Читать книгу Billabong Gold - Mary Grant Bruce - Страница 8

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BILL BLAKE’S feelings were mixed as he drove with Norah Meadows to the township of Cunjee to meet the visitors.

He was not at all sure that he wanted them. At first it had seemed rather jolly when Norah had told him that a boy of about his own age was coming to Billabong. There would be fun in showing him things, in introducing him to all the station life that to Bill was the best thing in the world. Dick Yorke was not altogether a stranger: he had the nodding acquaintance with him that a boy in a big school has for a fellow in a higher form. He did not belong to Dick’s set. And that made him feel doubtful. Dick was the younger, but he was well ahead of him in school.

“Wonder if he’ll put on airs?” mused Bill.

It had never troubled him that he was a duffer at lessons. He disliked them thoroughly, doing as little work as he could to avoid unpleasant consequences, giving all his heart to games. All the fellows he liked did the same, with a lofty disregard for people who swotted. If Dick was a swot, and it seemed very likely that he was, they would certainly fail to twin-soul. He remembered vaguely having seen him go up to receive a form-prize at the last Speech Day—a function spent by Bill and his chums in a wriggling agony of boredom, enduring as they might the uplifting orations of the big-wigs on the platform. None of the band was ever likely to be summoned to a prize-table.

“If he’s a swot it’s going to be awful!” he thought.

There was another depressing thought. As the only boy on the station he had had a very good time. Jim Linton had adopted him as his “offsider,” teaching him all that should be known by a boy whose heart was set on becoming a station-owner himself when the fetters of school could be flung aside. All the grown-ups had made a friend of him, making him one of themselves. He had shared with them adventures that made him tingle to remember. Even now, though life was admittedly a bit duller, with all the men out in the hills, he had his own place; even a special responsibility, in that Jim had told him he depended on him to look after Norah and Tommy. Bill liked that. But how was the new boy going to fit in?

That a new girl also was coming did not concern him much. Norah and Tommy would no doubt find occupation for her: probably she would be useful with Davie, Norah’s small son, who, as Bill knew only too well, was able to keep anybody busy. Girls meant nothing to Bill, except Norah and Tommy, who were, he considered, pretty well as good as men. But the boy——!

“Either he’ll be too big for his boots, or else I’ll have to look after him as if he was a kid,” his thoughts ran. “An’ I don’t know which’ll be the worst.”

He glanced up sideways at Norah, who was apparently thinking only of driving. She looked straight ahead, her face serene as she swung the big car round bend after bend of the narrow bush road. It was a road that demanded concentration, since a turn might suddenly bring them on a crawling mob of sheep or face to face with a long team of bullocks drawing a laden wagon; obstacles that were awkward for a Rolls-Royce. Yet Bill knew that Norah had an uncanny way of guessing at his thoughts, and he felt a bit uncomfortable. The Lintons, one and all, had strong views on responsibility to guests: and Norah had told him that he was in the position of a host, being part of Billabong. The queer part was that he had found it quite easy to be a host when strange men had come, friends of Jim’s, on their way to join the camp in the ranges. But a boy seemed altogether different from grown-ups.

Norah was well aware that something was wrong. There were times when Bill chattered like a magpie: others when he maintained a comfortable silence, knowing by instinct that his companion did not wish to talk. This, she knew, was not a comfortable silence. Something was worrying him: she was able to guess the reason. She cast about in her mind for a way to help him.

“I wonder how Dick Yorke’s feeling,” she observed. “It must be rather horrid, that last half-hour before getting to a strange place.”

“ ’Um. I thought it was, first time I came,” agreed Bill. He grinned. “I don’t now!”

“No, you belong now. But I shouldn’t wonder if Dick has his heart in his boots. Well, we won’t let it stay there long. He may be like a fish out of water for the first few days, though. We’ll have to get him busy at something or other, Bill.”

“Hope he’s the sort that likes getting busy,” Bill growled. “I don’t know an awful lot about him, you know, Norah.” He hesitated. “I’ve been wondering how it’s going to work out.”

“Like we were before you came that first time. Seems a long while ago, doesn’t it, Bill?”

“My hat, yes!” he said. “Gosh, Norah, I was blue that day!”

“No wonder; and I expect Dick may be a bit blue, too. But it worked out all right, Bill, didn’t it?” She flashed a smile at him; she had no intention of dwelling on the time that it had taken for Bill to adjust himself to Billabong. “If we all help Dick along he will fit in. I’ve my own problem, you know, Bill: Betty Yorke is almost a stranger to me. Tommy and I have been wondering very much—just as you have.”

The boy looked surprised. It had not occurred to him that grown-ups had these difficulties too. He found it comforting.

“Do you think she’ll be awfully towny and all that?”

“One never knows,” said Norah solemnly.

“I say, what’ll you do with her if she is?”

“Oh—just break her in gently, like Murty with the young horses. But she’s keen on riding, Bill, so that’s one gleam of hope.”

“Billabong riding, or just Town riding?” asked Bill with a grin.

“That’s what we’ve got to find out. I hope she won’t get too many shocks in the process. If she is only used to gentle canters along Alexandra Avenue—well, it may be a little awkward. But it’s stupid to go ahead to meet trouble, isn’t it? And there’s Cunjee—and goodness, Bill, is that the smoke of the train coming down the hill? We’ll have to hurry.”

The car left a cloud of dust behind it over the last mile into the township. Norah and Bill ran through the booking-office and out on the platform as the train slowed down.

“There they are!” said Bill excitedly.

Betty and Dick saw two hurrying figures: a tall, dark-eyed girl with hair that curled under the brim of her hat, and a sturdy freckled boy of twelve, square-chinned and obstinate-looking. His hair was a vivid red. No beauty was Bill; but there was something disarming in the half-smile with which he greeted Betty. He turned to her brother.

“Hullo, Yorke,” he said.

“H’lo,” rejoined Dick. They looked each other up and down like two terriers taking stock. Bill was instantly conscious that beside his own grey shirt and shorts the new-comer was almost indecently well dressed.

“Looks as if he was ready to go to church!” he thought; and did not pause to remember that a fond mother had—probably with some difficulty—clothed a protesting son for his journey. It was worse than he had feared. Bill sought relief by seizing the largest suitcases in sight.

“Here, I’ll take those,” muttered Dick.

“No, you get something else,” growled Bill. He strode manfully towards the exit.

Norah’s fears had fallen away from her from the moment that she saw Betty. Here was a person whose heart was clearly in her boots—but one who was going to fit into Billabong. “I’m so glad you’ve come, Betty,” she said: the firmness of her hand-grip said more than her words. Betty’s heart leaped back into its normal situation.

“Even though I asked myself?”

“That makes it all the nicer,” said Norah comfortably. “Dick, you’re just the size I hoped you would be, because it’s the right size for the pony we’ve been getting ready for you. Come along—you must be dying for tea.”

They packed into the car. Norah did not make the mistake of putting the two boys into the back seat to make friends with each other. That moment, she knew, was not yet.

“I’ll take the small cases in front, Betty, and put you in the back with a gentleman on each side,” she said. “Bill can point out all the beauties of the landscape to you—there aren’t enough of them on this particular road to keep him busy. Quite comfortable?” The car edged past a wood-carter’s dray and settled into a steady speed.

Bill found Betty easy to talk to. He realized quickly that she was really interested—not just making conversation in the heavy manner so many grown-ups adopted with anyone his size. He decided that she was hardly grown-up at all. She had sense, too—didn’t ask him patronizing questions. She said, “Marvellous luck for you to be having all this time away from school, isn’t it?”—and then left the hated subject of school alone. She said straight out that she didn’t know a thing about cattle, and would he tell her which were Herefords and which were Shorthorns, if they saw any in the paddocks along the road. She admitted that sheep didn’t attract her; Bill had all the cattle-man’s scorn for sheep, and he said, “Jolly good thing!” And she didn’t turn a hair when a motor-bike whizzed round a bend, nearly crashing into them, and Norah had to swing aside so sharply that they went into a really hair-raising skid in the dust, and very nearly went down the bank of a creek. Betty had only laughed, twisting round to look at the track of the skid. “Norah’s going to like her, all right,” Bill thought.

He was not so sure about Dick. The new boy hardly talked at all. Certainly, he hadn’t said anything when they were spinning round in the dust; that counted as one point to him. Bill couldn’t tell if he were interested in any part of the journey. He sat well back in his corner, so that Bill could only see his legs—and legs do not tell much, though it was some comfort to notice that his knees were dirty. Bill knew how very dirty his own knees became on the long journey from Melbourne to Cunjee. Dick did not offer to get out when at length they came to the gate of the homestead paddock: but Bill was honest enough to admit to himself that his own movement had been so quick that it scarcely gave Dick time to offer to open it. He knew, indeed, that he had sprung out of the car with an extra shade of haste, just to emphasize that it was his own job.

Then they were at the house, with Tommy and wee Davie running out to welcome the new-comers, the girls whisking Betty off to her room; and now he had to be host. He took Dick upstairs to his own room, where very special treasures hung on the walls: his own stock-whip, an old revolver, the boomerang and throwing-sticks that had been made for him by Billy the black “boy” who had served Billabong since his piccaninny days. There were grey streaks in Billy’s hair now, but nobody ever thought of him as anything but a boy. Bill saw Dick’s eyes go quickly to the trophies, but he said nothing.

“This is my room—we’re sharing it,” Bill said. “I’ll show you where to put your clothes. Bathroom’s just across the passage.”

It was a jolly room, long and narrow, with a big window opening upon a wide balcony. There were two little easy-chairs of woven grass, two writing-tables, two chests of drawers, a wardrobe; but no beds.

“Where do we sleep?” Dick asked. He liked the room, but he was far too tongue-tied to say so.

“Oh, on the balcony, of course. Jim sleeps there, too, when he’s home.” A shadow came into Bill’s eyes; one of the things that made it hard to welcome the stranger was the knowledge that when Jim came he would not be alone with him on the balcony for the long yarns in the early morning, the fun and companionship that Jim had given him so freely. It would be hard to share them with a third person. Very likely, he thought heavily, Jim would not want to yarn at all. But there was no sense in dwelling on that.

“I’ll show you,” he said.

They went out on the balcony. At one end was Jim’s room, shut off with mosquito wire-netting: near it, his long bed, a hard narrow stretcher: then two small stretchers, side by side, covered with gay cotton spreads.

“I say, that’s jolly nice!” Dick said. “I can’t sleep out at home: there’s a sleeping-porch, but the girls bagged it.”

“It is rather jolly,” said Bill, shortly. And Dick looked at him, and knew quite well he did not want him there.

Speech dried up under that knowledge. He was very silent as they washed and brushed in the bathroom. They went downstairs; Bill looked into a big drawing-room, and finding nobody, led the way through a window to the verandah. There was tea ready on a couple of tables; the only person in sight was an old woman, very fat, but surprisingly light of foot. She moved from one table to another, giving deft touches here and there. Turning, she saw the boys. Her broad face smiled hearteningly at the stranger.

“Here’s Dick, Brownie,” said Bill.

“An’ very pleased everyone is to see you, Master Dick, I’m sure.” Dick found his hand shaken warmly. Brownie, who had brought up the children of Billabong and was now carrying on the good work with Davie, had room in her heart for all things small and young; and she was quick to see that here was someone who had not yet found his feet. “I hope you’re quite comferable in Master Bill’s room—if there’s anything you want, you just come to old Brownie for it. There’s always a welcome in my kitchen.”

Dick had not known kitchens where there was any welcome whatever. Somehow, however, the idea of a kitchen presided over by this motherly person seemed curiously inviting. He smiled back at her.

“Thanks—I’ll come, too,” he said.

Gay voices sounded, and the girls came out on the verandah. Dick found himself taken in charge by Tommy Rainham, who was small and dainty, with hair as fair as his own. She was English, he knew, and he hadn’t felt sure that he would like her. The only English person he knew was a boy at school who had unfortunately been so scornful of all things Australian that the fellows in his “dorm” had felt obliged to take strong measures with him. But Tommy seemed quite unlike this misfit. She was merry, talking quickly, putting him at his ease. Norah, too, was all that Dick summed up as “jolly decent.” He wondered why Jean had spoken so crushingly about her clothes. Perhaps her pale blue jumper and skirt were her best things, put on to welcome them. They looked all right, he thought. And the hot scones and home-made bread and butter, the bewildering variety of cakes, were marvellous, and he was awfully hungry—which everyone seemed to think was what he should be.

He felt very much better when tea was over. Bill had been cheerful, too, though too busy to talk much. Dick looked across the spreading paddocks, dotted with great red-gums. They stretched far away, ending in a dim blue line of hills; groups of cattle grazed here and there. Not far from the house he could catch a glimpse of a tree-fringed lagoon.

“What do you think of our country, Dick?” Norah asked, watching him.

“It’s—it’s awfully big and empty after Melbourne,” he said. “But it’s exciting—sort of Wild West feeling. Like what you see on the films.”

“We can’t live up to the films, I’m afraid,” she told him with a smile. “But we do have some excitement now and then. Bill, I think you had better take Dick and show him round the place.”

“All right,” said Bill, wishing he felt more inclined for the job. “Come on, Yorke.” He clattered down the verandah steps, and they dived into the shrubbery together.