AUSTRALIA IN SURREY
The three Australians came that afternoon; and, like many Australians
in the wilds of London with a vague idea of distances, having given
themselves good time to catch their train, managed to catch the one
before it; and so arrived at Homewood unheralded and unsung. Norah and
Captain Hardress, who had been knocking golf-balls about, were crossing
the terrace on their way to tea when the three slouched hats caught
Norah’s eye through the trees of the avenue. She gasped, dropped her
clubs, and fled to meet them. Hardress stared: then, perceiving the
newcomers, smiled a little and went on slowly.
“I’d like to see her doing a hundred yards!” he said.
The three soldiers jumped as the flying figure came upon them, round a
bend in the drive. Then one of them sprang forward.
“Harry!” said Norah.
“My word, I am glad to see you!” said Harry Trevor, pumping her hand.
“I say, Norah, you haven’t changed a bit. You’re just the same as when
you were twelve—only that you’ve grown several feet.”
“Did you expect to find me bald and fat?” Norah laughed. “Oh, Harry, we
are glad to see you!”
“Well, you might have aged a little,” said he. “Goodness knows _I_
have! Norah, where’s old Jim?”
“He’s at Aldershot—but you can be certain that he’ll be here as soon as
he possibly can—and Wally too.”
“That’s good business.” He suddenly remembered his friends, who were
affecting great interest in the botanical features of a beech-tree.
“Come here, you chaps; Norah, this is Jack Blake—and Dick Harrison.
They’re awfully glad to see you, too!”
“Well, you might have let us say it for ourselves, digger,” said the
two, shaking hands. “We were just going to.”
“It’s lovely to have you all,” said Norah. She looked over the
three—all tall fellows, lean and bronzed, with quiet faces and deep-set
eyes, Blake bore a sergeant’s stripes; Dick Harrison’s sleeve modestly
proclaimed him a lance-corporal.
“We’ve been wandering in that funny old London like lost sheep,” Blake
said. “My word, that’s a lonesome place, if you don’t happen to know
any one in it. And people look at you as if you were something out of a
Zoo.”
“They’re not used to you yet,” said Norah. “It’s the hat, as much as
anything.”
“I don’t know about that,” Harry said. “No, I think they’d know we came
out of a different mob, even if we weren’t branded.”
“Perhaps they would—and you certainly do,” Norah answered. “But come on
to the house. Dad is just as anxious to see you as any one.”
Indeed, as they came in sight of the house, David Linton was seen
coming with long strides to meet them.
“Hardress told me you had suddenly turned into a Marathon runner at the
sight of three big hats!” he said. “How are you, Harry? It’s an age
since we saw you.”
“Yes, isn’t it?” Harry shook hands warmly, and introduced his friends.
“You haven’t changed either, Mr. Linton.”
“I ought to be aging—only Norah won’t hear of it,” said Mr. Linton,
laughing. “She bullies me more hopelessly than ever, Harry.”
“She always did,” Trevor agreed. “Oh, I want to talk about Billabong
for an hour! How’s Brownie, Nor? and Murty O’Toole? and Black Billy?
How do you manage to live away from them?”
“It isn’t easy,” Norah answered. “They’re all very fit, only they want
us back. We can’t allow ourselves to think of the day that we’ll get
home, or we all grow light-headed.”
“It will be no end of a day for all of us,” said Harrison. “Think of
marching down Collins Street again, with the crowd cheering us—keeping
an eye out for the people one knew! It was fairly beastly marching up
it for the last time.”
“It’s not Collins Street I want, but a bit of the Gippsland track,”
said Jack Blake. “You know, Dick, we took cattle there last year. Over
the Haunted Hills—aren’t they jolly in the spring!—and down through the
scrub to Morwell and Traralgon. I’d give something to see that bit of
country again.”
“Ah, it’s all good country,” David Linton said. Then they were at the
house, and a buzz of conversation floated out to them from the hall,
where tea was in progress.
“Your father simply made me promise to go on without you,” said Mrs.
West, as Norah made her apologies. “I said it was dreadful, but he
wouldn’t listen to me. And there are your friends! Dear me, how large
they are, and so brown! Do introduce them to me: I’m planning to hear
all about Australia. And a sergeant and lance-corporal! Isn’t it
romantic to see them among us, and quite at their ease. _Don’t_ tell
them I’m a Colonel’s wife, my dear; I would hate them to feel
embarrassed!”
“I don’t think you need worry,” said Norah, smiling to herself. She
brought up the three newcomers and introduced them. They subsided upon
a sofa, and listened solemnly while Mrs. West opened all her
conversational batteries upon them. Norah heard the opening—“I’ve read
such a _lot_ about your charming country!” and felt a throb of pity for
the three wanderers from afar.
Hardress came towards her with a cup of tea, his limb a little more
evident.
“You’re tired,” she said, taking it from him. “Sure you haven’t done
too much?”
“Not a bit,” he said. “I’m a little tired, but it’s the best day I have
had for many a month. I don’t know when I enjoyed anything as much as
my motor-lesson this morning.”
“Con says you’ll be able to drive in Piccadilly in no time,” said
Norah.
“He’s hopeful,” Hardress said, laughing. “Particularly as we never
started the car at all—he made me learn everything I could about it
first. And did he tell you I rode Brecon?”
“No! How did you get on?” asked Norah delightedly.
“Well, I literally got on very badly—at first. The shop leg didn’t seem
to understand what was wanted of it at all, and any steed but Brecon
would have strongly resented me. But he stood in a pensive attitude
while I tried all sorts of experiments. In fact, I think he went to
sleep!”
“I told you you could rely on Brecon,” Norah smiled. “What happened
then?”
“Oh—I got used to myself, and found out the knack of getting on. It’s
not hard, with a steady horse, once you find out how. But I think
Brecon will do me very well for awhile.”
“Oh, we’ll soon get you on to Brunette,” Norah said. “You’d enjoy her.”
“Is that the black pony?”
“Yes—and she’s a lovely hack. I’m going to hunt her in the winter: she
jumps like a deer.”
“She looked a beauty, in the stable,” Hardress said. “She ought to make
a good polo-pony.” He sighed. “I wonder if I’ll really ever play polo
again.”
“Of course you will,” Norah told him. “This morning you didn’t think
you would ever get on a horse again.”
“No, I certainly didn’t. You have put an extraordinary amount of hope
into me: I feel a different being.” He stopped, and a smile crept into
his eyes. “Listen—aren’t your friends having a time!”
“Life must be so exciting on your great cattle ranches,” Mrs. West was
saying. “And the dear little woolly lambs on the farms—such pets!”
“We understood you people over here prefer them frozen,” Blake said
gently. “So we send ’em that way.”
Norah choked over her tea. She became aware that Colonel West was
speaking to her, and tried to command her wits—hearing, as she turned,
Mrs. West’s shrill pipe—“And what _is_ a wheat-belt? Is it something
you wear?” Norah would have given much to hear Blake’s reply.
“Delightful place you have here!” barked the Colonel. “Your father and
I have been spending an agricultural afternoon; planning all the things
he means to do on that farm—Hawkins’, isn’t it? But I suppose you don’t
take much interest in that sort of thing? Dances and frocks more in
your line—and chocolates, eh, what?”
“Then you’ve changed her in England,” said Harry Trevor suddenly. “Is
it dances now, Norah? No more quick things over the grass after a
cross-grained bullock? Don’t say you’ve forgotten how to use a
stockwhip!”
“It’s hung up at Billabong,” Norah said laughing. “But you wait until I
get back to it, that’s all!”
“Dear me!” said Mrs. West. “And you do these wonderful things too! I
always longed to do them as a girl—to ride over long leagues of plain
on a fiery mustang, among your lovely eucalyptus trees. And do you
really go out with the cowboys, and use a lasso?”
“She does,” said Harry, happily.
“Your wild animals, too,” said Mrs. West. “It’s kangaroos you ride down
with spears, is it not? And wallabies. We live in dear, quiet little
England, but we read all about your wonderful life, and are oh! so
interested.”
“What a life!” said Dick Harrison, under his breath.
“Quite. You know, I had a great friend who went out as A.D.C. to one of
your Governors. He had to return after a month, because his father died
and he came into the baronetcy, but some day he means to write a book
on Australia. That is why I have always, as it were, kept in touch with
your great country. I seem to know it so well, though I have never seen
it.”
“You do, indeed,” said Blake gravely. “I wish we knew half as much
about yours.”
“Ah, but you must let us show it to you. Is it not yours, too? Outposts
of Empire: that is what I call you: outposts of Empire. Is it not that
that brought you to fight under our flag?”
“Oh, rather,” said Blake vaguely. “But a lot of us just wanted a look
in at the fun!”
“Well—you got a good deal for a start,” said Garrett.
“Yes—Abdul gave us all we wanted on his little peninsula. But he’s not
a bad fighting-man, old Abdul; we don’t mind how often we take tea with
him. He’s a better man to fight than Fritz.”
“He could pretty easily be that,” Garrett said. “It’s one of the worst
grudges we owe Fritz—that he’s taken all the decency out of war. It
used to be a man’s game, but the Boche made it one according to his own
ideas—and everybody knows what they are.”
“Yes,” said Hardress. “I suppose the Boche will do a good deal of
crawling to get back among decent people after the war; but he’ll never
live down his poison-gas and flame-throwers.”
“And wouldn’t it have been a gorgeous old war if he’d only fought
clean!” said Garrett longingly. They drew together and talked as
fighting men will—veterans in the ways of war, though the eldest was
not much over one-and-twenty.
The sudden hoot of a motor came from the drive, far-off; and then
another, and another.
“Some one’s joy-riding,” said Harry Trevor.
The hooting increased, and with it the hum of a racing car. The gravel
outside the porch crunched as it drew up; and then came cheery voices,
and two long figures in great coats dashed in: Jim and Wally,
eager-eyed.
“Dad! Norah! Where’s old Harry?”
But Harry was grasping a hand of each, and submitting to mighty pats on
the back from their other hands.
“By Jove, it’s great to see you! Where did you come from, you old
reprobate? Finished Johnny Turk?”
Gradually the boys became aware that there were other people in the
hall, and made apologies—interrupted by another burst of joy at
discovering Garrett.
“You must think us bears,” said Jim, with his disarming smile, to Mrs.
West. “But we hadn’t seen Trevor for years, and he’s a very old chum.
It would have been exciting to meet him in Australia; but in
England—well!”
“However did you manage to come?” Norah asked, beaming.
“Oh, we got leave. We’ve been good boys—at least, Wally was until we
got your message this morning. Since then he has been wandering about
like a lost fowl, murmuring, ‘Harry! _My_ Harry!’”
“Is it me?” returned Wally. “Don’t believe him, Nor—it was all I could
do to keep him from slapping the C.O. on the back and borrowing his car
to come over.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Norah laughed. “Whose car did you borrow, by the
way?”
“Oh, we hired one. It was extravagant, but we agreed that it wasn’t
every day we kill a pig!”
“Thank you,” said Harry. “Years haven’t altered your power of putting a
thing nicely!” He smote Wally affectionately. “I say, you were a kid
when I saw you last: a kid in knickerbockers. And look at you now!”
“Well, you were much the same,” Wally retorted. “And now you’re a
hardened old warrior—I’ve only played at it so far.”
“But you were gassed, weren’t you?”
“Yes—but we hadn’t had much war before they gassed us. That was the
annoying part.”
“Well, didn’t you have a little private war in Ireland? What about that
German submarine?”
“Oh, that was sheer luck,” said Wally joyfully. “_Such_ a lark—only for
one thing. But we don’t consider we’ve earned our keep yet.”
“Oh, well, you’ve got lots of time,” Harry said. “I wonder if they’ll
send any of us to France—it would be rather fun if we got somewhere in
your part of the line.”
“Yes, wouldn’t it?” Then Jack Blake, who had been at school with the
boys, came up with Dick Harrison, and England ceased to exist for the
five Australians. They talked of their own country—old days at school;
hard-fought battles on the Melbourne Cricket Ground; boat-racing on the
Yarra; Billabong and other stations; bush-fires and cattle-yarding;
long days on the road with cattle, and nights spent watching them under
the stars. All the grim business of life that had been theirs since
those care-free days seemed but to make their own land dearer by
comparison. Not that they said so, in words. But they lingered over
their talk with an unspoken delight in being at home again—even in
memory.
Norah slipped away, regretfully enough, after a time: her
responsibilities as housekeeper weighed upon her, and she sought Miss
de Lisle in the kitchen.
“What, your brother and Mr. Wally? How delightful!” ejaculated the
cook-lady. “That’s what I call really jolly. Their rooms are always
ready, I suppose?”
“Oh, yes,” Norah said. “I’ve told Bride to put sheets on the beds.”
“Then that’s all right. Dinner? My dear, you need never worry about a
couple extra for dinner in a household of this size. Just tell the
maids to lay the table accordingly, and let me know—that is all you
need do.”
“Mrs. Atkins had destroyed my nerve!” said Norah, laughing. “I came
down to tell you with the same scared feeling that I had when I used to
go to her room. My very knees were shaking!”
“Then you’re a very bad child, if you _are_ my employer!” returned Miss
de Lisle. “However, I’ll forgive you: but some time I want you to make
a list for me of the things those big boys of yours like most: I might
just as well cook them as not, when they come. And of course, when they
go out to France, we shall have to send them splendid hampers.”
“That will be a tremendous comfort,” Norah said. “You’re a brick, Miss
de Lisle. We used to send them hampers before, of course, but it seemed
so unsatisfactory just to order them at the Stores: it will be ever so
much nicer to cook them things. You _will_ let me cook, won’t you?”
“Indeed I will,” said Miss de Lisle. “We’ll shut ourselves up here for
a day, now and then, and have awful bouts of cookery. How did you like
the potato cakes at tea, by the way?”
“They were perfect,” Norah said. “I never tasted better, even in
Ireland.” At which Katty, who had just entered with a saucepan, blushed
hotly, and cast an ecstatic glance at Miss de Lisle.
“I don’t suppose you did,” remarked that lady. “You see, Katty made
them.”
“Wasn’t she good, now, to let me, Miss Norah?” Katty asked. “There’s
them at home that towld me I’d get no chance at all of learning under a
grand cook here. ’Tis little the likes of them ’ud give you to do in
the kitchen: if you asked them for a job, barring it was to wash the
floor, they’d pitch you to the Sivin Divils. ‘Isn’t the scullery good
enough for you?’ they’d say. ‘Cock you up with the cooking!’ But Miss
de Lisle isn’t one of them—and the cakes to go up to the drawing-room
itself!”
“Well, every one liked them, Katty,” Norah said.
“Yerra, hadn’t I Bridie watching behind the big screen with the crack
in it?” said the handmaid. “She come back to me, and she says, ‘They’re
all ate,’ says she: ‘’tis the way ye had not enough made,’ she says. I
didn’t know if ’twas on me head or me heels I was!” She bent a look of
adoration upon Miss de Lisle, who laughed.
“Oh, I’ll make a cook of you yet, Katty,” she said. “Meanwhile you’d
better put some coal on the fire, or the oven won’t be hot enough for
my pastry. Is it early breakfast for your brother and Mr. Wally, Miss
Linton?”
“I’m afraid so,” Norah said. “Jim said they must leave at eight
o’clock.”
“Then that means breakfast at seven-thirty. Will you have yours with
them?”
“Oh yes, please—if it’s not too much trouble.”
“Nothing’s a trouble—certainly not an early breakfast,” said Miss de
Lisle. “Now don’t worry about anything.”
Norah went back to the hall—to find it deserted. A buzz of voices came
from the billiard-room; she peeped in to find all the soldiers talking
with her father listening happily in a big chair. No one saw her: she
withdrew, and went in search of Mrs. West, but failed to find her.
Bride, encountered in her evening tour with cans of hot water, reported
that ’twas lying down she was, and not wishful for talk: her resht was
more to her.
“Then I may as well go and dress,” Norah said.
She had just finished when a quick step came along the corridor, and
stopped at her door. Jim’s fingers beat the tattoo that was always
their signal.
“Come in, Jimmy,” Norah cried.
He came in, looming huge in the dainty little room.
“Good business—you’re dressed,” he said. “Can I come and yarn?”
“Rather,” said Norah, beaming. “Come and sit down in my armchair. This
electric heater isn’t as jolly to yarn by as a good old log fire, but
still, it’s something.” She pulled her chair forward.
“Can’t you wait for me to do that—bad kid!” said Jim. He sat down, and
Norah subsided on the rug near him.
“Now tell me all about everything,” he said. “How are things going?”
“Quite well—especially Mrs. Atkins,” said Norah. “In fact she’s gone!”
Jim sat up.
“Gone! But how?”
Norah told him the story, and he listened with joyful ejaculations.
“Well, she was always the black spot in the house,” he remarked. “It
gave one the creeps to look at her sour face, and I’m certain she was
more bother to you than she was worth.”
“Oh, I feel twenty years younger since she went!” Norah said. “And it’s
going to be great fun to housekeep with Miss de Lisle. I shall learn
ever so much.”
“So will she, I imagine,” said Jim, laughing. “Put her up to all the
Australian ways, and see if we can’t make a good emigrant of her when
we go back.”
“I might,” Norah said. “But she would be a shock to Brownie if she
suggested putting her soul into a pudding!”
“Rather!” said Jim, twinkling. “I say, tell me about Hardress. Do you
like him?”
“Oh, yes, ever so much.” She told him of her morning’s work—indeed, by
the time the gong boomed out its summons from the hall, there was very
little in the daily life of Homewood that Jim had not managed to hear.
“We’re always wondering how you are getting on,” he said. “It’s jolly
over there—the work is quite interesting, and there’s a very nice lot
of fellows: but I’d like to look in at you two and see how this show
was running.” He hesitated. “It won’t be long before we go out, Nor,
old chap.”
“Won’t it, Jimmy?” She put up a hand and caught his. “Do you know how
long?”
“A week or two—not more. But you’re not to worry. You’ve just got to
think of the day when we’ll get our first leave—and then you’ll have to
leave all your Tired People and come and paint London red.” He gave a
queer laugh. “Oh, I don’t know, though. It seems to be considered the
right thing to do. But I expect we’ll just amble along here and ask you
for a job in the house!”
“Why, you’ll be Tired People yourselves,” said Norah. “We’ll have to
look after you and give you nourishment at short intervals.”
“We’ll take that, if it’s Miss de Lisle’s cooking. Now don’t think
about this business too much. I thought I’d better tell you, but
nothing is definite yet. Perhaps I’d better not tell Dad.”
“No, don’t; he’s so happy.”
“I wish I didn’t have to make either of you less happy,” Jim said in a
troubled voice. “But it can’t be helped.”
“No, I know it can’t, Jimmy. Don’t you worry.”
“Dear old chap,” said Jim, and stood up. “I had better go and make
myself presentable before the second gong goes.” He paused. “You’re all
ready aren’t you? Then you might go down. Wally will be wandering round
everywhere, looking for you.”