The Kangaroo Marines Part 7

"Sn.o.bs! No time for all your d.a.m.ned conventions--'At Home' scandals and Society calls. These girls of the bush are natural, jolly, unconventional, but not loose. So far and no farther is their att.i.tude to mankind. And they've got an independence of character which knocks you fellows sick when you meet them. They don't want any of these insidious palavers and hollow attentions, and they'll tell a man pretty quick what they think. My word! can't they choke a Johnny off."

"But, my dear fellow, all my friends who have visited Australia say they haven't got manners, and all have a c.o.c.kney tw.a.n.g. When they open their mouths they always spoil the picture."

"I expect your friends have been dealing with the Pitt Street toughs or Manly larrikins. By the way you speak, I don't suppose they have ever been in the bush or visited some of our squatters' homes. Do you know that some of these squatters are descendants of some of the finest families in England. Apart from that, you will find better ladies on a squatter's veranda than you will in Park Lane. I have been in London, young fellow; in fact, I'm English, although I've been a long time in Australia. So don't say I'm biased. But I am speaking from an intimate knowledge of the people--not from a superficial glance which a hen-brained tourist gets. It isn't affectation, trinkets, dresses and a Society drawl that makes a lady. That's your standard. Society at home--at least, in certain circles, is the most hollow and unhappy creation I know. Everyone is in it, because they've got to be, but every real white man or woman knows that it's the rottenest show on earth. We don't stand for all that sort of thing out there. They accept folks for what they are worth--I mean, if a person is decent, law-abiding, cheerful and ambitious, the door of the Premier, squatter and merchant is open to him."

"Look here, old chap, you can't chuck convention overboard entirely; it's impossible."

"Rot! You speak as if Australia was a primitive land, without schools and culture. You're entirely mistaken. We can educate and create a most charming and distinctive type. I grant you that some of our people may be narrow-visioned and have one-eyed views. I admit you will find a few folks who think Britain is a land of peers, publicans and paupers. But haven't you got in Britain the same narrow folks, the same crude, ill-informed men and women who ignorantly air their views to the disgust of every Colonial?"

"Yes, there's something in that, I agree. We have got them, but I've heard Australian officers talk as if Australia was the only place on G.o.d's earth," the subaltern e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed a little warmly.

"You condemn a nation for a few. Young man, you haven't travelled far enough. And you make me tired to hear you talk in that way. You're a nice fellow spoiled, I reckon. Why, where I live there's dozens of English public school men working as c.o.c.kies and jackaroos. They wouldn't go back home if you paid them. They like the life. Everybody makes them at home, and many of them have married our Australian girls.

These women can milk, bake, ride, drive, sew and rear the most charming children. And they can meet you in a drawing-room with a natural grace that is their own. Intellectually, too, they are pleasant to meet, for the loneliness has given them time to think and read. Look at that girl there, doesn't she look a lady?"

"Yes."

"Isn't she absolutely perfect?"

"Well, yes."

"Does her dress fit?"

"Decidedly."

"Do you think her table manners are awkward?"

"No."

"Isn't there something easy and natural, no false pose, a sort of innate grace of mind and body?"

"Certainly, but is this not some strange exception, just as you find in many parts?"

"No, my boy. You still seem to be unconvinced. Hang it all, there's only one way to convince you. As they are rising from the table now, get up and I'll introduce you."

"Hallo, Sybil, how are you?" said the Australian officer going forward.

"What--Jack Gordon!" she said, shaking hands. "I haven't seen you since I was at school."

"How do, Jack?" said old Graham, in his blunt way. Then Mrs. Graham accorded him the same warm welcome.

"Let me introduce Lieutenant Gore-Jones of the Yeomanry. Take him in hand, Sybil. He's a good fellow spoiled."

"All right, Jack," said Sybil, smiling, and stepping towards the wide veranda with her new-found friend. Gordon remained behind with the parents to talk of old times.

"This _is_ a pleasure," said Jones as they sat down. "I never thought of meeting such a charming person from down under."

Sybil frowned a little, then looking straight into his eyes said, "I don't like honey, Mr. Jones, it's too sweet, and sweet things are often sickly."

"I--I--I beg your pardon," he stammered, blushing a little.

"I'm afraid you expected to meet an aborigine, didn't you?" she said more kindly, remembering the cue she had received from Jack Gordon.

"Not exactly--I'm afraid I have not met any Australians except the troops."

"And what do you think of them? I'm rather interested, and like other people's views."

"You're not super-sensitive, I hope," he remarked, "because some of your fellows seem to be awfully touchy."

"Many Australians are; I'm not, now go on."

"Well, I like your men for their wonderful physique. They are as tough as the oldest soldiers. But they're not very respectful, you know. I mean, they don't salute; they stalk past with an air of equality and even contempt. That's a bad sign in a soldier."

"Yes?" said Sybil, daintily lighting a neat cigarette and settling down in her cosy chair.

"The officers, I hear, are excellent leaders, but, somehow, they don't quite look the part--sort of mixed, don't you know. Somehow, their build and clothes don't give them that distinctive touch which is the hall-mark of the British officer. I suppose it's really a question of breeding. They say in England it takes five generations to turn out a gentleman. Americans seem the same as Australians. In fact, I've read that all young and democratic countries are alike. Don't misunderstand me, I'm not saying they are _not_ gentlemen. The life, I suppose, knocks off the fine points."

"I see," said Sybil, turning her face towards him. "Then your conception of a leader is a thin-waisted, well-corseted man, all hair wash and side--a most perfect and arrogant dandy. I can't believe that the tailor, manicurist and barber produce the leader. And you say that our boys have not the fine touch about them. Do you think that really counts in war? I think a Tommy wants a man to lead him whether he looks a Caesar or Bill Sikes. You really infer that the Australian blood is coa.r.s.e and unrefined. Is that so, Mr. Jones?"

"Not exactly. But look over there. See these two Australian officers.

They seem ungainly in their clothes, and, apparently, feel awkward and ill at ease in this show. They don't respect the polite conventions of Society, and would turn the place into a sort of cowboy saloon if left alone."

"What nonsense, Mr. Jones. And if I didn't feel that there was a hope of you knowing us better, I would leave you. What I think you are suffering from is the conservatism of the Britisher, a truly appalling defect, as well as a lack of perception. I grant you that our Australian tailors are absolutely the limit in turning out a man.

Still, I believe a man can die as gallantly in a flour sack as in a Bond Street khaki suit. You say they seem ill at ease, and don't lounge in their chairs as if to the manner born. You don't realise that these men are men of action. Their life is spent in a hustling way. They are workers, not idlers. Anything suggestive of luxurious ease is interpreted by them as effeminate."

Her companion made as though to speak. But the girl went on:

"Now, look here, Mr. Jones, I'll lay an even bet with you that they'll ride, jump and slice the lemon better than any of your troops in Cairo.

They're practical people, not dreamers who worry about etiquette and the fine points. Now just you take a good look at their faces. You'll note that they're bronzed, strong, with a cleft in the chin, and a jaw-bone which speaks volumes. In fact, their whole make-up suggests a sort of rude strength, which can face the rough and tumble of life.

They get that from their fathers, who, like my dear old dad, were the pioneers of Australia. These men landed poor and had to fight drought, aborigines, bushrangers, misfortune after misfortune. They were up against it all the time. They built their houses from the trees, dug their wells, fenced their land, sc.r.a.ped their pennies to get the shillings to buy their stock. In the midst of success, disease often struck them bare. Yet they stuck to it. Gradually the hard times pa.s.sed away, and to-day many are wealthy. My dad is one. I'm not proud of his money, but I am proud of the grit and courage that has made him rich. These are just the qualities that the soldier must have."

"Oh, certainly," interjected Jones, fascinated by the radiant glow on the animated features of this most charming girl. His logic was being battered to death. He felt his position weakening. It began to dawn on him that he was a conservative Britisher, who had simply been uttering the parrot talk of hide-bound Tories. "You know, Miss Graham, you're beginning to make me feel that I should go to Australia."

"If we were there now I would just whisk you away in my car and show you the Bush. I do love to convince people, especially folks from the old land. Then, Mr. Jones, you would see how free, how charming life is in the Bush. We have all got beautiful homes, plenty of horses, motors, even electric light on some of the stations. In fact, I know of one old squatter who can produce a butler and footmen in breeches.

You can have joy rides on motors, picnics miles from civilisation, and dances with the jolliest band of girls and boys I've seen. Everything is natural, all is delightful. I love Australia. I'm awfully proud of it. And I'm proud of those boys over there and all the others who have come to help the old land. Don't judge them by trivial things, Mr.

Jones. If they're unconventional, and not good at saluting, they'll stick to any man who can lead them through. In fact, they can fight just as the Tommies did at Waterloo and Mons."

"Well," said Jones with a gasp, "you're an absolute revelation. I have never quite met your type before."

"I'm different--Australian, eh?"

"And very nice too. That's honey, as you call it. But I have said it and you needn't protest," he said with boyish enthusiasm. "Do you think the girls would be kind to me if I went to Australia?"

"They'd spoil you; they spoil all Englishmen."

"Why?"

"Because they like them. They don't pick holes in them as you pick holes in us."

"I'm sorry, really I'm sorry. I had no intention to offend."