While the Billy Boils Part 8

It is a broiling hot day in summer, and the dinner consists of hot roast meat, hot baked potatoes, hot cabbage, hot pumpkin, hot peas, and burning-hot plum-pudding. The family drinks on an average four cups of tea each per meal. The wife takes her place at the head of the table with a broom to keep the fowls out, and at short intervals she interrupts the conversation with such exclamations as "Shoo! shoo!"

"Tommy, can't you see that fowl? Drive it out!" The fowls evidently pa.s.s a lot of their time in the house. They mark the circle described by the broom, and take care to keep two or three inches beyond it. Every now and then you see a fowl on the dresser amongst the crockery, and there is great concern to get it out before it breaks something. While dinner is in progress two steers get into the wheat through a broken rail which has been spliced with stringy-bark, and a calf or two break into the vineyard. And yet this careless Australian selector, who is too shiftless to put up a decent fence, or build a decent house and who knows little or nothing about farming, would seem by his conversation to have read up all the great social and political questions of the day. Here are some fragments of conversation caught at the dinner-table. Present--the selector, the missus, the neighbour, Corney George--nicknamed "Henry George"--Tommy, Jacky, and the younger children. The s.p.a.ces represent interruptions by the fowls and children:

Corney George (continuing conversation): "But Henry George says, in 'Progress and Poverty,' he says--"

Missus (to the fowls): "Shoo! Shoo!"

Corney: "He says--"

Tom: "Marther, jist speak to this Jack."

Missus (to Jack): "If you can't behave yourself, leave the table."

Tom [Corney, probably]: "He says in Progress and--"

Missus: "Shoo!"

Neighbour: "I think 'Lookin' Backwards' is more--"

Missus: "Shoo! Shoo! Tom, can't you see that fowl?"

Selector: "Now I think 'Caesar's Column' is more likely--Just look at--"

Missus: "Shoo! Shoo!"

Selector: "Just look at the French Revolution."

Corney: "Now, Henry George-"

Tom: "Marther! I seen a old-man kangaroo up on--"

Missus: "Shut up! Eat your dinner an' hold your tongue. Carn't you see someone's speakin'?"

Selector: "Just look at the French--"

Missus (to the fowls): "Shoo! Shoo!" (turning suddenly and unexpectedly on Jacky): "Take your fingers out of the sugar!--Blast yer! that I should say such a thing."

Neighbour: "But 'Lookin' Backwards"'

Missus: "There you go, Tom! Didn't I say you'd spill that tea? Go away from the table!"

Selector: "I think 'Caesar's Column' is the only natural--"

Missus: "Shoo! Shoo!" She loses patience, gets up and fetches a young rooster with the flat of the broom, sending him flying into the yard; he falls with his head towards the door and starts in again. Later on the conversation is about Deeming.

Selector: "There's no doubt the man's mad--"

Missus: "Deeming! That Windsor wretch! Why, if I was in the law I'd have him boiled alive! Don't tell me he didn't know what he was doing! Why, I'd have him--"

Corney: "But, missus, you--"

Missus (to the fowls): "Shoo! Shoo!"

THAT THERE DOG O' MINE

Macquarie the shearer had met with an accident. To tell the truth, he had been in a drunken row at a wayside shanty, from which he had escaped with three fractured ribs, a cracked head, and various minor abrasions.

His dog, Tally, had been a sober but savage partic.i.p.ator in the drunken row, and had escaped with a broken leg. Macquarie afterwards shouldered his swag and staggered and struggled along the track ten miles to the Union Town hospital. Lord knows how he did it. He didn't exactly know himself. Tally limped behind all the way, on three legs.

The doctors examined the man's injuries and were surprised at his endurance. Even doctors are surprised sometimes--though they don't always show it. Of course they would take him in, but they objected to Tally. Dogs were not allowed on the premises.

"You will have to turn that dog out," they said to the shearer, as he sat on the edge of a bed.

Macquarie said nothing.

"We cannot allow dogs about the place, my man," said the doctor in a louder tone, thinking the man was deaf.

"Tie him up in the yard then."

"No. He must go out. Dogs are not permitted on the grounds."

Macquarie rose slowly to his feet, shut his agony behind his set teeth, painfully b.u.t.toned his shirt over his hairy chest, took up his waistcoat, and staggered to the corner where the swag lay.

"What are you going to do?" they asked.

"You ain't going to let my dog stop?"

"No. It's against the rules. There are no dogs allowed on premises."

He stooped and lifted his swag, but the pain was too great, and he leaned back against the wall.

"Come, come now! man alive!" exclaimed the doctor, impatiently. "You must be mad. You know you are not in a fit state to go out. Let the wardsman help you to undress."

"No!" said Macquarie. "No. If you won't take my dog in you don't take me. He's got a broken leg and wants fixing up just--just as much as--as I do. If I'm good enough to come in, he's good enough--and--and better."

He paused awhile, breathing painfully, and then went on.

"That--that there old dog of mine has follered me faithful and true, these twelve long hard and hungry years. He's about--about the only thing that ever cared whether I lived or fell and rotted on the cursed track."

He rested again; then he continued: "That--that there dog was pupped on the track," he said, with a sad sort of a smile. "I carried him for months in a billy, and afterwards on my swag when he knocked up.... And the old s.l.u.t--his mother--she'd foller along quite contented--and sniff the billy now and again--just to see if he was all right.... She follered me for G.o.d knows how many years. She follered me till she was blind--and for a year after. She follered me till she could crawl along through the dust no longer, and--and then I killed her, because I couldn't leave her behind alive!"

He rested again.

"And this here old dog," he continued, touching Tally's upturned nose with his knotted fingers, "this here old dog has follered me for--for ten years; through floods and droughts, through fair times and--and hard--mostly hard; and kept me from going mad when I had no mate nor money on the lonely track; and watched over me for weeks when I was drunk--drugged and poisoned at the cursed shanties; and saved my life more'n once, and got kicks and curses very often for thanks; and forgave me for it all; and--and fought for me. He was the only living thing that stood up for me against that crawling push of curs when they set onter me at the shanty back yonder--and he left his mark on some of 'em too; and--and so did I."

He took another spell.