Back to Billabong Part 25

"Yes, I've had them here like that," he said. "Full of sublime enthusiasm for reforming Australia and all her ways. I don't say we don't need it, either, but not from a new-chum in his first five minutes."

"Not much," agreed Jim. "Well, there's nothing of that sort about old Bob. He just hoes in at anything that's going, and doesn't talk about it. Joe says he must have been reared sensible. He's all right, dad.

I've had a lot of men through my hands in the last few years, and you learn to size 'em up pretty quickly."

David Linton nodded, looking at his big son. Sometimes he had a pang of regret for Jim's lost boyhood, swallowed up in war. Then, when he was privileged to behold him rough-and-tumbling with Wally, singing idiotic choruses with Norah and Tommy, or making himself into what little Babs Archdale ecstatically called "my bucking donkey," it was borne in upon him that there still was plenty of the boy left in Jim--and that there always would be. Nevertheless, he had great confidence in his judgment; and in this instance it happened to coincide with his own.

The door opened, and Bob Rainham came in, hesitating as he caught sight of the father and son.

"Come in, Bob," Mr. Linton said. "I was just wis.h.i.+ng you would turn up.

We've been talking about you. I understand you've made up your mind to get a place of your own."

"If you don't think I'm insane to tackle it, sir," Bob answered. "Of course, I know I'm awfully ignorant. But I thought I could probably get hold of a good man, and if I can find a place anywhere in this district, Jim says he'll keep an eye on me. Between the two, I oughtn't to make very hopeless mistakes. And I might as well have my money invested."

"Quite so. I think you're wise," the squatter answered. "As it happens, I was in Cunjee yesterday, talking to an agent, and I heard of a little place that might suit you very well--just about the price you ought to pay, and the land's not bad. There's a decent cottage on it--you and Tommy could be very comfortable there. It's four miles from here, so we should feel you hadn't got away from us."

"That sounds jolly," said Bob. "I'd be awfully glad to think Tommy was so near to Norah. Is it sheep country, Mr. Linton?"

"So it's to be sheep, is it? Well, I'd advise you to put some young cattle on to some scrub country at the back, but you could certainly run sheep on the cleared paddocks," Mr. Linton answered. "We could drive over and look at it to-morrow, if you like. The terms are easy; you'd have money over to stock it, or nearly so. And there's plenty to be done in improving the place, if you should buy it; you could easily add a good deal to its value."

"That's what I'd like," Bob answered eagerly. "It doesn't take a whole lot of brains to dig drains and cut scrub. I could be doing that while the sheep turn into wool and mutton!"

"So you could; though there's a bit more to be done to sheep than just to watch them turn," said the squatter, with a twinkle. "I fancy Tommy will be pleased if you get this place."

"Tommy's mad keen to start," Bob said. "She says Norah has taught her more than she ever dreamed that her head could contain, and she wants to work it all off on me. I think she has visions of making me kill a bullock, so that she can demonstrate all she knows about corning and spicing and salting beef. I mentioned it would take two of us quite a little while to work through a whole bullock, but she evidently didn't think much of the objection."

"I'll see you get none fat enough to kill," grinned Jim. "Norah says Tommy's a great pupil, dad."

"Oh, they have worked as if they were possessed," Mr. Linton answered.

"I never saw such painfully busy people. But Norah tells me she has had very little to teach Tommy--in fact, I think the teaching has been mutual, and they've simply swapped French and Australian dodges. At all events they and Brownie have lived in each other's pockets, and they all seem very content."

"Are you all talking business, or may we come in?" demanded a cheery voice; and Norah peeped in, with Tommy dimly visible in the background.

"Come in--'twas yourselves we were talking about," Jim said, rising slowly from the armchair; a process which, Norah was accustomed to say, he accomplished yard by yard. "Sit here, Tommy, and let's hear your views on Australia!"

Tommy shook her head.

"Too soon to ask me--and I've only seen Billabong," she said, laughing.

"Wait until I've kept house for Bob for a while, and faced life without nice soft buffers like Norah and Mrs. Brown!"

"I'm not a nice soft buffer!" said Norah indignantly. "Do I look like one, Jimmy?"

"Brownie certainly fits the description better," Jim said. "Never mind, old girl, you'll probably grow into one. We'd be awfully proud of you if you got really fat, Norah."

"Then I hope you'll never have cause for pride," retorted his sister.

"I couldn't ride Bosun if I did, and that would be too awful to think about. Oh, and Tommy's making a great stock-rider, Bob. She declared she could never ride astride, but she's perceiving the error of her ways."

"I thought I could never stick on without the moral support of the pommels," said Tommy. "When you arrange yourself among pommels and horns and things on a side-saddle, there seems no real reason why you should ever come off, except of your own free will. But a man's saddle doesn't offer any encouragement to a poor scared new-chum. I pictured myself sliding off it whenever the horse side-stepped. However, somehow, it doesn't happen."

"And what happens when your steed slews around after a bullock?" asked Jim.

"Indeed, I hardly know," said Tommy modestly. "I generally shut my eyes, and hold on to the front of the saddle. After a while I open them, and find, to my astonishment, that nothing has occurred, and I'm still there. Then we sail along after Norah, and I hold up my head proudly and look as if that were really the way I have always handled cattle. And she isn't a bit taken in. It's dreadfully difficult to impress Norah."

Every one laughed, and looked at the new-chum affectionately. This small English girl, so ready to laugh at her own mistakes, had twined herself wonderfully about their hearts. Even Brownie, jealous to the point of p.r.i.c.kliness for her adored Norah, and at first inclined to turn up a scornful nose at "Miss Tommy's" pink and white daintiness, had been forced to admit that she "could 'andle things like a workman." And that was high praise from Brownie.

The telephone bell whirred in the hall, and Jim went out to answer it.

In a few minutes they heard his voice.

"Norah, just come here a moment." He came back presently, leaving Norah at the telephone.

"It's Dr. Anderson," he said. "They're in trouble in Cunjee--there's a pretty bad outbreak of influenza. Some returned men came up with it, and now it's spreading everywhere, Anderson says. Mrs. Anderson has been nursing in the hospital, but now two of her own kiddies have got it, so she has had to go home, and they're awfully shorthanded. Nurses seem to be scarce everywhere; they could only get one from Melbourne, and she's badly overworked."

"Norah will go, I suppose," said David Linton, with a half-sigh--the sigh of a man who has looked forward to peace and security, and finds it again slipping from his grasp.

"Oh, yes, I'm sure she will. They have a certain number of volunteers, not nearly enough."

"I'm going," said Tommy, and David Linton nodded at her kindly.

"What about you and me, Jim?" Bob asked.

"Well, Anderson says they have a number of men volunteers. Such a lot of returned fellows about with nothing to do yet. I told him to count on us for anything he wanted, but the need seems chiefly for women."

"Must they go to-night? It's pretty late," said Mr. Linton.

"No, not to-night," Norah answered, entering. "It would be eight o'clock before I could get in, and Dr. Anderson says I'm to get a good sleep and come in early in the morning. Tommy, darling, will you mind if I leave you for a few days?"

"Horribly," said Tommy drily. "It would be unpardonably rude for a hostess. So I 'm coming too."

Norah laughed down at her.

"Somehow, I thought you would," she said. "Well, Jimmy, you'll take us in after breakfast, won't you? We'll have it early." She perched on the arm of her father's chair, letting her fingers rest for a moment on his close-cropped grey hair. "And I've never asked you if I could go, daddy."

"No," said David Linton; "you haven't." He put his arm gently round her.

"But then I knew that you'd kick me out if I didn't. So that simplifies matters. You'll take care of yourself while I'm away, won't you, dad? No wild rides by yourself into the ranges, or anything of that sort?"

"Certainly not," said her father. "I'll sit quietly at home, and let Brownie give me nourishment at short intervals."

"Nothing she'd like better." Norah laughed. "I don't believe Brownie will really feel that she owns us again until one of us is considerate enough to fall ill and give her a real chance of nursing and feeding us.

Then the only thing to do is to forget you ever had a will of your own, and just to open your mouth and be fed like a young magpie, and Brownie's perfectly happy."

"She won't be happy when she hears of this new plan," Mr. Linton said.

"Poor old soul, I'm sorry she should have any worry, when she has just got you home."

"Yes; I'm sorry," Norah answered. "But it can't be helped. I'll go and talk to her now, and arrange things--early breakfast among them."

"You might make it a shade earlier than you meant to, while you're at it, Nor," Jim observed. "Then we could turn off the track as we go in to-morrow to let Tommy have a look at the place that has been offered Bob--you know that place of Henderson's, off the main road. Bob can go over the land with us when we're coming back. But once you and Tommy get swallowed up in Cunjee, there's no knowing when we could get you out; and Tommy ought to inspect the house."

"Oh, I'd love to," said Tommy enthusiastically. "No mere man can be trusted to buy a house."