第62章 Part II.(26)

His mates and the casual Jims and Bills were taken too suddenly to laugh,and the laugh having been lost,as Bland Holt,the Australian actor would put it in a professional sense,the audience had time to think,with the result that the joker swung his hand down through an imaginary table and exclaimed --`By God!Jimmy'll do it.'(Applause.)

So one drowsy afternoon at the time of the year when the breathless day runs on past 7P.M.Mrs Myers sat sewing in the bar parlour,when a clean-shaved,clean-shirted,clean-neckerchiefed,clean-moleskinned,greased-bluchered --altogether a model or stage swagman came up,was served in the bar by the half-caste female cook,and took his way to the river-bank,where he rigged a small tent and made a model camp.

A couple of hours later he sat on a stool on the verandah,smoking a clean clay pipe.Just before the sunset meal Mrs Myers asked,`Is that trav'ler there yet,Mary?'

`Yes,missus.Clean pfellar that.'

The landlady knitted her forehead over her sewing,as women do when limited for `stuff'or wondering whether a section has been cut wrong --or perhaps she thought of that other who hadn't been a `clean pfellar'.

She put her work aside,and stood in the doorway,looking out across the clearing.

`Good-day,mister,'she said,seeming to become aware of him for the first time.

`Good-day,missus!'

`Hot!'

`Hot!'

Pause.

`Trav'lin'?'

`No,not particular!'

She waited for him to explain.Myers was always explaining when he wasn't raving.But the swagman smoked on.

`Have a drink?'she suggested,to keep her end up.

`No,thank you,missus.I had one an hour or so ago.I never take more than two a-day --one before breakfast,if I can get it,and a night-cap.'

What a contrast to Myers!she thought.

`Come and have some tea;it's ready.'

`Thank you.I don't mind if I do.'

They got on very slowly,but comfortably.She got little out of him except the facts that he had a selection,had finished a contract,and was `just having a look at the country.'He politely declined a `shake-down',saying he had a comfortable camp,and preferred being out this weather.She got his name with a `by-the-way',as he rose to leave,and he went back to camp.

He caught a cod,and they had it for breakfast next morning,and got along so comfortable over breakfast that he put in the forenoon pottering about the gates and stable with a hammer,a saw,and a box of nails.

And,well --to make it short --when the big Tinned Dog shed had cut-out,and the shearers struck the Half-way House,they were greatly impressed by a brand-new sign whereon glistened the words --HALF-WAY HOUSE HOTEL,BY JAMES GRIMSHAW.

Good Stabling.

The last time I saw Mrs Grimshaw she looked about thirty-five.

At Dead Dingo.

It was blazing hot outside and smothering hot inside the weather-board and iron shanty at Dead Dingo,a place on the Cleared Road,where there was a pub.and a police-station,and which was sometimes called `Roasted',and other times `Potted Dingo'--nicknames suggested by the everlasting drought and the vicinity of the one-pub.township of Tinned Dog.

From the front verandah the scene was straight-cleared road,running right and left to Out-Back,and to Bourke (and ankle-deep in the red sand dust for perhaps a hundred miles);the rest blue-grey bush,dust,and the heat-wave blazing across every object.

There were only four in the bar-room,though it was New Year's Day.

There weren't many more in the county.The girl sat behind the bar --the coolest place in the shanty --reading `Deadwood Dick'.

On a worn and torn and battered horse-hair sofa,which had seen cooler places and better days,lay an awful and healthy example,a bearded swagman,with his arms twisted over his head and his face to the wall,sleeping off the death of the dead drunk.Bill and Jim --shearer and rouseabout --sat at a table playing cards.

It was about three o'clock in the afternoon,and they had been gambling since nine --and the greater part of the night before --so they were,probably,in a worse condition morally (and perhaps physically)than the drunken swagman on the sofa.

Close under the bar,in a dangerous place for his legs and tail,lay a sheep-dog with a chain attached to his collar and wound round his neck.

Presently a thump on the table,and Bill,unlucky gambler,rose with an oath that would have been savage if it hadn't been drawled.

`Stumped?'inquired Jim.

`Not a blanky,lurid deener!'drawled Bill.

Jim drew his reluctant hands from the cards,his eyes went slowly and hopelessly round the room and out the door.

There was something in the eyes of both,except when on the card-table,of the look of a man waking in a strange place.

`Got anything?'asked Jim,fingering the cards again.

Bill sucked in his cheeks,collecting the saliva with difficulty,and spat out on to the verandah floor.

`That's all I got,'he drawled.`It's gone now.'

Jim leaned back in his chair,twisted,yawned,and caught sight of the dog.

`That there dog yours?'he asked,brightening.

They had evidently been strangers the day before,or as strange to each other as Bushmen can be.

Bill scratched behind his ear,and blinked at the dog.

The dog woke suddenly to a flea fact.

`Yes,'drawled Bill,`he's mine.'

`Well,I'm going Out-Back,and I want a dog,'said Jim,gathering the cards briskly.`Half a quid agin the dog?'

`Half a quid be --!'drawled Bill.`Call it a quid?'

`Half a blanky quid!'

`A gory,lurid quid!'drawled Bill desperately,and he stooped over his swag.

But Jim's hands were itching in a ghastly way over the cards.

`Alright.Call it a --quid.'

The drunkard on the sofa stirred,showed signs of waking,but died again.

Remember this,it might come in useful.

Bill sat down to the table once more.

Jim rose first,winner of the dog.He stretched,yawned `Ah,well!'and shouted drinks.Then he shouldered his swag,stirred the dog up with his foot,unwound the chain,said `Ah,well --so long!'and drifted out and along the road toward Out-Back,the dog following with head and tail down.