Part 30 (1/2)
Even when they rose from the table Purdy continued to hold the stage.
For he had turned up with hardly a s.h.i.+rt to his back, and had to be rigged out afresh from Mahony's wardrobe. It was decided that he should remain their guest in the meantime; also that Mahony should call on his behalf on the Commissioner of Police, and put in a good word for him.
For Purdy had come back with the idea of seeking a job in the Ballarat Mounted Force.
When Mahony could no longer put off starting on his afternoon round, Purdy went with him to the livery-barn, limping briskly at his side. On the way, he exclaimed aloud at the marvellous changes that had taken place since he was last in the towns.h.i.+p. There were half a dozen gas-lamps in Sturt Street by this time, the gas being distilled from a mixture of oil and gum-leaves.
”One wouldn't credit it if one didn't see it with one's own peepers!”
he cried, repeatedly bringing up short before the plate-gla.s.s windows of the shops, the many handsome, verandahed hotels, the granite front of Christ Church. ”And from what I hear, d.i.c.k, now companies have jumped the claims and are deep-sinking in earnest, fortunes'll be made like one o'clock.”
But on getting home again, he sat down in front of Polly and said, with a businesslike air: ”And now tell me all about old d.i.c.k! You know, Poll, he's such an odd fish; if he himself doesn't offer to uncork, somehow one can't just pump him. And I want to know everything that concerns him--from A to Z.”
Polly could not hold out against this affectionate curiosity.
Entrenching her needle in its stuff, she put her work away and complied. And soon to her own satisfaction. For the first time in her married life she was led to discuss her husband's ways and actions with another; and, to her amazement, she found that it was easier to talk to Purdy about Richard than to Richard himself. Purdy and she saw things in the same light; no rigmarole of explanation was necessary. Now with Richard, it was not so. In conversation with him, one constantly felt that he was not speaking out, or, to put it more plainly, that he was going on meanwhile with his own, very different thoughts. And behind what he did say, there was sure to lurk some imaginary scruple, some rather far-fetched delicacy of feeling which it was hard to get at, and harder still to understand.
Chapter VII
Summer had come round again, and the motionless white heat of December lay heavy on the place. The low little houses seemed to cower beneath it; and the smoke from their chimneys drew black, perpendicular lines on the pale sky. If it was a misery at this season to traverse the blazing, dusty roads, it was almost worse to be within doors, where the thin wooden walls were powerless to keep out the heat, and flies and mosquitoes raged in chorus. Nevertheless, determined Christmas preparations went on in dozens of tiny, zinc-roofed kitchens, the temperature of which was not much below that of the ovens themselves; and kindly, well-to-do people like Mrs. Glendinning and Mrs. Urquhart drove in in hooded buggies, with green fly-veils dangling from their broad-brimmed hats, and dropped a goose here, a turkey there, on their less prosperous friends. They robbed their gardens, too, of the summer's last flowers, arum-lilies and brilliant geraniums, to decorate the Archdeacon's church for the festival; and many ladies spent the whole day beforehand making wreaths and crosses, and festoons to encircle the lamps.
No one was busier than Polly. She wanted to give Purdy, who had been on short commons for so long, a special Christmas treat. She had willing helpers in him and Jerry: the two of them chopped and stoned and stirred, while she, seated on the block of the woodstack, her head tied up in an old pillow-case, plucked and singed the goose that had fallen to her share. Towards four o'clock on Christmas Day they drew their chairs to the table, and with loosened collars set about enjoying the good things. Or pretending to enjoy them. This was Mahony's case; for the day was no holiday for him, and his head ached from the sun. At tea-time Hempel arrived to pay a call, looking very spruce in a long black coat and white tie; and close on his heels followed old Mr.
Oc.o.c.k. The latter, having deposited his hat under his seat and tapped several pockets, produced a letter, which he unfolded and handed to Polly with a broad grin. It was from his daughter, and contained the news of his wife's death. ”Died o' the grumbles, I lay you! An' the first good turn she ever done me.” The main point was that Miss Amelia, now at liberty, was already taking advice about the safest line of clipper-s.h.i.+ps, and asking for a reply BY RETURN to a number of extraordinary questions. Could one depend on hearing G.o.d's Word preached of a Sunday? Was it customary for FEMALES to go armed as well as men? Were the blacks CONVERTED, and what amount of clothing did they wear?
”Thinks she's comin' to the back o' beyond, does Mely!” chuckled the old man, and slapped his thigh at the sudden idea that occurred to him of ”takin' a rise out of 'er.” ”Won't she stare when she gits 'ere, that's all!”
”Well, now you'll simply HAVE to build,” said Polly, after threatening to write privately to Miss Amelia, to rea.s.sure her. Why not move over west, and take up a piece of ground in the same road as themselves? But from this he excused himself, with a laugh and a spit, on the score that no land-sales had yet been held in their neighbourhood: when he DID turn out of his present four walls, which had always been plenty good enough for him, he wanted a place he could ”fit up tidy”; which it 'ud stick in his throat to do so, if he thought it might any day be sold over his head. Mahony winced at this. Then laughed, with an exaggerated carelessness. If, in a country like this, you waited for all to be fixed and sure, you would wait till Domesday. None the less, the thrust rankled. It was a fact that he himself had not spent a sou on his premises since they finished building. The thought at the back of HIS mind, too, was, why waste his hard-earned income on improvements that might benefit only the next-comer? The yard they sat in, for instance! Polly had her hens and a ramshackle hen-house; but not a spadeful of earth had been turned towards the wished-for garden. It was just the ordinary colonial backyard, fenced round with rude palings which did not match, and were mended here and there with bits of hoop-iron; its ground s.p.a.ce littered with a medley of articles for which there was no room elsewhere: boards left lying by the builders, empty kerosene-tins, a couple of tubs, a ragged cane-chair, some old cases. Wash-lines, on which at the moment a row of stockings hung, stretched permanently from corner to corner; and the whole was dominated by the big round galvanised-iron tank.
On Boxing Day Purdy got the loan of a lorry and drove a large party, including several children, comfortably placed on straw, ha.s.socks and low chairs, to the Races a few miles out. Half Ballarat was making in the same direction; and whoever owned a horse that was sound in the wind and anything of a stepper had entered it for some item on the programme. The Grand Stand, a bark shed open to the air on three sides, was resorted to only in the case of a sudden downpour; the occupants of the dust-laden buggies, wagonettes, brakes, carts and drays preferred to follow events standing on their seats, and on the boards that served them as seats. After the meeting, those who belonged to the Urquhart-Glendinning set went on to Yarangobilly, and danced till long pastmidnight on the broad verandah. It was nearly three o'clock before Purdy brought his load safely home. Under the round white moon, the lorry was strewn with the forms of sleeping children.
Early next morning while Polly, still only half awake, was pouring out coffee and giving Richard who, poor fellow, could not afford to leave his patients, an account of their doings--with certain omissions, of course: she did not mention the glaring indiscretion Agnes Glendinning had been guilty of, in disappearing with Mr. Henry Oc.o.c.k into a dark shrubbery--while Polly talked, the postman handed in two letters, which were of a nature to put b.a.l.l.s and races clean out of her head. The first was in Mrs. Beamish's ill-formed hand, and told a sorrowful tale.
Custom had entirely gone: a new hotel had been erected on the new road; Beamish was forced to declare himself a bankrupt; and in a few days the Family Hotel, with all its contents, would be put up at public auction.
What was to become of them, G.o.d alone knew. She supposed she would end her days in taking in was.h.i.+ng, and the girls must go out as servants.
But she was sure Polly, now so up in the world, with a husband doing so well, would not forget the old friends who had once been so kind to her--with much more in the same strain, which Polly skipped, in reading the letter aloud. The long and short of it was: would Polly ask her husband to lend them a couple of hundred pounds to make a fresh start with, or failing that to put his name to a bill for the same amount?
”Of course she hasn't an idea we were obliged to borrow money ourselves,” said Polly in response to Mahony's ironic laugh. ”I couldn't tell them that.”
”No ... nor that it's a perpetual struggle to keep the wolf from the door,” answered her husband, battering in the top of an egg with the back of his spoon.
”Oh, Richard dear, things aren't quite so bad as that,” said Polly cheerfully. Then she heaved a sigh. ”I know, of course, we can't afford to help them; but I DO feel so sorry for them”--she herself would have given the dress off her back. ”And I think, dear, if you didn't mind VERY much, we might ask one of the girls up to stay with us ... till the worst is over.”
”Yes, I suppose that wouldn't be impossible,” said Mahony. ”If you've set your heart on it, my Polly. If, too, you can persuade Master Purdy to forgo the comfort of your good feather-bed. And I'll see if I can wring out a fiver for you to enclose in your letter.”
Polly jumped up and kissed him. ”Purdy is going anyhow. He said only last night he must look for lodgings near the Police Station.” Here a thought struck her; she coloured and smiled. ”I'll ask Tilly first,”
said she.
Mahony laughed and shook his finger at her. ”The best laid plans o'
mice and men! And what's one to say to a match-maker who is still growing out of her clothes?”
At this Polly clapped a hand over his mouth, for fear Ellen should hear him. It was a sore point with her that she had more than once of late had to lengthen her dresses.