Читать книгу Gentlemen at Gyang Gyang - Miles Franklin - Страница 13

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The Cook's fire was invaded by boilers of fly-dressing and, the Cook being crowded off his hearth, Black Peter made a fire at the cowyard and took his long toms and bottles there under the superintendence of Cocky. The kitchen was left to the Boss and Burberry. Poole believed his decoction of arsenic of lanoline and bluestone to be infallible; the Boss swore by turps, whale oil, and kerosene as being more emollient than bluestone, and Oliver Burberry's specific was largely used car-oil. They were all as busy as boys with worms and fishing tackle.

"Great day tomorrow! We've got enough fly-juice to conquer the flies from here to Narrabi," gleefully announced Burberry at bed-time.

"Couldn't you do something to destroy the flies permanently, as the mosquitoes were exterminated at Panama?" inquired Bernice, who had volunteered, and with Spires was putting the Boss's and Burberry's ointments in a heterogeneous collection of containers.

"Tom tried something one summer at Jindilliwah," said Labosseer. There was a general laugh. Evidently a staple joke. Beardy arose in defence.

"I reckon if everyone had done wot I done, it woulda worked." He turned to Bernice. "A bullock busted through eatin' too much blue couch and trefoil so I took the insides outer him and filled him with fly-juice, made a boat of him and hung karersene-tins of juice all about on the trees with some of the insides in to make it nice and tasty for the blowflies. Lordy, they was dead knee-deep for yards around that bullock, an' I reckon if everyone done the same it would soon thin the flies. It could be easy worked by puttin' a bit of rabbit in the juice to make it hum."