The Crooked Stick Or Pollies's Probation Part 9

The boldest hazarded the guess that he might have an unacknowledged wife 'at home.' Others averred that he was pleasure-loving, of epicurean, self-indulgent tastes, having neither high ambition nor religious views.

They would be sorry to trust Angelina or Frederica to such a guardianship. Besides, he was getting quite old. In a few years there would be a great change in him. He had aged a good deal since that last trip of his to Europe, when he had the fever in Rome. Of course he was wealthy, but money was not everything, and a man who spent the greater part of the year at his club was not likely to make a particularly good husband.

The object of all this criticism, comment, and secret exasperation was a squarely built, well-dressed man, slightly above the middle height, and with that indefinable ease of manner and social tact that travel, leisure, and the possession of an a.s.sured position generally produce. He was kindly, amusing, invariably polite, and deferential to women of all ages; and there were few who did not acknowledge the charm of his manner, even when they abused him in his absence, or deceived him for their own purposes. In spite of all he was popular, was the Honourable Hector, a man of wide and varied experience, of a bearing and general _tournure_ which left little to be desired. In the matter of courtship he knew sufficiently well that it was injudicious to force the running; that a waiting race was his best chance. He took care never to prolong his visit; always to encircle himself with some surrounding of interest during his stay at Corindah. He pleased Pollie and her mother by being in possession of the newest information on all subjects in which he knew they were interested. He was good-natured and _bon camarade_ with the young men, at the same time in a quiet way exhibiting a slight superiority--as of one whose sphere was larger, whose possessions, interests, opportunities, and prospects generally, placed him upon a different plane from that with which the ordinary individual must be contented. This, of course, rendered more effective the habitual deference which he invariably yielded to both the ladies whom he wished to propitiate, rightly deeming that all the avenues to Pollie's heart were guarded by the mental presentment of her mother.

'Really, we quite miss Mr. MacCallum when he leaves Corindah,' said Pollie one day, as she watched the well-appointed mail-phaeton and high-bred horses which that gentleman always affected, disappearing in the distance. 'He's most amusing and well-informed; his manners are so finished--really, there is hardly anything about him that you could wish altered.'

'So clever and practical, too, said Mrs. Devereux. 'He showed me in a few minutes how he was going to lay out the garden at the new house at Wanwondah. Really, it will be the most lovely place. And the irrigation is from a plan of his own.'

'It's almost a pity to be so extravagant there, isn't it?' said her daughter. 'He told me he never saw it except in the winter and spring.

He always spends the summer in some other colony. This year he will go to the hot springs of Waiwera, and see all that delicious North Island, and those unutterably lovely pink-and-white terraces. How I should like to go!'

'Quite easy,' said Harold Atherstone, who had been standing by the mantlepiece apparently in a fit of abstraction. 'You've to say "yes" to the Honourable Hector's unspoken prayer, and he'll take you there, or to the moon, when Mr. Cook discovers a practicable route. He's not more than twenty years older than you are--hardly that.'

'So you think I am likely to marry for the new house at Wanwondah Crossing-place?' retorted Pollie. 'Also for the power of going away and leaving all you stupid people to be roasted and boiled during the long dismal summer? Poor things! what would you do without me to tease you all? But it's a strange peculiarity of society, I believe, that a girl can never make any personal remark but invariably the next idea suggested to her by her friends is, "Whom is she trying to marry?" That being so, why shouldn't I marry Mr. MacCallum? Not that he has ever asked me.'

'But he will--you know he will--and if you allow yourself to be carried away by dreams of luxury and unlimited power of travel, which is more likely, you will regret it once only--that is, all your life after.'

'But say you are not serious, my darling,' said her mother, with a half-alarmed look. 'Really, I will take you to Tasmania, or even New Zealand, though it's dreadfully rough--anywhere, rather than you should be tempted to act against your better judgment. Mr. MacCallum is extremely nice and suitable--but he is far too _old_ for you.'

'I don't see that at all,' replied the young lady petulantly. 'I like some one I can look up to. All women do. He knows the world of society, letters, politics--not only of these colonies either. Most other girls would--perhaps the phrase is vulgar--"jump at him." Besides, he is most amusing. Not a mere talker, but full of crisp, pleasant expressions and suggestions. He is a new magazine, with the leaves uncut. Not like some people, gloomy and abstracted half the time.'

'You don't see _him_ when he's off colour--excuse my slang,' answered the young man. 'He is not always amusing, people say. But that's not my affair. If age and experience are the valued qualities, I'm sorry I was not born a generation earlier. And now I must say good-bye; I'm wanted at the back-block Inferno, and have no idea when I shall see you again.'

'If you are not here this day fortnight,' said the young lady, with a solemn and tragic expression, 'and at tea-time, see to it.'

'But there's all sorts of trouble at Ban Ban. The dogs are showing up.

All the sheep have to come in. There are no shepherds to be got. My working overseer is laid up with acute rheumatism. How can I----'

'Shepherd or no shepherd,' persisted the girl,--'rain or shine--rheumatism or not--this day fortnight, or you will take the consequence.'

'I suppose I must manage it,' quoth the unfortunate young man. 'Do you remember your _Ivanhoe_: "Gurth, the son of Beowulf, is the born thrall of Cedric of Rotherwood"? Seems to me that villenage is not extinct, even in this colonial and democratic community.'

'And a very good thing too,' retorts this haughty, undisciplined damsel.

'The feudal system had an amazing deal of good about it. I don't see why we shouldn't revive it out here.'

'Looks rather it at present!' grumbled Harold. 'Good-bye, Mrs. Devereux.

Fortunately the rain's general, so we can stand a good deal of oppression and intimidation.'

'In the spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love,'

sang the laureate. And the parallel is sound. Of course it always rains in spring in England.

But suppose it didn't--as in Australia? He would find that things went differently. The 'wanton lapwing' would not get himself another crest, and the poet would have to furnish himself with another example.

In the absence of rain we can a.s.sure our readers that things are much otherwise, even with the dumb and feathered tribes. The wild-fowl do come down in a serious, philosophical sort of way. But what they do in effect is this:--

They say--'We have ciphered this thing out, and have come to the conclusion that it is not going to rain, that it will be a dry spring.

That being the case, we are not going to pair, or build, or lay eggs, or going through the ordinary foolishness, in antic.i.p.ation of rain and certain other adjuncts to matrimony, which _will not come_.

And they do _not_ pair.

How are such things managed? Who teaches the birds of the air? How do they know it is going to keep dry?

Yet the results are as I state. There is no young family to provide for, no presents, no trousseaux--and a very good thing, too, under the circ.u.mstances.

So with the social and amatory enterprises of the human inhabitants of the dry country; the phenomenon of six inches of rain or otherwise makes all the difference. Mr. Oldhand had promised to build his youngest son d.i.c.k a new cottage at the Bree Bree station, which he had managed for him successfully for several years, after which d.i.c.k's marriage with Mary Newcome was to take place, they having been engaged, as was well known to the neighbours here, for the last three years. But the season 'set in dry.' d.i.c.k had a bad lambing, and lost sheep besides. So the cottage can't be built this year, the marriage is put off, and d.i.c.k's manly countenance wears an air of settled gloom.

_Ergo_, it follows that immediately upon the supervening of a period of unexampled prosperity, consequent upon the abnormal rainfall which 'ran'

Wawanoo Creek in half an hour, and narrowly escaped devoting Bertram Devereux to the unappeased deities of the waste as a befitting sacrifice, proposals of marriage were thick in the air, and matrimonial offers became nearly as plentiful as bids for store sheep.

When Hector MacCallum therefore, as became him, gallantly took the lead as representative of the marrying pastoral section, no one wondered.

Speculation and conjecture doubtless, were evoked as to where the many-stationed Sultan might deign to cast his coveted kerchief. In despite of inter-provincial jealousies, however, no one was much astonished when reliable information was disseminated to the effect that he had been on a visit of nearly a week to Corindah, had been seen driving Mrs. and Miss Devereux to points of interest in the neighbourhood in his mail-phaeton, that his groom's livery was more resplendent than ever, and that the famous chestnuts had been replaced by a team of brown horses, admirably matched, thorough-bred, and said to be the most valuable turn-out in work on this side of the line.

Acidulated persons, as usual, made exclamation to the effect that 'they never could see what there was in that girl; some people had wonderful luck; boldness and a.s.surance seemed to take better than any other qualities with the men nowadays,' and so on. But when gradually it oozed out that there was no triumphant proclamation of engagement after all, that Mr. MacCallum was going to England, could not be back for two or three years, etc.--all of which certainly pointed to the fact of his proposals having been declined, impossible as such a fact would appear--the clamour of the hard-to-please contingent rose loud and high.

'What did the girl want? Was she waiting for a prince of the blood?

After having befooled all the men within her reach, from Jack Charteris to the parson, and ending up with a man old enough to be her father, and who certainly should have known better, was it not heartless and indecent to treat him as she had done? Would not the whole district cry shame upon her, and she be left lamenting in a few years, deserted by every one that had any sense? A vinegary old maid in the future--it would be all her own fault, and that of her mother's ridiculous vanity and indulgence.'

All unknowing or careless of these arrows of criticism, the free and fearless maiden pursued her career. Mr. MacCallum had, at a well-chosen moment, made his effort and pressed with practised persistence for a favourable answer. But in vain. Under other conditions, men of his age and attributes have been frequently successful, to the wrath and astonishment of younger rivals. But circ.u.mstances have been in their favour. Poverty, ignorance of the world, ambition on the part of the girl's friends, grat.i.tude, have all or each conspired in such case to turn the scale in favour of the wealthy and adroit, if mature, wooer.

And so the contract, often a fairly happy one, is concluded.

But in this case Love, the lord of all, had fair play for once. Pollie had distinctly made up her mind, since she was conscious of possessing such a faculty, that she would never marry any one unless she was in love with him ardently, pa.s.sionately, romantically, without any manner of doubt. People might come and try to please. She could not help that.

It was hardly in her nature to be cold or rude to anybody. But as to marrying any one she only liked, she would die first.

She liked, she respected, she in every way approved of Mr. MacCallum; but no! She was much honoured, flattered, and pleased, and really shrank from the idea of giving him so much pain. Mr. MacCallum exaggerated his probable agonies in such a way that a weaker woman might probably have given in--from sheer pity. But as to marrying him, it was out of the question. Her answer was 'No,' and nothing could ever alter it.

So the Honourable Hector had to depart in a more disappointed and disgusted frame of mind than had happened to His Royal Highness for many a day. Drought, debts, dingoes, travelling sheep, were all as nothing to this crowning disaster. Everything else being so flourishing, it was a thunderbolt out of a blue sky, crushing his equanimity and self-satisfaction to the dust.

Not his happiness, however. A middle-aged bachelor with a good digestion and enviable bank balance is not--whatever the sensational novelist may a.s.sert--usually slaughtered by one such miscalculation. He does not like it, of course. He fumes and frets for a week or two, and probably says, 'Confound the girl! I thought she really liked me.' Then he falls back upon the time-honoured calculation--a most arithmetically correct one--of those 'other fish in the sea.' Claret has a soothing effect. The Club produces alleviating symptoms. And the Laird of c.o.c.kpen either marries the next young lady on his list, or, departing to far lands, discovers that the supply of Calypsos and Ariadnes is practically unlimited.

MacCallum, like a shrewd personage, as he was, held his tongue and took the next mail for Europe, reappearing within two years with an exceedingly handsome and lady-like wife, who did full justice to his many good qualities, was very popular, and made Wanwondah quite the show country-house of the neighbourhood.

CHAPTER VI

After this stupendous incident had ruffled the waters of provincial repose, a long untroubled calm succeeded. Little was heard in the article of news except the weekly chronicle of stock movements: who had sold, who had bought, who, having stocked up--that is, filled his run with all the sheep it would carry, and more--had sold to a new arrival, and gone to England 'for good,' or at least till the long-dated station bills became due. Among this last-named division was Mr. Jack Charteris, who, having sold one of his far-out runs to a Queenslander, considered this to be a favourable opportunity to take 'a run home,' as he expressed it, for a year, for various specified reasons which he displayed before his friends, such as seeing the world and renewing his const.i.tution, lately injured by hard work and anxiety. So he ostentatiously took his pa.s.sage by a well-known mail-steamer, and made all ready to start in a couple of months. He had, however, two plans _in petto_, of which he did not advise society generally.

One was, by personal application to English capitalists--being provided with all proper credentials from his bankers and others, with a carefully drawn out schedule of his properties (purchased lands, leasehold, sheep, cattle, horses, outside country), with carefully kept accounts showing the profits upon stations and stock for the last five or ten years, the increasing value of the wool clip, and the annual expenditure upon permanent improvements; the whole with personal valuation (approximate), and references to leading colonists of rank and position--to discover whether he, John Charteris, with an improving property, but constantly in want of cash advances, could not secure a loan for a term of years at English rates of interest, say five or six per cent, instead of at colonial rates, eight, nine, and ten. This would make a considerable difference to Mr. Jack's annual disburs.e.m.e.nts, relieve him from anxiety when the money-market hardened, and would, moreover, euchre his friends the bankers in Sydney, with whom he was wont to carry on a half-playful, half-serious war of words whenever they met.

His other _coup_ was to make a farewell visit to Corindah, and at the last moment 'try his luck,' as he phrased it, with the daughter of the house. He was not over sanguine, but in reviewing the situation, he decided that with women, as with other 'enterprises of great pith and moment,' you never know what you can do till you try. He ran over all the reasons for and against on his fingers--as he was wont to do in a bargain for stock--finally deciding that he would 'submit an offer.'

Many a time and often had he acted similarly after the same calculation--offered a price far below the owner's presumable valuation and the market rate of the article. As often, to his great surprise, it had been accepted. He would do so now.

'Let me see,' he said to himself. 'Old MacCallum got the sack, they say.

I rather wonder at that--that is, I should have wondered if it had been any other girl. Not another girl in the district but would have accepted him on his knees. Such a house--such horses! Good-looking, pleasant fellow, full-mouthed of course, but sound on his pins, hardly a grey hair--regular short price in the betting. What a sell for him! Well, now about Jack Charteris. How stands he for odds? Nine-and-twenty next birthday; fairly good-looking, so the girls say; plenty of pluck, good nature, and impudence; ride, run, shoot, or fight any man of his weight in the country. Clever? Well, I wish I was a little better up in those confounded books. If I were, I really believe I might go in and win. The only man I'm afraid of is that confounded cousin fellow. He is infernally sly and quiet, and, I expect, is coming up in the inside running. I'd like to punch his head.'