JIM’S IDEA
Two hammocks, side by side, under a huge pine tree, swung lazily to and
fro in the evening breeze. In them Norah and Harry rocked happily, too
comfortable, as Norah said, to talk. They had all been out riding most
of the day, and were happily tired. Tea had been discussed fully, and
everything was exceedingly peaceful.
Footsteps at racing speed sounded far off on the gravel of the front
path—a wide sweep that ran round the broad lawn. There was a scatter of
stones, and then a thud-thud over the grass to the pine trees—sounds
that signalised the arrival of Jim and Wally, in much haste. Jim’s
hurry was so excessive that he could not pull himself up in time to
avoid Harry. He bumped violently into the hammock, with the natural
result that Harry swung sharply against Norah, and for a moment things
were rather mixed.
“You duffer!” growled Harry, steadying his rocking bed. “Hurt you?
“—this to Norah.
“No, thanks,” Norah laughed. “What’s the matter with you two?”
“Got an idea,” Wally gasped, fanning himself with a pine cone.
“Hurt you?”
“Rather. It’s always a shock for me to have an idea. Anyway this isn’t
mine—it’s Jim’s.”
“Oh.” Norah’s tone was more respectful. Jim’s ideas were not to be
treated lightly as a rule. “Well, let’s hear it.”
“Fishing,” Jim said laconically. “Let’s start out at the very daybreak,
and get up the river to Anglers’ Bend. They say you can always get fish
there. We’ll ride, and take Billy to carry the tucker and look for
bait. Spend the whole blessed day, and come home with the mopokes. What
do you chaps say?”
“Grand idea!” Norah cried, giving her hammock an ecstatic swing. “We’ll
have to fly round, though. Did you ask Dad?”
“Yes, and he said we could go. It’s tucker that’s the trouble. I don’t
know if we’re too late to arrange about any.”
“Come and ask Mrs. Brown,” said Norah, flinging a pair of long black
legs over the edge of the hammock. “She’ll fix us up if she can.”
They tore off to the kitchen and arrived panting. Mrs. Brown was
sitting in calm state on the kitchen verandah, and greeted them with a
wide, expansive smile. Norah explained their need.
Mrs. Brown pursed up her lips.
“I haven’t anythink fancy, my dear,” she said slowly. “Only plum cake
and scones, and there’s a nice cold tongue, and an apple pie. I’d like
you to have tarts, but the fire’s out. Do you think you could manage?”
Jim laughed.
“I guess that’ll do, Mrs. Brown,” he said. “We’ll live like fighting
cocks, and bring you home any amount of fish for breakfast. Don’t you
worry about sandwiches, either—put in a loaf or two of bread, and a
chunk of butter, and we’ll be right as rain.”
“Then I’ll have it all packed for you first thing, Master Jim,” Mrs.
Brown declared.
“That’s ripping,” said the boys in a breath. “Come and find Billy.”
Billy was dragged from the recesses of the stable. He grinned widely
with joy at the prospect of the picnic.
“All the ponies ready at five, Billy,” ordered Jim. “Yours too. We’re
going to make a day of it—and we’ll want bait. Now, you chaps, come
along and get lines and hooks ready!”
“Whirr-r-r!”
The alarm clock by Jim’s bedside shrieked suddenly in the first hint of
daylight, and Jim sprang from his pillow with the alertness of a
Jack-in-the-box, and grabbed the clock, to stop its further eloquence.
He sat down on the edge of his bed, and yawned tremendously. At the
other side of the room Harry slept peacefully. Nearer Wally’s black
eyes twinkled for a moment, and hurriedly closed, apparently in deep
slumber. He snored softly.
“Fraud!” said Jim, with emphasis. He seized his pillow, and hurled it
vigorously. It caught Wally on the face and stayed there, and beneath
its shelter the victim still snored on serenely.
Jim rose with deliberation and, seizing the bedclothes, gave a
judicious pull, which ended in Wally’s suddenly finding himself on the
floor. He clasped wildly at the blankets, but they were dragged from
his reluctant grasp. Jim’s toe stirred him gently and at length he
rose.
“Beast!” he said miserably. “What on earth’s the good of getting up at
this hour?”
“Got to make an early start,” replied his host. “Come and stir up old
Harry.”
Harry was noted as a sleeper. Pillows hurled on top of him were as
nought. The bedclothes were removed, but he turned on his side and
slumbered like a little child.
“And to think,” Wally said, “that that chap springs up madly when the
getting-up bell rings once at school!”
“School was never like this,” Jim grinned. “There’s the squirt, Wal.”
The squirt was there; so was the jug of water, and a moment sufficed to
charge the weapon. The nozzle was gently inserted into the sleeper’s
pyjama collar, and in a moment the drenched and wrathful hero arose
majestically from his watery pillow and, seizing his tormentors, banged
their heads together with great effort.
“You’re slow to wake, but no end of a terror when once you rouse up,”
said Wally, ruefully rubbing his pate.
“Goats!” said Harry briefly, rubbing his neck with a hard towel. “Come
on and have a swim.”
They tore down the hail, only pausing at Norah’s door while Jim ran in
to wake her—a deed speedily accomplished by gently and firmly pressing
a wet sponge upon her face. Then they raced to the lagoon, and in a few
minutes were splashing and ducking in the water. They spent more time
there than Jim had intended, their return being delayed by a spirited
boat race between Harry’s slippers, conducted by Wally and Jim. By the
time Harry had rescued his sopping footgear, the offenders were beyond
pursuit in the middle of the lagoon, so he contented himself with
annexing Jim’s slippers, in which he proudly returned to the house.
Jim, arriving just too late to save his own, promptly “collared” those
of Wally, leaving the last-named youth no alternative but to paddle
home in the water-logged slippers—the ground being too rough and stony
to admit of barefoot travelling.
Norah, fresh from the bath, was prancing about the verandah in her
kimono as the boys raced up to the house, her hair a dusky cloud about
her face.
“Not dressed?—you laziness!” Jim flung at her.
“Well, you aren’t either,” was the merry retort.
“No; but we’ve got no silly hair to brush!”
“Pooh!—that won’t take me any time. Mrs. Brown’s up, Jim, and she says
breakfast will be ready in ten minutes.”
“Good old Brownie!” Jim ejaculated. “Can’t beat her, can you? D’you
know if she’s got the swag packed?”
“Everything’s packed, and she’s given it all to Billy, and it’s on old
Polly by now.” Polly was the packhorse. “Such a jolly, big bundle—and
everything covered over with cabbage leaves to keep it cool.”
“Hooroo for Casey! Well, scurry and get dressed, old girl. I bet you
keep us waiting at the last.”
“I’m sure I won’t,” was the indignant answer, as Norah ran off through
the hail. “Think of how much longer you take over your breakfast!”
Ten minutes later breakfast smoked on the wide kitchen table, Mrs.
Brown, like a presiding goddess, flourishing a big spoon by a
frying-pan that sent up a savoury odour.
“I’m sure I hope you’ll all kindly excuse having it in here,” she said
in pained tones. “No use to think of those lazy hussies of girls having
the breakfast-room ready at this hour. So I thought as how you wouldn’t
mind.”
“Mind!—not much, Mrs. Brown,” Jim laughed. “You’re too good to us
altogether. Eggs and bacon! Well, you are a brick! Cold tucker would
have done splendidly for us.”
“Cold, indeed!—not if I know it—and you precious lambs off for such a
ride, and going to be hot weather and all,” said the breathless Mrs.
Brown indignantly. “Now, you just eat a good breakfast, Miss Norah, my
love. I’ve doughnuts here, nearly done, nice and puffy and brown, just
as you like them, so hurry up and don’t let your bacon get cold.”
There was not, indeed, much chance for the bacon, which disappeared in
a manner truly alarming, while its fate was speedily shared by the huge
pile of crisp doughnuts which Mrs. Brown presently placed upon the
table with a flourish.
“We don’t get things like this at school!” Wally said regretfully,
pausing for an instant before his seventh.
“All the more reason you should eat plenty now,” said their
constructor, holding the doughnuts temptingly beneath his nose. “Come
now, dearie, do eat something!” and Wally bashfully recommenced his
efforts.
“How’s Billy getting on?” Jim inquired.
“Billy’s in the back kitchen, Master Jim, my love, and you’ve no call
to worry your head about him, He’s had three plates of bacon and five
eggs, and most like by this time he’s finished all his doughnuts and
drunk his coffee-pot dry. That black image will eat anythink,”
concluded Mrs. Brown solemnly.
“Well, I can’t eat anything more, anyhow,” Jim declared. “How we’re all
going to ride fifteen miles beats me. If we sleep all day, instead of
catching fish for you, you’ve only got yourself to blame, Mrs. Brown.”
Whereat Mrs. Brown emitted fat and satisfied chuckles, and the meeting
broke up noisily, and rushed off to find its hats.
Six ponies in a line against the stable yard fence—Bobs, with an eye
looking round hopefully for Norah and sugar; Mick, most feather-headed
of chestnuts, and Jim’s especial delight; Topsy and Barcoo, good useful
station ponies, with plenty of fun, yet warranted not to break the
necks of boy-visitors; Bung Eye, a lean piebald, that no one but black
Billy ever thought of riding; next to him old Polly, packed securely
with the day’s provisions. Two fishing-rods stuck out from her bundles,
and a big bunch of hobbles jingled as she moved.
There was nothing in the saddles to distinguish Norah’s mount, for she,
too, rode astride. Mr. Linton had a rooted dislike to side saddles, and
was wont to say he preferred horses with sound withers and a daughter
whose right hip was not higher than her left. So Norah rode on a dainty
little hunting saddle like Jim’s, her habit being a neat divided skirt,
which had the double advantage of looking nice on horseback, and having
no bothersome tail to hold up when off.
The boys were dressed without regard to appearances—loose old coats and
trousers, soft shirts and leggings. Red-striped towels, peeping out of
Polly’s packs, indicated that Jim had not forgotten the possibilities
of bathing which the creek afforded. A tin teapot jangled cheerfully
against a well-used black billy.
“All right, you chaps?” Jim ran his eye over the ponies and their gear.
“Better have a look at your girths. Come along.”
Norah was already in the saddle, exulting over the fact that, in spite
of Jim’s prophecy that she would be late, she was the first to be
mounted. Bobs was prancing happily, infected with the gaiety of the
moment, the sweet morning air and sunshine, and the spirit of mirth
that was everywhere. Mick joined him in capering, as Jim swung himself
into the saddle. Billy, leading Polly, and betraying an evident
distaste for a task which so hampered the freedom of his movements,
moved off down the track.
Just as Wally and Harry mounted, a tall figure in pyjamas appeared at
the gate of the back yard.
“There’s Dad!” Norah cried gleefully, cantering up to him. The boys
followed.
“Had to get up to see the last of you,” Mr. Linton said; “not much
chance of sleeping anyhow, with you rowdy people about.”
“Did we wake you, Dad?—sorry.”
“Very sorry, aren’t you?” Mr. Linton laughed at the merry face. “Well,
take care of yourselves; remember, Norah’s in your charge, Jim, and all
the others in yours, Norah! Keep an eye to your ponies, and don’t let
them stray too far, even if they are hobbled. And mind you bring me
home any amount of fish, Harry and Wal.”
“We will, sir,” chorused the boys.
Norah leant from her saddle and slipped an arm round her father’s neck.
“Good-bye, Dad, dear.”
“Good-bye, my little girl. Be careful—don’t forget.” Mr. Linton kissed
her fondly. “Well, you’re all in a hurry—and so am I, to get back to
bed! So-long, all of you. Have a good time.”
“So-long!” The echoes brought back the merry shout as the six ponies
disappeared round the bend in the track.
Down the track to the first gate helter-skelter—Billy, holding it open,
showed his white teeth in a broad grin as the merry band swept through.
Then over the long grass of the broad paddock, swift hoofs shaking off
the dewdrops that yet hung sparkling in the sunshine. Billy plodded far
behind with the packhorse, envy in his heart and discontent with the
fate that kept him so far in the rear, compelled to progress at the
tamest of jogs.
The second paddock traversed, they passed through the sliprails into a
bush paddock known as the Wide Plain. It was heavily timbered towards
one end, where the river formed its boundary, but towards the end at
which they entered was almost cleared, only a few logs lying here and
there, and occasionally a tall dead tree.
“What a place for a gallop!” said Harry. His quiet face was flushed and
his eyes sparkling.
“Look at old Harry!” jeered Wally. “He’s quite excited. Does your
mother know you’re out, Hal?”
“I’ll punch you, young Wally,” retorted Harry. “Just you be civil. But
isn’t it a splendid place? Why, there’s a clear run for a mile, I
should say.”
“More than that,” Jim answered. “We’ve often raced here.”
“Oh!” Norah’s eyes fairly danced. “Let’s have a race now!”
“Noble idea!” exclaimed Wally.
“Well, it’ll have to be a handicap to make it fair,” Jim said. “If we
start level, Norah’s pony can beat any of the others, and I think Mick
can beat the other two. At any rate we’ll give you fellows a start, and
Norah must give me one.”
“I don’t care,” Norah said gleefully, digging her heel into Bobs, with
the result that that animal suddenly executed a bound in mid-air.
“Steady, you duffer; I didn’t mean any offence, Bobsie dear,” She
patted his neck.
“I should think you wouldn’t care,” Jim said. “Best pony and lightest
weight! You ought to be able to leave any of us miles behind, so we’ll
give you a beautiful handicap, young woman!”
“Where’s the winning post?” Harry asked.
“See that big black tree—the one just near the boundary fence, I mean?
It’s a few chains from the fence, really. We’ll finish there,” Jim
replied.
“Come on, then,” said Norah, impatiently. “Get on ahead, Harry and
Wally; you’ll have to sing out ‘Go!’ Jim, and sing it out loud, ’cause
we’ll be ever so far apart.”
“Right oh!” Jim said. “Harry, clear on a good way; you’re the heaviest.
Pull up when I tell you; you too, Wal.” He watched the two boys ride on
slowly, and sang out to them to stop when he considered they had
received a fair start. Then he rode on himself until he was midway
between Wally and Norah, Harry some distance ahead of the former. The
ponies had an inkling of what was in the wind, and were dancing with
impatience.
“Now then, Norah,”—Jim flung a laughing look over his shoulder—“no
cribbing there!”
“I’m not!” came an indignant voice.
“All right—don’t! Ready every one? Then—go!” As the word “Go” left
Jim’s lips the four ponies sprang forward sharply, and a moment later
were in full gallop over the soft springy turf. It was an ideal place
for a race—clear ground, covered with short soft grass, well eaten off
by the sheep—no trees to bar the way, and over all a sky of the
brightest blue, flecked by tiny, fleecy cloudlets.
They tore over the paddock, shouting at the ponies laughing, hurling
defiance at each other. At first Harry kept his lead; but weight will
tell, and presently Wally was almost level with him, with Jim not far
behind. Bobs had not gone too well at first—he was too excited to get
thoroughly into his stride, and had spent his time in dancing when he
should have been making up his handicap.
When, however, he did condescend to gallop, the distance that separated
him from the other ponies was rapidly overhauled. Norah, leaning
forward in her stirrups, her face alight with eagerness, urged him on
with voice and hand—she rarely, if ever touched him with a whip at any
time. Quickly she gained on the others; now Harry was caught and
passed, even as Jim caught Wally and deprived him of the lead he had
gaily held for some time. Wally shouted laughing abuse at him, flogging
his pony on the while.
Now Norah was neck and neck with Wally, and slowly she drew past him
and set sail after Jim. That she could beat him she knew very well, but
the question was, was there time to catch him? The big tree which
formed the winning post was very near now. “Scoot, Bobsie, dear!”
whispered Norah unconscious of the fact that she was saying anything
unmaidenly. At any rate, Bobs understood, for he went forward with a
bound. They were nearly level with Jim now—Wally, desperately flogging,
close in the rear.
At that moment Jim’s pony put his foot into a hole, and went down like
a shot rabbit, bowling over and over, Jim flung like a stone out of a
catapult, landed some distance ahead of the pony. He, too, rolled for a
moment, and then lay still.
It seemed to Norah that she pulled Bobs up almost in his stride.
Certainly she was off before he had fairly slackened to a walk,
throwing herself wildly from the saddle. She tore up to Jim—Jim, who
lay horribly still.
“Jim—dear Jim!” she cried. She took his head on her knee. “Jim—oh, Jim,
do speak to me!”
There was no sound. The boy lay motionless, his tanned face strangely
white. Harry, coming up, jumped off, and ran to his side.
“Is he hurt much?”
“I don’t know—no, don’t you say he’s hurt much—he couldn’t be, in such
a second! Jim—dear—speak, old chap!” A big sob rose in her throat, and
choked her at the heavy silence. Harry took Jim’s wrist in his hand,
and felt with fumbling fingers for the pulse. Wally, having pulled his
pony up with difficulty, came tearing back to the little group.
“Is he killed?” he whispered, awestruck.
A little shiver ran through Jim’s body. Slowly he opened his eyes, and
stretched himself.
“What’s up?” he said weakly. “Oh, I know.... Mick?”
“He’s all right, darling,” Norah said, with a quivering voice. “Are you
hurt much?”
“Bit of a bump on my head,” Jim said, struggling to a sitting position.
He rubbed his forehead. “What’s up, Norah?” For the brown head had gone
down on his knee and the shoulders were shaking.
Jim patted her head very gently.
“You dear old duffer,” he said tenderly.