Part 5 (2/2)

”Yes, and it's not much of a mixture,” said Jim. ”All the same, it's got to be taken if necessary. Still, I'm not sorry it's postponed for a bit; there will be heaps of war yet, and meanwhile we're just learning the trade.” He straightened his great shoulders. ”I never felt so horribly young and ignorant as when I found grown-up men in my charge in France.”

”Poor old Jimmy always did take his responsibilities heavily,” said Wally, laughing.

Mr. Linton looked at his big son, remembering a certain letter from his commanding officer which had caused him and Norah to glow with pride; remembering, also, how the men on Billabong Station had worked under ”Master Jim.” But he knew that soldiering had always been a serious business to his boy. Personal danger had never entered into Jim's mind; but the danger of ignorant handling of his men had been a tremendous thing to him. Even without ”mud, barbed-wire, and gas” Jim was never likely to enjoy war in the light-hearted way in which Wally would certainly take it under more pleasant conditions.

”Well--we've a week then, boys,” he said cheerfully, ”and no anxieties immediately before us except the new cook-ladies.”

”Well, goodness knows they are enough,” Norah said fervently.

”Anything more settled?” Jim asked.

”I have an ecstatic letter from Allenby.” Allenby was the ex-sergeant. ”He seems in a condition of trembling joy at the prospect of being our butler; and, what is more to the point, he says he has a niece whom he can recommend as a housemaid. So I have told him to instal her before we get to Homewood on Thursday. Hawkins has written a three-volume list of things he will require for the farm, but I haven't had time to study it yet. And Norah has had letters from nineteen registry-offices, all asking for a deposit!”

The boys roared.

”That makes seventy-one, doesn't it, Nor?” Wally asked.

”Something like it,” Norah admitted ruefully. ”And the beauty of it is, not one of them will guarantee so much as a kitchenmaid. They say sadly that 'in the present crisis' it's difficult to supply servants.

They don't seem to think there's any difficulty about paying them deposit-fees.”

”That phrase, 'in the present crisis,' is the backbone of business to-day,” Mr. Linton said. ”If a shop can't sell you anything, or if they mislay your property, or sell your purchase to some one else, or keep your repairs six months and then lose them, or send in your account with a lot of items you never ordered or received, they simply wave 'the present crisis' at you, and all is well.”

”Yes, but they don't regard it as any excuse if you pay too little, or don't pay at all,” Jim said.

”Of course not--that wouldn't be business, my son,” said Wally, laughing. ”The one department the Crisis doesn't hit is the one that sends out bills.” He turned to Norah. ”What about the cook-lady, Nor?”

”She's safe,” said Norah, sighing with relief. ”There's an awfully elegant letter from her, saying she'll come.”

”Oh, that's good business!” Jim said. For a fortnight Norah had had the unforgettable experience of sitting in registry-offices, attempting to engage a staff for Homewood. She had always been escorted by one or more of her male belongings, and their extreme ignorance of how to conduct the business had been plain to the meanest intelligence. The ex-sergeant, whose spirit of meekness in proposing himself had been in extraordinary contrast to the condescending truculence of other candidates, had been thankfully retained. There had at times seemed a danger that instead of butler he might awake to find himself maid-of-all-work, since not one of the applicants came up to even Norah's limited standard. Finally, however, Mr. Linton had refused to enter any more registry-offices or to let Norah enter them, describing them, in good set terms as abominable holes; and judicious advertising had secured them a housekeeper who seemed promising, and a cook who insisted far more on the fact that she was a lady than on any ability to prepare meals. The family, while not enthusiastic, was hopeful.

”I hope she's all right,” Norah said doubtfully. ”I suppose we can't expect much--they all tell you that nearly every servant in England has 'gone into munitions,' which always sounds as though she'd get fired out of a trench-mortar presently.”

”Some of those we saw might be benefited by the process,” said Mr.

Linton, shuddering at memories of registry-offices.

”Well, what about the rest?--haven't you got to get a kitchenmaid and some more housemaids or things?” queried Jim vaguely.

”I'm not going to try here,” said Mr. Linton firmly. ”Life is too short; I'd sooner be my own kitchenmaid than let Norah into one of those offices again. Allenby's niece will have to double a few parts at first, and I've written to Ireland--to Mrs. Moroney--to see if she can find us two or three nice country girls. I believe she'll be able to do it. Meanwhile we'll throw care to the winds. I've told Allenby to order in all necessary stores, so that we can be sure of getting something to eat when we go down; beyond that, I decline to worry, or let Norah worry, about anything.”

”Then let's go out and play,” cried Norah, jumping up.

”Right!” said the boys. ”Where?”

”Oh, anywhere--we'll settle as we go!” said Norah airily. She fled for her hat and coat.

So they went to the Tower of London--a place little known to the English, but of which Australians never tire--and spent a blissful afternoon in the Armoury, examining every variety of weapons and armament, from Crusaders' chain-mail to twentieth-century rifles.

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