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I HAD just come in from watching an inter-school football match when I got Binkie’s letter. It was a raw cold day, and even huddled up in an overcoat and muffler—things I hate wearing, anyhow—I couldn’t keep warm. And the other side beat us hollow, which didn’t do much to improve matters. I was sneezing as I went upstairs; and of course I had to run into Matron.

“Getting another cold, are you, Forsyth?” She said it in a resigned way. “Come to my room when you’ve got your coat off, and I’ll give you a dose of medicine.” She sighed. “Not that I suppose it will stop it.”

Matron is regarded as one of those glum people who always look out for the worst and make you feel a sort of criminal if you’ve anything wrong with you. Until this term she’d never had a chance of giving me any medicine at all, so she had made up for lost time by pouring doses into me at any odd moment. I knew it was no good arguing with her, so I took the beastly stuff and went downstairs wishing it wasn’t so long until the end of Term. Even though my leg was better, I was out of everything, and people still kept telling me to be careful with it. They flatly refused to let me do gym. or kick a ball, and as far as I could see, that was going to be the way until the holidays. I felt sick of everything.

Davies, who is in my form, came bolting upstairs as I came down.

“There’s a letter in the rack for you, old man,” he said as he passed me.

I put on a spurt, because my letters are generally from home. This was in Binkie’s writing, and I took it into the library to read it in peace. It said:

Dear Peter,

Mother was going to write to you, but an unexpected gang of callers have come, so she told me to write instead because there is exsiting knews, and she does not want it to miss to-day’s post.

Mother has been getting letters from Mr. Garfield and one from your Watty Morgan, and they each say the same sort of thing about you. They say you are a bit under the wether, even if your leg is better. I think they have a lot of sense, because they said straight out that school wasn’t much good to you this winter, and Mr. Garfield said why not give him a chance of getting into the sun again, because the climat this year is realy not worth calling a climat at all, being only east winds and rain, mixed up with everybody talking about War coming. And he said you have had a long time of worry yourself, Mrs. Forsyth, and a change would do you no harm, and I don’t suppose it would hurt Binkie. And Watty said it would be good for that leg of his to have plenty of sea-bathing because there is nothing like swimming, why not take him where the water is warm.

So all this and a lot more that they said set Dad and Mother thinking, speshally Dad, because Mother has been looking a bit queer lately herself, and she has been worrying about you. And Mr. Garfield sent them a whole lot of pamphlets and things about the Barrier Reef islands, where it appears to always be warm even in winter.

And at this point my hair began to stand straight up all over my head, because I felt what was coming; and of all the places I’ve ever wanted to see the Barrier Reef is easily first. But I could hardly believe it until I read on:

And we all studdied them. Mr. Garfield knows a man named Mr. Burgess, who has an island and a wife, and they run this Island, and lots of tourists go there. It is called Kongai Island, and it seems a lovely one. Well, the end of it is, they made up their minds, Dad and Mother, I mean, and we are all going there, right off. Dad will write to the school to tell them. Peter, I am nearly bursting, so it is hard to write carmly, and I expect you will be bursting, too, by now, and so is Tarry, though she is carm in front of Dad and Mother, but not with me and Clem. We are to sail in a ship called the Kalara, which leaves Sydney next Tuesday. That is only six days now, and it will be five when you get this. We are going down in the car on Sunday and colect you early on Monday morning, because of buying clothes and things.

Clem is going round in a kind of daze, because it seems that to go to the Barrier Reef has always been his secret ambishun, and now it is coming off. Tarry has given up any idea of teaching us, until we go. She says it was always an up-hill job, and now it is just a wash-out. But if you had seen Tarry waltzing round the schoolroom table after she heard the glad knews you would say there wasn’t much to choose between us.

Mail’s going, so good-bye from

Binks.

.....

Well, I just sat and stared at the letter and tried to realize all it meant. I don’t know how many times I read it; and I counted up the days over and over, Friday—Saturday—Sunday—Monday—Tuesday. Only one more day of school work—I wondered how I’d ever get through it if my head went on whirling as it was whirling now. I’d never been on a real ship; I’d never been out of New South Wales except for a launch trip up the coast, and though that trip had included a good deal I wasn’t keen on remembering, I had just loved being on the sea. And now, instead of slogging on as best I could until the end of term, here were all my wildest dreams coming true.

I had a longing to see Mr. Garfield and Watty and tell them what I thought of them for bringing it off, only I knew I wouldn’t get leave. This was what Mr. Garfield must have meant when he said his head was buzzing with plans—I’d often wondered what they were, only of course I couldn’t ask him. Anyhow, I had never dreamed of anything happening before the holidays—how could I?

The bell went for tea, but I didn’t hear it. I might have sat on there indefinitely, only a fellow who was reading in the far corner got up and went out. He stopped, though, in the doorway, and said, “The bell’s gone, Forsyth—I say, you haven’t had bad news or anything, have you?”

I said, “No, I’m only going to the Barrier Reef.”

I must have sounded a bit dotty, but he just thought I was joking. He said, “Well, you’d better have tea on your way, or Mr. Denison will have something to say about it.” So I came out of my daze and we made tracks for the dining-room. I told him on the way that it was really true, and that I was actually going next Tuesday, and he passed round the word. The other fellows were simply green with envy. Two of them had been to Kongai Island, and they said it was the best of all and that I was dead lucky to be going there: and they told yarns about the fishing that sounded like fairy-tales. One boy said, “You’ll look funny if war breaks out while you’re there—you might have to stay on the island the whole time it lasts.” I felt I could bear that quite well, though he drew unpleasant pictures of us having nothing but fish to eat.

Anyhow, food didn’t seem to mean anything to me then. I drank three cups of tea, but I couldn’t eat a bit: and of course they ragged me about feeling sea-sick already. I went into evening prep, wondering how on earth I was going to keep my mind on Latin prose. But I didn’t have to worry long, because just as I was chewing the end of my pen hopelessly there came a message that I was wanted in the drawing-room. And there I found Mr. Garfield!

He pumped my hand and said, “Well, how does going to sea suit you?—I can see you’ve heard the news.” I told him it was all his doing, and I tried to thank him, but he wouldn’t be thanked. “You needn’t think it’s all on your account, old chap,” he said. “All those people of yours at Weeroona could do with a change. Last summer was a scorcher, and it’s years since your father and mother were off the place. I’ve been using you as a lever to uproot the whole bunch, and now I’ve done it—and I’m as pleased as Punch.”

He looked it, too—he was grinning like a boy. And he had another shock waiting for me.

“Your father telephoned to me this morning and asked me to see to your berths on the ship, so that’s all done,” he said. “I suggested to him that this week-end at school might be a little long for you, Peter, and possibly you’d find it rather hard to work. Simply consideration on my part for the poor wretches who have to teach you, of course. So, knowing the Head and I were friends, he left it to me to fix up. Very reasonable man, the Head: he saw at once that you’d only be a disturbing element in the school, talking of reefs and sharks and things. Done any of that already?”

I said, “No, the other chaps are doing it for me at the rate of knots. I don’t seem able to think of anything yet, except to count the days till Tuesday. My head’s all spinning.”

“I don’t wonder,” said he. “They seem to be revolving in circles at Weeroona—I had a remarkable note from Binkie. Well, I think you had better come and sizzle down at my flat; and the Head agrees. It will be a bit quiet for you, but that won’t hurt you. Like to come?”

“Would I?” I gasped. “You don’t mean—now?”

“Now as ever is,” he said. “Cut along and get your pyjamas and oddments. I’ll have a talk to your House Master while you’re doing it. No need to hurry. We’ll come out again and get the rest of your things on Saturday—not that you’ll want a whole heap for the island.”

I was cramming my things into my week-end suit-case when who should blow in, to my horror, but Matron. She blew up, too, for a moment—she actually thought I was running away from school. As if anyone who was doing that would hamper himself with a suit-case! However, I explained matters, and she cooled down. Do you know, I’d never imagined how decent that stern woman could be! She said, “Well, I’m very glad, Forsyth, because school really isn’t much good to you this term. I hope you’ll have a splendid time and come back fit for cricket and everything.” Then she became matron-ish again, only in a sensible way; she pointed out that the suit I was wearing had seen better days and wouldn’t look too well in Mr. Garfield’s flat, and that the pyjamas I’d packed had been worn for nearly a week. She didn’t make me change, but she packed my good things for me, talking like a human being while she did it, and she put in things I’d clean forgotten, such as handkerchiefs. She said, “Are you all right for money? I could fix you up if you’re short.” And of course I was short, so I borrowed five shillings from her, and she assured me it didn’t matter if I didn’t pay it back before next term. Well, it just shows how you can get an entirely wrong notion of people. I felt rather a worm when I remembered having spoken of her as a cross old hag. We shook hands quite affectionately, and she called out, “Good luck and a good time!” as I went off.

Mr. Denison was just as decent. I didn’t have to do any explaining to him; he seemed to think it quite natural that I should be clearing out. Probably he was relieved, because I’m not much use to the House except at games, and games were off the map for me. We made a little polite conversation for a couple of minutes, and then Mr. Garfield said we must go.

In the car he said, “Now go slack, old chap.” So I just slumped in my seat and felt blissful, and neither of us said another word for an hour. He drove slowly, and I don’t know where we went: quiet roads all the time. I was nearly asleep when the car stopped in front of his garage. It was at the foot of a big block of flats. We put the car away and went up in a lift to the top floor.

I’d always thought flats were just little collections of rooms, but his wasn’t like that. We went into a square hall where there were stacks of all sorts of native weapons on the walls over low bookcases full of books. Gorgeous brass and copper things gleamed on top of the bookshelves. The first room was a dining-room, and it opened into a very big one that was on the corner of the building, so that its long windows looked out on two sides. More books and curios were there, and just the right sort of easy chairs and couches for a man’s room, and lots of flowers. Mr. Garfield’s own room was almost like an office, with a huge desk with a telephone on it—there was another telephone in the hall. He didn’t use that room for sleeping; there was a wide sleep-out with two beds on it that by day looked just like couches. And there was a spare-room and a very posh bathroom fitted up with all kinds of showers and gadgets. I found out next day that he had a kitchen, too. His housekeeper, Mrs. Wilson, had a room somewhere across the corridor from his front door.

She was a nice old thing with grey hair and wrinkles, but very twinkly eyes. Mr. Garfield told me she had been his nurse when he was a baby, and he thought the world of her. She always called him “Master Hubert,” which at first sounded a bit queer to me, as I’d always thought of him as quite old, pretty nearly forty. I knew that, because he’d been in the Great War. She had supper ready for us: the sandwiches were so good that I was sorry I still wasn’t hungry.

Mr. Garfield asked me would I rather sleep in the spare-room or on the sleep-out, and of course I chose the sleep-out. It was wonderful there. There was no moon, but that only showed up the lights better. We looked right across the Harbour; all the northern side was thick with lights, with the moving head-lamps of cars and trams flashing among them. Down below us was the glow from the warships, reflected in the water; there must have been a party on the flagship, for she was picked out with lamps from stem to stern. There were riding-lights of steamers and yachts at anchor, and the ferry-boats darting backwards and forwards looked like great jewelled beetles coming and going from Circular Quay. On the west the lights of the Bridge gleamed in long lines. There can’t be anything lovelier than Sydney Harbour at night.

I hung over the edge of the balcony looking at it until Mr. Garfield made me go to bed. It was ages before I could go to sleep, but I didn’t have to toss about as usual and feel anyhow: it was restful. I had the long beam of the South Head lighthouse to look at—and to think how I’d be sailing out between the Heads in five days.