit. I'm mustering, you know; but I heard all
about it when I got back to the shed last night. Some of the men came to
me in a sort of deputation. They hate Gilroy about as much as I do, and
they want him out of that. If he's a sensible man he's come in to chuck
up the sponge himself."
Tom Chester flung his saddle and bridle over the rail as they passed the
stable, and walked on to the station-yard, and across it to the little
white barracks, without another word. Engelhardt followed him into his
room and sat down on the bed. He felt that they understood one another.
That was what made him say, while Chester was stropping his razor:
"You don't love Gilroy, I imagine."
"No, I don't," replied Tom Chester, after a pause.
"But Miss Pryse does!" Engelhardt exclaimed, bitterly.
The other made a longer pause. He was lathering his chin. "Not she,"
said Tom, coolly, at length.
"Not! But she's engaged to him, I hear!"
"There's a sort of understanding."
"Only an understanding?"
"Well, she doesn't wear a ring, for one thing."
"I wish you would tell me just how it stands," said Engelhardt,
inquisitively. His heart was beating, nevertheless.
"Tell you?" said Tom Chester, looking only into the glass as he
flourished his razor. "Why, certainly. I don't wonder at your wanting to
know how a fine girl like that could go and engage herself to a
God-forsaken image like Gilroy. _I_ don't know, mind you. I wasn't here
in Mr. Pryse's time; but everyone says he was a good sort, and that the
worse thing he ever did was to take on Gilroy, just because he was some
sort of relation of his dead wife's. He's second cousin to Miss Pryse,
that's what Gilroy is; but he was overseer here when the boss was his
own manager, and when he died Gilroy got the management, naturally.
Well, and then he got the girl, too--the Lord knows how. She knew that
her father thought well of the skunk, and no doubt she herself felt it
was the easiest way out of her responsibilities and difficulties. Ay,
she was a year or two younger then than she is now, and he got the
promise of her; but I'll bet you an even dollar he never gets her to
keep."
The piano-tuner had with difficulty sat still upon the bed, as he
listened to this seemingly impartial version of the engagement which had
numbed his spirit from the moment he heard of it. Tom Chester had spoken
with many pauses, filled by the tinkle of his razor against a healthy
beard three days old. When he offered to bet the dollar, he was already
putting the razor away in its case.
"I won't take you," said Engelhardt. "You don't think she'll marry him,
then?" he added, anxiously.
"Tar here on the brisket," remarked Chester, in the shearer's formula,
as he dabbed at a cut that he had discovered under his right jaw.
"What's that! Marry him? No; of course she won't."
Engelhardt waited while the overseer performed elaborate ablutions and
changed his clothes. Then they crossed over together to the front
veranda, which was empty; but as they went round to the back the sound
of voices came fast enough to their ears. The owner and her manager were
still talking in the back veranda, which was now in darkness, and their
voices were still raised. It was Tom Chester's smile, however, that
helped Engelhardt to grasp the full significance of the words that met
their ears. Gilroy was speaking.
"All right, Naomi! You know best, no doubt. You mean to paddle your own
canoe, you say, and that's all very well; but if Tom Chester remains on
at the shed there'll be a row, I tell you straight."
"Between whom?" Naomi inquired.
"Between Tom Chester and me. I tell you he's stirring up the men against
me! You yourself did mischief enough yesterday; but when he came in he
made bad worse. It may be an undignified thing to do, for the boss of
the shed; but I can't help that, I shall have to fight him."
"Fight whom?" said Chester, in a tone of interest, as he and Engelhardt
came upon the scene together.
"You," replied Naomi, promptly. "You have arrived in the nick of time,
Mr. Chester. I am sorry to hear that you two don't hit it off together
at the shed."
"So that's it, is it?" said Tom Chester, quietly, glancing from the girl
to Gilroy, who had not opened his mouth. "And you're prepared to hit it
off somewhere else, are you? I'm quite ready. I have been wanting to hit
it off with you, Gilroy, ever since I've known you."
His meaning was as plain as an italicised joke. They all waited for the
manager's reply.
"Indeed!" said he, at length, out of the kindly dark that hid the color
of his face. "So you expect me to answer you before Miss Pryse, do you?"
"On the contrary, I'd far rather you came down to the stables and
answered me there. But you might repeat before Miss Pryse whatever it is
you were telling her about me behind my back."
"I shall do nothing of the sort."
"Then I must do it for you," said Naomi, firmly.
"Do," said Gilroy. And diving his hands deep into his cross-pockets, he
swaggered off the scene with his horse at his heels and his arm through
the reins.
"I think I can guess the kind of thing, Miss Pryse," Tom Chester waited
to say; "you needn't trouble to tell me, thank you." A moment later he
had followed the manager, and the piano-tuner was following Tom; but
Naomi Pryse remained where she was. She had not lifted a finger to
prevent the fight which, as she saw for herself, was a good deal more
imminent than he had imagined who warned her of it five minutes before.
"Will you take off your coat?" said Chester, as he caught up to Gilroy
between homestead and stables.
"Is it likely?" queried Gilroy, without looking round.
"That depends whether you're a man. The light's the same for both. There
are lanterns in the stables, whether or no. Will you take off your coat
when we get there?"
"To you? Manager and overseer? Don't be a fool, Tom."
"I'll show you who's the fool in a brace of shakes," said Tom Chester,
following Gilroy with a swelling chest. "I never thought you had much
pluck, but, by God, I don't believe you've got the pluck of a louse!"
Gilroy led on his horse without answering.
"Have you got the pluck of a louse?" the overseer sang into his ear.
Gilroy was trembling, but he turned as they reached the stable.
"Take off your coat, then," said he, doggedly; "I'll leave mine inside."
Gilroy led his horse into the stable. Instead of taking off his coat,
however, Tom Chester stood waiting with his arms akimbo and his eyes
upon the open stable-door.
"Aren't you going to take it off?" said an eager yet nervous voice at
his side. "Don't you mean to fight him after all?"
It was the piano-tuner, whose desire to see the manager soundly thrashed
was at war with his innate dread of anything approaching a violent
scene. He could be violent himself when his blood was up, but in his
normal state the mere sound of high words made him miserable.
"Hulloa! I didn't see that you were there," remarked Chester, with a
glance at the queer little figure beside him. "Lord, yes; I'll fight him
if he's game, but I won't believe that till I see it, so we'll let him
strip first. The fellow hasn't got the pluck of---- I knew he hadn't!
That's just what I should have expected of him!"
Before Engelhardt could realize what was happening, a horse had emerged
from the shadow of the stable-door, a man's head and wide-awake had
risen behind its ears as they cleared the lintel, and Gilroy, with a
smack of his whip on the horse's flank and a cut and a curse at Tom
Chester, was disappearing in the dusk at a gallop. Chester had sprung
forward, but he was not quick enough. When the cut had fallen short of
him, he gathered himself together for one moment, as though to give
chase on foot; then stood at ease and watched the rider out of sight.
"Next time, my friend," said he, "you won't get the option of standing
up to me. No; by the Lord, I'll take him by the scruff of his dirty
neck, and I'll take the very whip he's got in his hand now, and I'll
hide him within an inch of his miserable life. That's the way we treat
curs in these parts, d'ye see? Come on, Engelhardt. No, we'll stop and
see which road he takes when he gets to the gate. I can just see him
opening it now. I might have caught him up there if I'd thought. Ah!
he's shaking his fist at us; he shall smell mine before he's a day
older! And he's taken the township track; he'll come back to the shed as
drunk as a fool, and if the men don't dip him in the dam I shall be very
much surprised."
"And Miss Pryse is going to marry a creature like that," cried
Engelhardt, as they walked back to the house.
"Not she," said Chester, confidently.
"Yet there's a sort of engagement."
"There is; but it would be broken off to-morrow if I were to tell Miss
Pryse to-night of the mess he's making of everything out at the shed.
The men do what they like with him, and he goes dropping upon the
harmless inoffensive ones, and fining them and running their sheep;
whereas he daren't have said a word to that fellow Simons, not to save
his life. I tell you there'd have been a strike last night if it hadn't
been for me. The men appealed to me, and I said what I thought. So his
nibs sends me mustering again, about as far off as he can, while he
comes in to get Miss Pryse to give me the sack. Of course that's what
he's been after. That's the kind of man he is. But here's Miss Pryse
herself in the veranda, and we'll drop the subject, d'ye see?"
Naomi herself never mentioned it. Possibly from the veranda she had seen
and heard enough to enable her to guess the rest pretty accurately.
However that may be, the name of Monty Gilroy never passed her lips,
either now in the interval before dinner, or at that meal, during which
she conversed very merrily with the two young men who faced one another
on either side of her. She insisted on carving for them both, despite
the protests of the more talkative of the two. She rattled on to them
incessantly--if anything, to Engelhardt more than to the overseer. But
there could be no question as to which of these two talked most to her.
Engelhardt was even more shy and awkward than at his first meal at
Taroomba, when Naomi had not been present. He disappeared immediately
after dinner, and Naomi had to content herself with Tom Chester's
company for the rest of the evening.
That, however, was very good company at all times, while on the present
occasion Miss Pryse had matters for discussion with her overseer which
rendered a private interview quite necessary. So Engelhardt was not
wanted for at least an hour; but he did not come back at all. When
Chester went whistling to the barracks at eleven o'clock he found the
piano-tuner lying upon his bed in all his clothes.
"Hulloa, my son, are you sick?" said Tom, entering the room. The risen
moon was shining in on all sides of the looking-glass.
"No, I'm well enough, thanks. I felt rather sleepy."
"You don't sound sleepy! Miss Pryse was wondering what could be the
matter. She told me to tell you that you might at least have said
good-night to her."
"I'll go and say it now," cried Engelhardt, bounding from the bed.
"Ah, now you're too late, you see," said Chester, laughing a little
unkindly as he barred the doorway. "You didn't suppose I'd come away
before I was obliged, did you? Come into my room, and I'll tell you a
bit of news."
The two rooms were close together; they were divided by the narrow
passage that led without step or outer door into the station-yard. It
was a lined, set face that the candle lighted up when Tom Chester put a
match to it; but that was only the piano-tuner's face, and Tom stood
looking at his own, and the smile in the glass was peculiar and
characteristic. It was not conceited; it was merely confident. The
overseer of Taroomba was one of the smartest, most resolute, and
confident young men in the back-blocks of New South Wales.
"The news," he said, turning away from the glass and undoing his
necktie, "may surprise you, but I've expected it all along. Didn't I
tell you before dinner that Miss Pryse would be breaking off her rotten
engagement one of these days! Well, then, she's been and done it this
very afternoon."
"Thank God!" cried Engelhardt.
"Amen," echoed Chester, with a laugh. He had paid no attention to the
piano-tuner's tone and look. He was winding a keyless watch.
"And is he going on here as manager?" Engelhardt asked, presently.
"No, that's the point. Naomi seems to have told him pretty straight that
she could get along without him, and on second thoughts he's taken her
at her word. She got a note an hour ago to say she would never see him
again. He'd sent a chap with it all the way from the township."
"Do you mean to say he isn't coming back?"
"That's the idea. You bet he had it when he shook his fist at us as he
opened that gate. He was shaking his fist at the station and all hands
on the place, particularly including the boss. She's to send his things
and his check after him to the township, where they'll find him drunk,
you mark my words. Good riddance to the cur! Of course he was going to
marry her for her money; but she's tumbled to him in time, and a miss is
as good as a mile any day in the week."
He finished speaking and winding his watch at the same moment. It was a
gold watch, and he set it down carelessly on the dressing-table, where
the candle shone upon the monogram on its back.
"He has nothing of his own?" queried Engelhardt, with jealous eyes upon
the watch.
"Not a red cent," said Tom Chester, contemptuously. "He lived upon the
old boss, and of course he meant to live upon his daughter after him. He
was as poor as a church-mouse."
So indeed was the piano-tuner. He did not say as much, however, though
the words had risen to his lips. He said no more until the overseer was
actually in bed. Then a flash of inspiration caused him to ask,
abruptly,
"Are you anything to do with Chester, Wilkinson, & Killick, the big
wool-people down in Melbourne?"
"To do with 'em?" repeated Tom, with a smile. "Well, yes; at least, I'm
Chester's son."
"I've heard that you own more Riverina stations than any other firm or
company?"
"Yes; this is about the only one around here that we haven't got a
finger in. That's why I came here, by the way, for a bit of experience."
"Then _you_ don't want to marry her for her money. You'll have more than
she ever will! Isn't that so?"
"What the blue blazes do you mean, Engelhardt?"
Chester had sat bolt upright in his bed. The piano-tuner was still on
the foot of it, and all the fire in his being had gone into his eyes.
"Mean?" he cried. "Who cares what _I_ mean! I tell you that she thinks
more of you than ever she thought of Gilroy. She has said so to me in as
many words. I tell you to go in and win!"
He was holding out his left hand.
"I intend to," said Tom Chester, taking it good-naturedly enough.
"That's exactly my game, and everybody must know it, for I've been
playing it fair and square in the light of day. I may lose; but I hope
to win. Good-night, Engelhardt. Shall I look you up in the morning? We
make a very early start, mind."
"Then you needn't trouble. But I do wish you luck!"
"Thanks, my boy. I wish myself luck, too."