Читать книгу Collected Short Stories Volume 4 - Edward S Sorenson - Страница 4
ОглавлениеEvening News (Sydney, NSW), Saturday 11 January 1908
I had worked about a month for a cocky near Two Wharves, harrowing, drilling, and planting corn. He came to me one morning, when we had finished, looking as though be had "family trouble" on his mind.
"I s'pose you don't know of a job anywhere handy, Jim?" he asked.
"No," I answered, and waited tor him to proceed. I knew what was coming; it was the cocky's gentle way of breaking the news of dismissal.
"You didn't 'appen to hear, when you were at Casey's on Sunday night, if he wanted a man of your stamp?"
"I didn't."
He plucked a blade of grass, and nibbled it.
"I'd like to keep you on altogether if I could manage it," he mused. "I'm afraid I can't, though. There's nuthin' purtikler doin' now, Jim; les'ways, nuthin' as a man ought to pay for; but if you like to potter about till I get some money to settle up with you—"
"When will that be?" I put in.
"Soon's th' corn's pulled."
"What corn?"
He jerked his thumb towards the plantation. "Th' corn we've just sowd."
My talking apparatus seemed to clog for a moment; I could only swallow, and blink at him.
"This is December 6," he said, meditatively.
"1895!" I added, in a gasp.
"Correct!" he returned, serenely.
I altered the set of my hat, and kicked a chip away that wasn't doing me any harm. He also shifted his hat, and acquired a fresh bit of grass.
"You see. Jim—"
"Oh, don't apologise," I broke in. He looked pleased. "It's too bless-ed late for apologies." He looked sad. He was a sensitive person. "I'll look you up when I get back this way, an' if that four quid ain't ready, you take it from me old man, there'll be a happening about this neighborhood."
"Oh. that'll be all right, Jim," he assured me, with unruffled politeness, and, turning round, he eyed a little white speck on the southern horizon. "If that cloud means rain, it will just bring the crop up nicely."
"By-the-way," I interrupted, "I lent you two plugs of tobacco."
"Oh, yes. Yes, yes, so you did. Lemme see, on th' 21st an' 27th of November, wasn't it? I must put it down. I'm glad you reminded me—"
I lit out for the barn, and, when I had expressed my opinion of Corntossle to the few hens about, I rolled up my swag, rugged my billy, and started up the river, to exploit some more of the fraternity.
The banks weren't so well lined with farms then as they are now. Neither were there any defined roads across the black soil plains and boggy flats, where the foxtail grass grew six feet high, and the seeds stuck in the traveller's clothes till he looked like a walking sheaf of wheat. There were belts of scrub, too, melon holes and ti-tree swamps, where his wet boots kept up a tune of "swish-swhop" as he plodded laboriously along.
So, one dinner time, when Burke offered me fifteen shillings a week to chip corn I was glad enough to take the job. He didn't offer me any dinner, but said I could give him a hand "to put in the afternoon." I thought it was some crop he was going to put in, but it turned out to be a chock-and-log sty. They were big logs, every one of which, had to be lifted up and down half a dozen times before Burke, who hadn't served any apprenticeship to the building trade, and whose main tool was a blunt axe, was satisfied with the fit.
It was dark when we finished—after working like Kanakas. Then we chased pigs about for an hour in the dark, as there would be no time to "sty 'em to-morrer." When I had fed and watered them, Burke asked me to come and hold the slush lamp for him. He wanted to see if Speckly had all her chicks under her, and if the ducks had come up from the river, and the black pullet and the red rooster hadn't got the nightmare. Then "would I mind fetchin' in a armful o' wood for the mornin'?" I fetched it—and the afternoon was put in.
We had tea—salt junk, scones and cold pumpkin; and while Burke filled his pipe, he said:—
"Ye'll find it a bit lonesome 'ere by yerself, mate. Maybe as ye'd like to go down to th' barn wid us?"
"What are you doing in the barn?" I asked.
"Huskin' a few cobs o' corn, just."
I didn't like to refuse, and seeing Miss Burke following the old couple, I took her in tow.
There was a fine big heap of ninety-day corn stowed in the barn. We husked at it till 11 o'clock. By the time we had cleaned the husks out with wooden forks and burnt them, it was midnight.
Before we went to bed, Burke said—
"Ye can sthart work in th' mornin'. Are ye an early riser?"
"Yes," said I. "I get up every morning at 9, sunrise or not." I was getting full of Burke.
"I don't kape a clock," said Burke, reflectively, "an' I don't take any stock in th' sun. Ye can't bate th' cock-crow for pun-shooality."
I retired with, a sigh.
Sometime in the night I heard an awful rattling of chains, and other things in the harness room, which adjoined mine, mingled with shouts of "Whoa, there! D—yer. Can't, yer stand still a minute?" to the horses, which Miss Burke hadn't run up yet. I was too sleepy to take the hint. It was so nice and comfortable in bed, and it seemed only five minutes since I had turned in.
Presently Mrs. Burke began rattling the crockery, and dropping tin dishes all over the place. Now and again she called loudly to the fowls, which wouldn't leave the roost; and hunted away the pigs, which were shut up in the sty. For shame's sake I got up. It was 4 o'clock.
"It's late ye are, bhoy," Mrs. Burke said. "Av coorse, Paddy will excuse ye, seein' it's yer first mornin'. But, for Hiveen's sake, kape th' back o' the fince as ye go to work, lest M'Guire's min should observe ye. They do be pokin' it at us whin we overslape ourselves. M'Guire's min will be comin' in to breakfast as ye go out. If they should see ye, ye might remark that we've been huskin' corn durin' th' forenoon."
Burke came running up. He gave me a rusty hoe with a crooked handle.
"Ye'll find Miss Burke down th' farm," He informed me. "She'll 'ave about siven rows chipped by this time. Just sthart forninst her in th' wan beyant, an' chip it clane, as ye may see her doin'."
I had got a few paces away when he called me. "I thought I might as well tell ye that Miss Burke don't like to be talked to when she's workin'."
Miss Burke was a gawky, bare-legged girl, of seventeen or thereabouts, who chipped right and left at a rattling pace. In trying to keep up with her I left a lot of uncut weeds covered up with cut ones, and nicked off a plant or two out of nearly every stool. These I stood upright, or buried, when Miss Burke wasn't looking. She looked pretty often. I discovered later that she was wondering it I had lost my tongue.
She did talk. She informed me that M'Guire's men were the best on the river. One was a stunner. Her father would like to have him. He woke M'Guire up one midnight after working a little later than usual, and asked for the loan of an axe to pass away a little while chopping wood till it was time to go to work again. "Father never got hold of any willin' coves like that."
After breakfast Burke told me I could have ten minutes smoke-ho—while I was going back to work. I was granted the same concession after dinner, and also after tea—going to the barn. "Ther's no two ways about it," he remarked, "ye can enjoy a pipe whin ye're sittin' down huskin'!"
On Sunday Burke said "we have some sport—shooting paddy-melons." The farm was overrun with them, which meant destruction to the young crops. We hunted through the scrub all day, which was mighty hard work, and returned after dark, too tired to look round at a cat fight.
Burke had great respect for a sporting man, and would even let him wash his soiled clothes on Sunday night instead of working. If he got hold of one who didn't care to chase paddy-melons on the Sabbath he would sack him on Saturday night and put him on again on Monday morning. That saved three meals.
I had just got a week in when Burke one afternoon saw me walking back about ten yards for my pipe. He came over to me.
"Ye seem to be doin' a lot o' walkin' about," he said; "do I pay ye to walk about?"
"Am I to crawl, or stand still?" I asked him.
"It's work ye have to do, an' work 'ard," he said. "Sure, it's the aisy billet you've been used to, I'm thinkin'."
"Don't I suit you?"
"Faith, ye don't."
"Then why do you keep me?"
"It's th' fool I am for kapin' ye. Come arn now, and I'll pay ye for the week's work ye haven't done."
He paid me, and with bluey up again I set off up river for Crampy's Dairy. M'Guire had told me that Crampy was always wanting men. It wasn't a very good recommendation, but I inspected the establishment. I was offered a job at twelve-and-six a week. All I had to do was to milk 60 cows before breakfast in a boggy yard; after breakfast, feed 200 pigs and 90 poddy calves; after which I would take gentle exercise in the canefield till 4. Then I'd milk the 60 cows and feed the 200 pigs and the 90 poddy calves all over again.
Old Crampy was explaining how easy it was when one of his men came up and asked for a holiday to go to town.
"I want to sell my blankets," he said. "I've got no use for 'em here."
Crampy asked for an explanation with his eyes.
"I've been used to proper hours and regular meals," he said. "Two suppers a night seems to be the custom hereabouts—one after dark and one before daylight. Better gimme my cheque."
"Which way are you going?" I asked him, when Crampy had bounced away in high dudgeon.
"Straight blanky bang to the back o' Queensland, where there's no cockies nor dairies," he answered.
"Right." said I, "I'm with you" and shouldering bluey again, we departed from Cockydom with gladness and celerity.
