Part 26 (1/2)
”That'll do nicely,” he remarked, and turning round, ”Why, you'll get a sunstroke; do take my hat.”
I demurred, he pressed the matter, and I agreed on condition he allowed me to tie his handkerchief over his head. I was wearing his hat and tying the ends of a big silk handkerchief beneath his chin when the cracking of a twig caused me to look up and see Harold Beecham with an expression on his face that startled me.
”Your aunt sent me on with your hood,” he said jerkily.
”You can wear it--I've been promoted,” I said flippantly, raising my head-gear to him and bowing. He did not laugh as he usually did at my tricks, but frowned darkly instead.
”We've been carving our names--at least, I have,” remarked Goodchum.
Harold tossed my sun-bonnet on the ground, and said shortly, ”Come on, Goodchum, we must be going.”
”Oh, don't go, Mr Beecham. I thought you came on purpose for my birthday tea. Auntie has made me a tremendous cake. You must stay. We never dreamt of you doing anything else.”
”I've changed my mind,” he replied, striding on at such a pace that we had difficulty in keeping near him. As we resumed our own head-wear, Good churn whispered, ”A bulldog ant must have stung the boss. Let's ask him.”
On reaching the house we found other company had arrived in the persons of young Mr Goodjay from c.u.mmabella, his sister, her governess, and a couple of jackeroos. They were seated on the veranda, and uncle Jay-Jay, attired in his s.h.i.+rt-sleeves, was appearing through the dining-room door with half a dozen bottles of home-made ginger ale in his arms. Dumping them down on the floor, he produced a couple of tots from his s.h.i.+rt-pockets, saying, ”Who votes for a draw of beer? Everyone must feel inclined for a swig. Harry, you want some; you don't look as though the heat was good for your temper. Hullo, Archie! Got up this far. Take a draw out of one of these bottles. If there had been a dozen pubs on the road, I'd have drunk every one of em dry today. I never felt such a daddy of a thirst on me before.”
”Good gracious, Julius!” exclaimed grannie, as he offered the governess a pot full of beer, ”Miss Craddock can't drink out of that pint.”
”Those who don't approve of my pints, let 'em bring their own,” said that mischievous uncle Jay-Jay, who was a great hand at acting the clown when he felt that way inclined.
I was dispatched for gla.s.ses, and after emptying the bottles uncle proposed a game of tennis first, while the light lasted, and tea afterwards. This proposition being carried with acclamation, we proceeded to the tennis court. Harold came too--he had apparently altered his intention of going home immediately.
There were strawberries to be had in the orchard, also some late cherries, so uncle ordered me to go and get some. I procured a basket, and willingly agreed to obey him. Mr Goodchum offered to accompany me, but Harold stepped forward saying he would go, in such a resolute tragic manner that Goodchum winked audaciously, saying waggishly, ”Behold, the hero descends into the burning mine!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
”Ah, For One Hour of Burning Love, 'tis Worth an Age of Cold Respect!”
We walked in perfect silence, Harold not offering to carry my little basket. I did not dare lift my eyes, as something told me the face of the big man would not be pleasant to look upon just then. I twirled the ring he had given me round and round my finger. I occasionally put it on, wearing the stones on the palm-side of my finger, so that it would not be taken for other than one of two or three aunt Helen had lent me, saying I was at liberty to use them while at Caddagat, if it gave me any pleasure.
The Caddagat orchard contained six acres, and being a narrow enclosure, and the cherries growing at the extreme end from the house, it took us some time to reach them. I led the way to our destination--a secluded nook where grape-vines clambered up fig-trees, and where the top of gooseberry bushes met the lower limbs of cherry-trees. Blue and yellow lupins stood knee-high, and strawberries grew wild among them. We had not uttered a sound, and I had not glanced at my companion. I stopped; he wheeled abruptly and grasped my wrist in a manner which sent the basket whirling from my hand. I looked up at his face, which was blazing with pa.s.sion, and dark with a darker tinge than Nature and the sun had given it, from the shapely swelling neck, in its soft well-turned-down collar, to where the stiff black hair, wet with perspiration, hung on the wide forehead.
”Unhand me, sir!” I said shortly, attempting to wrench myself free, but I might as well have tried to pull away from a lion.
”Unhand me!” I repeated.
For answer he took a firmer hold, in one hand seizing my arm above the elbow, and gripping my shoulder with the other so tightly that, through my flimsy covering, his strong fingers bruised me so severely that in a calmer moment I would have squirmed and cried out with pain.
”How dare you touch me!” He drew me so closely to him that, through his thin s.h.i.+rt--the only garment on the upper part of his figure--I could feel the heat of his body, and his big heart beating wildly.
At last! at last! I had waked this calm silent giant into life. After many an ineffectual struggle I had got at a little real love or pa.s.sion, or call it by any name--something wild and warm and splendidly alive that one could feel, the most thrilling, electric, and exquisite sensation known.
I thoroughly enjoyed the situation, but did not let this appear. A minute or two pa.s.sed and he did not speak.
”Mr Beecham, I'll trouble you to explain yourself. How dare you lay your hands upon me?”
”Explain!” he breathed rather than spoke, in a tone of concentrated fury. ”I'll make _you_ explain, and I'll do what I like with you. I'll touch you as much as I think fit. I'll throw you over the fence if _you_ don't explain to _my_ satisfaction.”
”What is there that I can explain?”