 CHAPTER 16 WHEN FORTUNE SMILES Now, Harold, you have compelled Cibilla to come here. You must not let the time drag with her, said Miss Beecham. It was the second day after my arrival at Five Bob. Lunch was over, and we had adjourned to the veranda. Miss Beecham was busy at her work table. I was ensconced on a mat on the floor reading a book. Harold was stretched in a squatter's chair, some distance away. His big brown hands were clasped behind his head. His chin rested on his broad chest. His eyes were closed. He occasionally thrust his lower lip forward, and sent a puff of breath upwards to scatter the flies from his face. He looked a big monument of comfort, and answered his aunt's remarks lazily. Yes, aunt, I'll do my best, and to me. Miss Melbourne, while here, please bear in mind that it will be no end of pleasure to me to do anything for your enjoyment. Don't fail to command me in any way. Thank you, Mr Beecham. I will not fail to avail myself of your offer. The absurdity of you two children addressing each other so formally, said Miss Beecham. Why, you are a sort of cousins almost, by right of old friendship between the families. You must call me aunt. After this, Mr Beecham and I called each other nothing, when in Miss Beecham's hearing, but a dude to formality on other occasions. Harold looked so comfortable and lazy, that I longed to test how far he meant the offer he had made me. I'm just dying for a row on the river, would you oblige me, I said. Just look at the thermometer, exclaimed Miss Augusta, wait till it gets cool a child. Oh, I love the heat, I replied, and I am sure it won't hurt his lordship. He's used to the sun, to judge from all appearances. Yes, I don't think it can destroy my complexion, he said, good-humidly, rubbing his finger and thumb along his stubble covered chin. The bushmen up-country shaped regularly every Sunday morning, but never during the week for anything less than a ball. They did this to obviate the bloom, what they termed, scrapped peak, appearance of the faces of city men in the habit of using the razor daily, and to which they preferred the stubble at the seven days beard. I'll take you to the river in half an hour, he said, rising from his seat. First, I must stick on one of Warrigal's shoes, that he's flung. I want him tomorrow, and must do it at once, as he always goes lame if ridden immediately after shoeing. Shall I blow the ballows, I volunteered. Oh, no thanks, I can manage myself. It would be better, though, if I had someone, but I can get one of the girls. Can't you get one of the boys, said his aunt. There's not one in, I sent everyone off to the Triangle Paddock today, to do some drafting. They all took their quad pots, and a snack in their saddlebags, and won't be home till dark. Let me go, I persisted. I often blow the ballows for Uncle JJ, and think a great fun. The offer of my services being accepted, we set out. Harold took his favourite horse, Warrigal, from the stable, and led him to the blacksmith's forge, under an open, stringy bark-roofed shed, nearly covered with creepers. He lit a fire, and put a shoe in it, doffing his coat and hat, rolling up his shirt sleeves, and donning a leather apron. He began preparing the horse's hoof. When an emergency arose that necessitated Uncle JJ shoeing his horses himself, I always manipulated the ballows, and did so with great decorum, as he was very exacting, and I feared his displeasure. In this case it was different. I worked the pole with such energy, that it almost blew the whole fire out of the pan, and sent the ashes and sparks in a whirlwind around Harold. The horse, a touchy beast, snorted and dragged his foot from his master's grasp. That's the way to blow, I inquired demurely. Make things a little easier, he replied. I took them so very easily, that the fire was on the last gasp, and the shoe nearly cold when it was required. This won't do, said Beecham. I recommenced blowing with such force, that he had to retreat. Steady I, steady, he shouted. Sure I can't place you as anyhow, I replied. If you don't try to place me directly, I'll punish you in a way you won't relish, he said laughingly. But I knew he was thinking of the punishment, which I would have secretly enjoyed. If you don't let me finish this work, I'll make one of the men do it tonight by candlelight, when they come home tired. I know you wouldn't like them to do that, he continued. Ah, go on, you're only tazin'. I retorted. Don't you remember telling me, that Warrigal was such a nasty tempered brute, that he allowed no one but yourself to touch him? Oh well, then I'm flawed, and will have to put up with the consequences. He good-humidly made answer. Being that my efforts to annoy him failed, I gave in, and we were soon done, and then started for the river. Mr. Beecham clad in karki suit, and I in a dainty white wrapper, and flyaway sort of hat. In one hand my host held a big white umbrella, with which he shaded me from the hot rays of the October sun, and in the other was a small basket containing cake and lollies for our delicatation. Having traversed the half mile between the house and river, we pushed off from the bank in a tiny boat, just big enough for two. In the teeth of Harold's remonstrance, I persisted in dangling over the boat side to dabble in the clear, deep running water. In a few minutes we were in it, being unable to swim, but for my companion it would have been all up with me. When I rose to the surface, he promptly seized me, and without much effort, clothes and all swum with me to the bank, where we landed a pair of sorry figures. Harold had mud all over his nose, and in general looked very ludicrous. As soon as I could stand, I laughed. Oh, for a snapshot of you, I said. We might have both been drowned, he said sternly. Mines don't fly, I return. And it was worth the dip to see you looking such a comical article. We were both minus our hats. His expression relaxed. I believe you would laugh at your own funeral. If I look queer, you look forty times worse. Run for your life and get a hot bath, and a drop of spirits, or you'll catch your death of cold. Aunt Augusta will take a fit, and tie you up for the rest of the time in case something more will happen to you. Catch a death of cold, I ejaculated. It is only good, pretty little girls, who are a blessing to everyone, who die for such trifles. Girls like I am always live till nearly ninety, to plague themselves and everybody else. I'll sneak home so that your aunt won't see me, and no one need be a bit the wiser. You'll be sun-struck, he said in dismay. Take care you don't get daughter struck, I said perkily, turning to flee. For it had suddenly dawned upon me that my thin, wet clothing was outlining my figure, rather too clearly for propriety. By a circuitous way I managed to reach my bedroom unseen. It did not take me long to change my clothes, hang them to dry, and appear on the main veranda, where Miss Augusta was still sewing. I picked up the book I had left on the mat, and, taking up a position in a hammock nearby, I commenced to read. You did not stay long at the river, she remarked. Have you been washing your head? I never saw the like of it, such a mass of it, it will take all day to dry. Half an hour later Harold appeared, dressed in a warm suit of tweed. He was looking pale and languid, as though he had caught a chill, and shivered as he threw himself on a lounge. I was feeling none the worse for my immersion. Why did you change your clothes, Harold? You surely weren't cold on a day like this. Sabilla has changed hers too, when I come to notice it, and her hair is wet. Have you had an accident, said Miss Augusta, rising from her chair in a startled manner? Rubbish, ejaculated Harold, in a tone which forbade further questioning, and the mat had dropped. She presently left the veranda, and I took the opportunity to say, it is yourself that requires the hot bath and a drop of spirits, Mr Beecham. Yes, I think I'll take a good stiff nobler, I feel a trifle squeamish. It gave me a bit of a turn when I rose to the top, and could not see you. I was afraid the boat might have stunned you in capsizing, and you would be drowned before I could find you. Yes, I would have been such a loss to the world in general, if I had been drowned, I said satirically. Several Jagaroos, a neighbouring squatter, and a couple of bicycle tourists, turned up at five bob that evening, and we had a jovial night. The great richly furnished drawing room was brilliantly lighted, and the magnificent arad grand piano, sung and rung again with music, now marshal and loud, now soft and solemn, now gay and sparkling. I made the very pleasant discovery that Harold Beecham was an excellent pianist, a good player on the violin, and sung with a strong, clear, well-trained tenor, which penetrated far into the night. How many, many times I have lived those nights over again, the great room with its rich appointments, the superb piano, the lights, the merriment, the breeze from the east, rich with the heavy, intoxicating perfume of countless flowers, the tall, perfect figure holding the violin with the master hand, making it speak the same language as I read in the dark eyes of the musician, while above and around was the soft warmth of an Australian summer night, and health and wealth, happiness and youth, joy and light, life and love. What a warm hearted place is the world, how full of pleasure, good and beauty, when fortune smiles, when fortune smiles. Fortune did smile and broadly in those days. We played tricks on one another, and had a deal of innocent fun and frolic. I was a little startled one night on retiring to find a huge goanna near the head of my bed. I called Harold to dislodge the creature when it came to light that it was roped to the bed post. Grape was the laughter at my expense, who tethered the goanna I never discovered, but I suspected Harold. In return for this joke, I collected all the portable clocks in the house, about twenty, and arrayed them on his bedroom table. The majority of them were water berries for common use, so I set each alarm for a different hour. Inscribing a placard hospital for insane, I erected it above his door. Next morning I was awakened at three o'clock by fifteen alarms in concert outside my door. When an hour or two later I emerged, I found a notice on my door, this way to the zoo. It was a very busy time for the men at Five Bob. Wagons were arriving with and hearing supplies, for it was drawing nigh under the great event of the year. In another week's time the bleak of thousands of sheep and the incense of much tar and wool would be ascending to the heavens from the vicinity of Five Bob Downs. I was looking forward to the shearing. There never was any at Cadagat. Uncle did not keep many sheep, and always sold them long wool and re-bought after shearing. I had not much opportunity at persecuting Harold during the daytime. He and all his subordinates were away all day, busy drafting, sorting, and otherwise pottering with the sheep. But I always, and Miss Augusta sometimes, went to meet them coming home in the evening. It was great fun, the dogs gelped and jumped about, the men were dirty with much dust and smelt powerfully of sheep, and had worked hard all day in the blazing sun, but they were never too tired for fun, or at night to dance, after they had bathed and dressed. We all had splendid horses. They reared and pranced. We galloped and jumped every log, which came in our path. Jokes, repartee, and nonsense rattled off our tongues. We did not worry about thousands of our fellows, starving and reeking with disease in city slums. We were selfish. We were heedless. We were happy. We were young. Harold Beecham was a splendid host. Anyone possessed of the least talent for enjoyment had a pleasant time as his guest. He was hospitable in a quiet, unostentatious manner. His overseer, Jack Arouse, and other employees were all allowed the freedom of home, and could invite whom they pleased to fight Bob Downs. It is all very well to talk of good hosts, but I could be a good hostess myself if I had Harold Beecham's superior implements of the art. With an immense station, plenty of house room, tennis courts, musical instruments, a river, wearing to fish, swim and boat, any number of horses, vehicles, orchards, gardens, guns, and ammunition, no object. It is easy to be a good host. I had been just a week at five Bob when Uncle Julius came to take me home, so I missed the shearing. Catagat had been a dull hole without me, he averred, and I must return with him that very day. Mr. and Miss Beecham remonstrated. Could I not be spared at least a fortnight longer? It would be lonely without me. Thereupon Uncle JJ volunteered to procure Miss Benson from Wyam Beat as a substitute. Harold declined the offer with thanks. The schemes of youngsters are very transparent, said Uncle JJ and Miss Augusta, smiling significantly at us. I feigned to be dense, but Harold smiled as though the insinuation was not only known, but also agreeable to him. Uncle was inexorable, so home I had to go. It was sweet to me to hear from the lips of my grandmother and aunt that my absence had been felt. As the confident Aunt Helen was the pink of perfection, tactful and sympathetic, my feather-brained chatter must often have bored her, but she apparently was ever interested in it. I told her long yarns of how I had spent my time at the Beechams, of the deafening duets Harold and I had played on the piano, and how he would persist in dancing with me, and he being so tall and broad, and I so small. It was like being stretched on a hayrack and very fatiguing. I gave a graphic account of the arguments, tough ones they were too, that Miss Augusta had with the overseer on religion, and many other subjects. Of one Jackaroo who gabbed never-endingly about his great relations at home, another who incessantly clattered about spurs, wits, horses, and sport, and the third one, Joe Archer, who talked literature and trash with me. What was Harry doing all this time, asked Auntie, what did he say? Harold had been present all the while, yet I could not call to mind one thing he had said. I cannot remember him ever holding forth on a subject or cause, as most people do at one time or another. End of Chapter 16 Chapter 17 of My Brilliant Career This is a LubriVox recording. All LubriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LubriVox.org My Brilliant Career by Miles Franklin Chapter 17 Idols of Youth In persuasions of his duty, a government male contractor passed Cata Gat every Monday, dropping the Bosnia male as he went. On Thursday we also got the post, but had to depend partly on our own exertions. A selector at Dogtrap, on the Wyonbeat Run, at a point at the compass, ten miles down the road, from Cata Gat, kept a hooded van. Every Thursday he ran this to and from Gilgill for the purpose of taking to market vegetables and other farm produce. He also took parcels and passengers, both ways, it called upon to do so. Cata Gat and Thive Bob gave him a great deal of carrying, and he brought the male for these and two or three other places. It was one of my duties, or rather privileges, to ride with her on Thursday afternoon for the post. A leather bag slung round my shoulders for the purpose. I always had a splendid mount, and the weather being beautifully hot, it was adorned, what I never failed to enjoy. Frank Horden went with me once or twice. Not because Granny or I thought his escort necessary, the idea was his own, but I gave him such a time that he was forced to relinquish accompanying me as a bad job. Harold Beecham kept a snivelling little Queensland black boy, as a sort of blackgill boots, odd job-slavery, or factored him, and he came to doltrap for the male, but after I started to ride for it, Harold came regularly for his male himself. Our homeward way laid together for two miles, but he always came with me till nearly in sight of home. Some days we raced till our horses were white with leather, and once or twice mine was in such a state that we dismounted, and Harold unsettled him and wiped the sweat off with his towel saddlecloth to remove the evidence of hard riding, so that I would not get into a scrap with Uncle JJ. Other times we dawdled, so that when we parted the last rays of sunset would be laughing at us between the white trunks of the tall gum trees. The cookaburras would be making the echoes ring with their mocking good night, and scores of wild guck would be flying quickly roostford. As I passed through the angle formed by the creek and the river about half a mile from home, there came to my ears the cheery clink-clink of hobble chains, the jangle of horse bells, and the gleam of dozen campfires. The shearing was done out in Riverina now, and the men were all going home. Day after day dozens of them passed along the long white road, bound for Monaro and the cool country beyond the blue peaks to the southeast, where the shearing was about to begin. When I had come to Categette, the last of them had gone down with horses poor. Now they were travelling up with their horses, some of them thoroughbreds, rolling fat, and a check for their weeps at backbending labour in their pockets. But whether coming or going, they always made to Categette to camp. That camping ground was renowned as the best from Monaro to Riverina. It was a well watered and sheltered nook, and the ground was so rich that there was always a mouthful of grass to be had there. It was a rare thing to see it without a fire, and the empty jam tins, bottles, bits of bag, paper, tent pegs, and fish tins to be found there would have loaded a dozen wagons. Thursday evening was always spent in going to Dogtrap, and all the other days had their pleasant tasks, and were full of wholesome enjoyment. The blue center flowers along the river gave place to the white bloom of the tea tree. Granny, Uncle, and Aunt Helen filled the house with girl visitors for my pleasure. In the late afternoon, as the weather got hot, we went for bogies in a part of the river two miles distant. Some of the girls from neighbouring runs brought their saddles. Others from town had to be provided therewith, which produced a dearth inside saddles, and it was necessary for me to take a mans. With a rollick in gallop and a bogie ahead that did not trouble me, Aunt Helen always accompanied us on our bathing expeditions to keep us in check. She was the only one who bothered with the bathing dress. The rest of us reefed off our clothing in our hurry, sending buttons in all directions, and plunged into the pleasant water. Then such water fights, frolic, laughter, shouting, and roaring fun, as a dozen strong healthy girls can make when enjoying themselves. Aunt Helen generally called time before we were half inclined to leave. We would linger too long, then there would be a great scramble for clothes, next for the horses, and with wet hair streaming on our tails, we would go home full-belt, twelve sets of galloping hoofs, making a royal clatter on the hard, dusty road. Granny made a rule that when we arrived late, we had to unsettle our horses ourselves, and not disturb the working men from their meal for our pleasure. We mostly were late, and so there would be a tight brace to see who would arrive at table first. A dozen heated horses were turned out unceremoniously. A dozen saddles and bridles dumped down anywhere, anyhow, and their occupants, with wet, disheveled hair and clothing in glorious disarray, would appear at table avering that they were starving. The categette folk were enthusiastic anglers. Fishing was a favourite and often enjoyed amusement at the household. In the afternoon, a tin full of worms would be dug out of one of the water races, tackle collected, horses saddled, and Granny, Uncle, Aunt, Frank Horden, Myself, and anyone else who had happened to drop in, would be repaired to the fish-holes three miles distant. I hate fishing, ah, the hittiest barbitry of shoving a hook through a living worm, and the cruelty of taking the fish off the hook. Uncle allowed no idlers at the river, all had to manipulate a rod and line. Indulging in pleasant air castles, I generally forgot my cork till the rod would be jerked in my hand. When I would pull too late, the fish would be gone. Uncle would lecture me for being a jack-door, so next time I would glare at the cork unwinkingly, and pull at the first signs of it bobbing too soon. The fish would escape again, and I would again be in disgrace. After a little experience I found it was a good plan to be civil to Frank Horden, when the prospect of fishing hung around, and then he would attend to my line as well as his own, while I read a book which I smuggled with me. The fish-hole was such a shrub-hidden nook that, though the main roads passed within two hundred yards, neither we nor our horses could be seen by the travellers thereon. I lay on the soft moss and leaves and drunk deeply at the beauties of nature. The soft rush of the river, the scent of the shrubs, the golden sunset, occasionally the musical clatter of hoofs on the road, the gentle noises of the fishers fishing, the plop-plop of the platypus, disborting itself midstream. Came to me as sweetest elixir in my ideal, dream of the poet nook among the pink-based, grey-topped, most carpeted rocks. I was a creature of joy in those days, life is made up of little things. It was a small thing to have a little pocket money to spend on anything that took my fancy, a very small thing, and yet how much pleasure it gave me. Though eating is not one of the great homes of my life, yet it was nice to have enough of any delicacy, one fancied. Not that we ever went hungry at home, but when one has nothing to eat in the hot weather, but bread and beef, it gives them tendency to dream of fruit and cool dainties. When one thinks at the countless army of one's fellows who are daily selling their very souls for the barest necessaries of life, I suppose we irresponsible beings should be thankful to God for allowing us by scratching and scraping all our lives to keep a crust in our mouth and a rag on our back. I am not thankful I had been guilty of what Pat would term a discretion. I started about going for the mail at Dogtrap, Harold Beecham never once mistaking me home on Thursdays, even when he shearing was in full swing, and he must have been very busy. He never once uttered a word of love to me, not so much as one of the soft nothings in which young people of opposite sexes often deal without any particular significance. Whether he went to all the bother and waste of time occurring from escorting me home out of gentle manliness alone was a mystery to me. I desired to find out and resolve to drive instead of ride to Dogtrap one day to see what he would say. Granny is centred to the project. Of course I could drive for once if I didn't feel able to ride, but the horses had been spelling for a long time and were very frisky. I must take Frank with me or I might get my neck broken. I flatly opposed the idea of Frank Horden going with me. He would make a mull of the whole thing. It was no use arguing with Granny and impressing upon her the fact that I was not the least nervous concerning the horses. I could take Frank with me in the buggy, ride or stay at home. I preferred driving. Accordingly the fat horses were harnessed to the buggy, and with many injunctions to be careful and not forget the parcels we set out. Frank Horden's presence spoiled it all, but I determined to soon make short work of him. There was one gate to go through, about four miles from the house. Frank Horden got out to open it. I drove through, and while he was pushing it too, laid the whip on the horses and went off full tilt. He ran after me, shouting all manner of things that I could not hear on account of the rattle of the buggy. One horse began kicking up, so to give him no time for further pranks, I drove at a good round gullet, which quickly left the lovable Jackaroo aspect in the distance. The dust rose in thick clouds, the stones rattled from the whirling wheels. The cheer-chir of a myriad cicadas filled the air, and the white road glistened in the dazzling sunlight. I was enjoying myself tip-top, and chuckled to think of the way I had Eucrid, Frank Horden. It was such a good joke that I considered it worth two with the blowings up. I was sure of getting from Granny for my conduct. It was not long before I fetched up at Dogtrap Homestead, where tethered to the six-foot paling fence, which surrounded the Flower Garden, was Harold Beecham's favourite great black, saddle-horse whorrigal. The vicious fruit turned his beautiful head, displaying a white star on the forehead, and snorted as I approached. His master appeared on the veranda, raising his soft Panama hat, and remarking, Well, I am never. You are not by yourself, are you? I am. Would you please tell Mrs. Butler to bring out Granny's parcels, and post it once? I am afraid to dawdle. It's getting late. He disappeared to execute my request, and reappeared in less than a minute. Mr. Beecham, please would you examine Barney's harness? Something must be hurting him. He has been kicking up all the way. Examining the harness, and noticing the sweat that was dripping from the animals, panting from their run, he said, It looks as though you've been making the pace a cracker. There is nothing that is irritating Barney in the least. If he's putting on any ears, it is because he is frisky, and not safe for you to drive. How did Julius happen to let you away by yourself? I'm not frightened, I replied. I see you're not. You'd be going to tackle a pair of wild elephants. I know, but you must remember you're not much bigger than a sparrow sitting up there, and I won't let you go back by yourself. You cannot stop me. I can. You can't. I can. You can't. I can. How? I'm going with you. He said, You're not. I am. You are not. I am. You are not. We'll see whether I will or not in a minute or two, he said with amusement. But Mr Beecham, I object to your company. I am quite capable of taking care of myself. Besides, if you come home with me, I will not be allowed out alone again. It will be altogether unpleasant for me. Mrs Butler now appeared with the mail and some parcels, and Harold stowed them in the buggy. You'd better come in and have a drop of table water, miss. The kettle's billing, and I have the table laid out for both of you. No, thank you, Mrs Butler. I can't possibly stay today. It's getting late. I must hurry up. Goodbye. Good afternoon, Mr Beecham. I turned my buggy and pear smartly round and was sweeping oil. Without a word, Harold was at their heads and seized the reins. He seized his horse's bridle where it was over the pailing, and in a moment had him tied on the offside of Barney. Then stepping quietly into the buggy, he put me away from the driver's seat, as though I were a baby. Quietly took the reins and whip, raised his hat to Mrs Butler, who was smiling knowingly and drove off. I was highly delighted with his action, as I would have despised him as a booby had he given in to me. But I did not let my satisfaction appear. I sat as far away from him as possible, and pretended to be in a great hut. For a while he was too fully occupied in making Barney sit up to notice me, but after a few minutes he looked round, smiling a most annoying and pleasant smile. I'd advise you to straighten out your chin. It is too round and soft to look well screwed up that way," he said provokingly. I tried to extinguish him with a look, but it had not the desired effect. Now you would better be civil, for I have got the big end at the whip," he said. I reserved to myself the right of behaving, as I think fit in my own uncle's buggy. You are an intruder. It is yourself that should be civil. I erected my parasol and held it so as to tease Harold. I put it down so that he could not see the horses. He quietly seized my wrist and held it out of his way for a time, and then loosing me, said, Now, behave. I flouted it now, so that his ears and eyes were endangered, and he was forced to hold his hat on. I'll give you three minutes to behave, or I'll put you out," he said with mock severity. Sure, it's me what's behaving beautiful," I replied, continuing my nonsense. He pulled grain, seized me in my arm, and lifted me lightly to the ground. Now you can walk till you promise to conduct yourself like a Christian," he said, driving at a walk. If you wait till I promise anything, you'll wait till the end of the century. I'm quite capable of walking home. You'll soon get tired of walking in this heat, and your feet will be blistered in a mile with those bits of paper. The bits of paper to which he alluded were a pair of thin-soled white canvas slippers, not at all fitted for walking the eight miles on the hard, hot road ahead of me. I walked resolutely on, without daining a glance at Harold, who had slowed down to a crawling walk. Aren't you ready to get up now? he inquired presently. I did not reply. At the end of a quarter of a mile, he jumped out at the buggy, seized upon me, lifted me in, and laughed, saying, You're a very slashing little concern, but you are not big enough to do much damage. We were about half way home when Barney gave a tremendous lurch, breaking a trace, and some other straps. Mr. Beecham was at the head of the plunging horse in a twinkling. The harness seemed to be scattered everywhere. I expect I had better walk on now, I remarked. Walk be granted. With two fat, lazy horses to draw you, return Mr. Beecham. Men are clumsy, stupid creatures regarding little things, but in their right place they are wonderful animals. If a buggy were smashed to smithereens from one of their many mysterious pockets, they would produce a knife and some string, and put the wreck into working order in no time. Harold was as clever in this way as any other man, with as much bushman ability as he had. So it was not long, er, we were blowing along as merrily as ever. Just before we came inside of Catagat, he came to a standstill, jumped to the ground, untied Wariggle, and put the reins in my hand, saying, I think you can get home safely from here. Don't be in such a huff. I was afraid something might happen to you if alone. You needn't mention that I came with you unless you like. Goodbye. Goodbye, Mr. Beecham. Thank you for being so officious, I said by way of a parting shot. Old Nick will run away with you for being so ungrateful, he returned. Old Nick will have me anyhow, I thought to myself, as I drove home amid the shadows. The hum of the cicadas were still, and dozens of rabbits, tempted out by the cool of the twilight, scattered across my path, and hid in the thorns. I wished the harness had not broken, as I feared it would put a clincher on my being allowed out, driving alone in future. Joe Slokum, the man who acted as Groom and Roustabout, was waiting for me at the entrance gate. I'm glad you come at last, Miss Sibylla. The missus has been in a dreadful stew for fear something had happened just. She's been running in and around like a girl on the lookout for her lover, and was talking and ascending me after years. But she went to her tea soon, and she see the buggy come inside. I'll put all the parcels on the back frander, and use can go in at once, or use will be late for your tea. Joe, the harness broke and had to be tied up. That is what kept me so late, I explained. The harness broke, he exclaimed. How the do's is that? Broke here in the trace, and that strap. Well, I'll be hanged. I thought them straps couldn't break, only under a tremendous strain. The boss is so dashed, particular too. I think he'll seal me off the place, and I looked at that harness only yesterday. I can't make out how it comes to break so simple. The boss will rise the devil of a shine, and say you might have been killed. This put a different complexion on things. I knew Joe Sycambe could mend the harness with little trouble, as it was because he was what Uncle Joe Joe termed a handy devil, at saddlery, that he was retained a catagat. I said carelessly. If you mend the harness at once, Joe, Uncle Julius need not be bothered about it. As it happened, there is no harm done, and I won't mention the matter. Thank you, Miss, he said eagerly. I'll mend it at once. Now that I had that peace of business so luckily disposed of, I did not feel the least nervous about meeting Granny. I took the mail in my arms and entered the dining room, chirping pleasantly. Granny, I'm such a good mail boy. I have heaped the letters and did not forget one of your commissions. I don't want to hear that now, she said, drawing her dear old mouth into a straight line, which told me I was not going to palm things off as easily as I thought. I want a reason for your conduct this afternoon. Explain what, Granny, I inquired. None of that pretense. Not only have you been most outrageously insulting to Mr. Horden when I sent him with you, but you also deliberately and willfully disobeyed me. Uncle Julius listened attentively, and Horden looked at me with such alia of triumph that my fingers tingled to smack his ears. Turning to my grandmother, I said distinctly and cuttingly. Granny, I did not intentionally disobey you. Disobedience never entered my head. I hate that thing. His presence was detestable to me. When he got out of the gate, I could not resist the impulse to drive off and leave him there. He looked such a complete jackdaw that you could have laughed yourself to see him. Dear, O dear, you wicked hussy, what will come of you? And Granny shook her head, trying to look stern and hiding a smile in her Soviet. Your manners are not improving, Cebella. I fear you must be incorrigible, said Aunt Helen. When Uncle JJ heard the whole particulars of the affair, he lay back in his chair and laughed, fit to kill himself. You ought to be ashamed to always encourage her in her tomboyish ways, Julius. It grieves me to see she makes no effort to acquire a lady like Dominion, said Granny. Mr. Horden had come off second best, so he arose from his half-finished meal and stamped out, banging the door after him, and muttering something about a disgustingly spoiled and petted tomboy, a hideous barbarian, and so forth. Uncle JJ related that story to everyone, dwelling with great delight upon the fact that Frank Horden was forced to walk four miles in the heat and dust. End of Chapter 17 Chapter 18 of My Brilliant Career This is a LibriVox Recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. My Brilliant Career by Miles Franklin Chapter 18 As short as I wish had been the majority of sermons, to which I had been forced to give ear. When alone, I confessed to Aunt Helen that Harold had accompanied me to within a short distance of home. She did not smile as usual, but looked very grey, and, drawing me in front of her, said, Say, Bill, do you know what you are doing? Do you love Harry Beecham? Do you mean to marry him? Aunt Helen, what a question to ask. I never dreamt of such a thing. He has never spoken a word of love to me. Marriage. I am sure he does not, for an instant, think of me in that light. I'm not 17. Yes, you are young, but some people's age cannot be reckoned by years. I am glad to see you have developed a certain amount of half real and half assumed youthfulness lately. But when the novelty of your present life wears away, your old mature nature will be there. So it is for no use, feigning childishness. Harold Beecham is not given to speech. Action with him is the same thing. Can you look at me straight, Cibilla, and say that Harold has not extended you something more than common politeness? Had Aunt Helen put that question to me a day before, I would have blushed and felt guilty. But today, not so. The words of the Jackaroo the night before had struck home. A hideous barbarian he had called me, and it seemed to me he had spoken the truth. My life had been so pleasant lately that I had overlooked this fact, but now it returned to sting with redoubled bitterness. I had no lovable qualities to win for me the love of my fellows, which I so much desired. I returned Aunt Helen aghaze as steady as her own, and said bitterly, Aunt Helen, I can truly say he has never and will never extend to me more than common politeness. Neither will any other man. Surely you know enough of masculine human nature to see there is no danger of a man losing his heart to a plain woman like me. Love in fancy and song is a pretty myth, embracing unity of souls, congeniality of tastes, and such like commodities. In worker-day reality it is the lowest of passions, which is set alight by the most artistic nose and mouth, and it matters not if its object is vile, low, or brainless to idiocy, so long as it has these attributes. Sabilla, Sabilla, said Aunt Sadley, as if to herself, in the first flush of girlhood, and so bitter. Why is this? Because I have been cursed with the power of seeing, thinking, and worse than all, feeling, and branded with the stinging affliction of ugliness, I replied. Now, Sabilla, you are going to think of yourself again. Something has put you out. Be sensible for once in a way. What you have said at men's love may be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him? Intend to accept him? I echoed. I haven't once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone. Don't you care for Harold? Just a little. Think. How could I care for him? For many, many reasons. He is young and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, that he has nothing despicable about him. But best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues. But he is so conceited, I remarked. That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly. Here Aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. What you complain of, in Harold, will wear off presently. Life has been very easy for him so far, you see. But Aunty, I'm sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking. Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him. Yes, just for his money, I said scornfully. But I'll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking. Said Biller, never flirt. To play with a man's heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions as sex can be guilty of. I would scorn to flirt with any man. I returned with vigor. Play with a man's heart. You'd really think they had such a thing, Aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Heard their vanity for a few days, is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach. Preach about playing with men's hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with. Sir Biller, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly, said Aunt Helen. End of Chapter 18 Chapter 19 of my brilliant career. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. My Brilliant Career by Miles Franklin Chapter 19, the 9th of November, 1896 The Prince of Wales birthday of the country was celebrated as usual. They're away by the annual horse races on the Wyambeet course, about 14 miles from Cadigat. The holding of these races was an elderly institution, and was followed at night by a servant's fool, given by one of the squatters. Last year it had been Beecham's Fool, the year before Buzziers, and this year it was to take place in the wool shed of James Grant at Yabtree. Our two girls, the Gardner and Joe Slokam, the Groom, were to be present, as also were all the other employees about. Nearly everyone in the district, masters and men, attended the races. We were going, Frank Horden volunteering to stay and mine the house. We started at nine o'clock, Granny and Uncle Boss sat in the front seat of the buggy, and Aunt Helen and I occupied the back. Uncle always drove at a good round vellop. His idea was to have good horses, not donkeys, and not to spare them, as there were plenty more to be had any day. On this morning he went off at his usual pace. Granny urged, as Remonstrance, that the dust was fearful when going at that rate. I clapped my hands and exclaimed, Go it, Mr Bossier! Well done, Uncle Joe Joe! Hooray for Clancy! Uncle First said he was glad to see I had the spirit of an Australian, and then threatened to put my nose above my chin if I failed to behave properly. Granny remarked that I might have the spirit of an Australian, but I had by no means the manners of the lady. While Aunt Helen ventured a wish that I might expend all my superfluous spirits on the way, so that I would be unable to deport myself with a little decorum when arrived at the racecourse. We went at a great pace, lizards and goannas scampered out of the way in dozens, and clambering trees, eyed us unblinkingly as we passed. Did we see a person or vehicle a tiny speck ahead of us? In a short time they were as far away in the background. Please, Uncle, let me drive, I requested. Couldn't now? Your granny can't sit in the back seat. Neither could I, and look like a tame cockatoo while you sat in front. You asked Carrie to let you drive him. I bet he'll consent. He's sure to be in a sulky with a spare seat on speck. We're sure to overtake him in a few minutes. There was a vehicle in the distance which proved to be from five Bob Downs, but as we overhauled it, it was the drag and not a sulky. Harold occupied the driver's seat and the other occupants were all ladies. I noticed the one beside him was wearing a very big hat, all ruffles, flowers and plumes. Shall I pull up and get you a seat? Inquired Uncle JJ. No, no, no. The boss of five Bob drew to his side at the road, and when we had passed, Uncle began to tease. Got faint-hearted, did you? The flower garden on that woman's hat caught your chances altogether. Never mind, don't you think? I'll see that you'll have a fair show. I'll get you a regular cartwheel next time I go to town, and we'll trim it up with some above Barney's tail. If that won't fetch him, I'm sure nothing will. Before we got to the race course, Barney went lane through getting a stone in his hoof. This caused a delay which enabled the five Bob trapped to catch us, and we pulled grain a little distance apart at the same time to a light. Mr. Beecham's groom went to his horse's heads, while Harold himself assisted his carriage full of ladies to set foot on the ground. Aunt Helen and Granny went to talk to them, but I stayed with Uncle JJ while he took the horses out. Somehow I was feeling very disappointed. I had expected Harold Beecham to be alone. He had attended on me so absolutely everywhere I had met him lately, that I had unconsciously grown to look upon him as mine exclusively. And now, seeing he would belong to his own party of ladies for the day, things promised to be somewhat flat without him. I told that devil of a Joe to be sure and turn up as soon as I arrived. I wanted him to water the horses, but I can't see him anywhere. The infernal, crawling, deustidious, ejaculated Uncle Julius. Never mind Uncle, let him have his holiday. I suppose he'd like to have time to spoon with his girl. I can easily water the horses. That would suit Joe, I have no doubt, but I don't pay him to let you water the horses. I'll water him myself. He led one animal, I took the other, and we went in the direction of water, a few hundred yards away. You run along to your granny and the rest of them, and I'll go by myself, said Uncle, but I kept on with the horse. You mustn't let a five-ginny hat destroy your hopes altogether, he continued, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. If you stick to your guns, you'll have a better show than anyone to beg the boss a five-bomb. I am at a loss to interpret your innuendo, Mr. Bosier, I said stiffly. Now, little woman, you think you are very smart, but you can't deceive me. I've seen the game you and Harry have been up to this last month. If it had been any other man, I would have restricted your capers long ago. Uncle, I've begun. Now, Sibylla, none of your crannies. There is no harm in being a bit gone on Harry. It's only natural, and just what I'd expect. I've known him since he was born, and he's a good all-round fellow. His head is screwed on the right way, his heart is in the right place, and his principles are tip-top. He could give you feltarels and rubbish to no end, and wouldn't be stingy either. He'll never get a better man. Don't you be put out of the running so cheaply. Hold your own and win. That's my advice to you. There is nothing against him, only temper. Old Nick himself isn't a patch on him for temper. Temper, I exclaimed. He is always so quiet and pleasant. Yes, he controls it well. He's a fellow with a will-like iron, and that is what you want, as I find you have none of your own. But be careful of Harry Beecham in a temper. He is like a raging iron, and when his temper dies away is a sulking brute, which is the vilest of all tempers. But he is not vindictive, and is easy-managed, if you don't mind giving in and coaxing a little. Now, Uncle, you have had your say. I will have mine. You seem to think I have more than a friendly regard for Mr. Beecham, but I have not. I would not marry him, even if I could. I am so sick of everyone thinking I would marry any man for his possessions. I would not stoop to marry a king if I did not love him. As for trying to win a man, I would scorn any action that way. I never intend to marry. Instead of wasting so much money on me in presence and other ways, I wish you would get me something to do, a profession that will last me all my life, so that I may be independent. No mistake, you're a run youngster. You can be my companion till further orders. That's a profession that will last you a goodish while. With this I had to be contented as I saw he considered what I had said as a joke. I left Uncle and went in quest of Granny, who by this was beyond the other side of the course, fully a quarter of a mile away. Going in her direction I met Joe Archer, one of the five Bob Jackaroos, and a great chum of mine. He had a taste for literature, and we got on together like one o'clock. We sat on a log under a stringy bark tree, and discussed the books we had read since last we met, and enjoyed ourselves so much that we quite forgot about the races, or the flight of time, until recalled from bookland by Harold Beecham's voice. Excuse me, Miss Melvin, but your Granny has commissioned me to find you as we want to have lunch, and it appears you are the only one who knows the run of some of the tucker bags. How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch? Over in that clump of boxed trees, he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. How are you enjoying yourself? He asked, looking straight at me. Tremendous in toil, sir, I replied. I suppose you know the winner of every race. He remarked quizzically, watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a skilled girl, when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love letter. Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all. I returned. You'd better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don't keep a sharp look out, he said, turning to his Jackaroo. Ladies before gentlemen, I interposed. I want Mr Archer to take me to Granny, then he can go and look after old Boxer. I'll escort you, said Beecham. Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so. In that case, I beg your pardon and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request. Raising his hat, he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usual pleasant face. By Joe, I'm in for it, ejaculated my escort. The boss doesn't get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it. He felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to yab treing. Go on. It's a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring dairy on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him, like Winky, or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively. Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience, I replied. That's where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if anyone dares to monopolise you. I don't know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes. Mr Archer, you presume, but throwing such empty banter aside is Mr Beecham really bad tempered. Bad tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform. I was always hearing of Harold Beecham's temper and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so impertably calm and unfailingly good tempered under the most trying circumstances that I feared he had no emotions in him and longed to stir him up. Granny greeted me with, I don't know how you have packed these hampers and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been? Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out. The five Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette and the other a torn-light blonde, who, on account of her much-trimmed hat, I recognised as the lady who had been sitting on the box seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party I missed the honour of an introduction and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with the dainty parasong. In the afternoon she strolled away with him and after I had attended to the remains of the feast I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at five Bob three days before and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. Whilst she really very handsome I inquired. By Joe yes, he replied, but one of your disdainful haughty beauties who wouldn't dame to say good-day to a chap with less than seven or six thousand a year. I don't know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncles, though he had never raised horses himself. He kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist's models. The tall broad independent figure at the Bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size, the equally tall majestic form at the City Bell, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose, indeed, a splendid pair physically. Then I thought of my lacquer beauty, my miserable five-feet one-inch statue, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigents. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bit a laugh. I excused myself to my companion and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent and returning the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. Am I keeping Granny and Uncle waiting? I inquired. No, they have gone over an hour, he replied. Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say? On the contrary, she was in a great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good-night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony, he said mischievously. Where am I going tonight? To five Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly, he replied. I haven't got a dinner-dress, and I'm not prepared. I will go home. We have plenty dinner-dresses at five Bob without any more. It is Miss Melbourne we want, he said. Oh, bother you, I retorted. Men are such stupid creatures and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper. At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place. No matter how she's dressed, he said good-humidly. On reaching the race course, I was surprised to see Aunt Helen there. From her, I learnt that Granny and Uncle JJ had really gone home, that Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow Aunt Helen and me to spend the night at five Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have Aunt Helen with me, I was delighted at the prospect. Otherwise, I would have felt a little out of it. With Aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere and built a castle in the air, wherein, one day, she and I were always to live together, forever, till death. Going home, Aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick and I was crammed in at the back besides Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback and in expectation of great fun were wending their way to Yad Tree, nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. End of Chapter 19 Chapter 20. Same Yarn, Continued Every station hand from thigh bob, male and female had gone to the ball at Yad Tree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses while the Jackaroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors, which had been locked all day, and soared to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom, as we had not fresh dresses to put on, we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplanted my hair, shook the dust out of it, and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves and wore as adornment roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeking in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the vines for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded to the drawing room to await the arrival of the other visitors. They soon made their appearance. First two stout old squatters with big laughs and bigger corporations, then Miss Augusta Beecham, next Jo Archer the overseer, and the two other Jackaroos. After these appeared a couple of governesses, Mr, Misses, and Miss Benson, a clergyman, an auctioneer, a young friend of Harold's from Cootamundra, a horse buyer, a wool classer, Miss Sarah Beecham, and then Miss Derrick brought herself and her dress in with great style and ears. She was garbed in a sea-green silk and had jewelry on her neck, arms and hair. Her self-confident man was suggestive at the conquest of many masculine hearts. She was a big, handsome woman. Beside her, I, in my crushed white Muslim dress, was as overshadowed as a little white handkerchief. Would he, in comparison to a gorgeous shawl, heavily wrought in silks and velvet? She was given the best seat as though she were a princess. She sat down with great indifference, twirled a bracelet round her wrist, languidly opened her fan, and closed her eyes as she walked it slowly to and fro. By joke, isn't she a splendid creature, enthusiastically whispered a gentleman sitting beside me. I looked at her critically. She was very big and, in a bony, stiff way, was much developed in figure. She had a nice big nose and a long well-shaped face, a thin straight mouth and empty light eyes. If my attention had not been called to her, I would not have noticed her one way or the other. But being pointed towards a beauty, I weighed her according to my idea of facial charm, and pronounced her one of the most insipid-looking people I had set eyes upon. She was the kind of woman with whom men become much infatuated. She would never make a fool of herself by letting her emotions run away with her. Because she had no emotions, but lived in a sea of unruffled self-consciousness and self-confidence. Any man would be proud to introduce her as his wife to his friends, whom he had brought home to dinner. She would adorn the head of his table. She would never worry him with silly ideas. She would never act with impropriety. She would never become a companion to her husband. But a man does not want his wife to be a companion. There were myths and fables in the old day, so there are now. The story that men like a companion, as well as a wife, is enough to date one. This train of thought was interrupted by our host, who appeared in the doorway, clad from soul to neck in white. We steered for the dining room, twenty-two all told, thirteen men and nine representatives of the other sex. Aunt Helen got one seat of honour, near the head of the table, and mysteric another. I drifted to the foot among the unimportant younger fry, where we had no end of fun and idle chatter. We had to wait on ourselves, and as all formality was dispensed with, it was something like a picnic. The heat was excessive. Every window and door were open, and the barmy, almost imperceptible, sephers which faintly rustled the curtains, and kissed our perspiration-beaded brows, were rich with many scents from the wide old flower garden, which, despite the drought, brought forth a wealth of blossom. When done eating, we had to wash the dishes. Such a scamper ensued back and forwards to the kitchen, which rung with noise and merriment. Every one was helping, hindering, laughing, joking, teasing, and bringing over with fun and enjoyment. When we had completed this task, dancing was proposed. Some of the elderly and more sensible people said it was too hot, but all the young folks did not care a wrap for the temperature. Harold had no objections. Miss Derrick was agreeable. Miss Benson announced herself ready and willing, and Joe Archer said he was leavened to begin. So we adjourned to the dancing room and commenced operations. I played the piano for the first quad-brill and Aunt Helen for the second dance. It was most enjoyable. There was a table at one end of the room, on which was any amount of cherries, lollies, cake, dainties, beers, syrups, and glasses, where all could regale themselves without ceremony or bother every time the inclination seized them. Several doors and windows at the long room opened into the garden and provided one had no fear of snakes. It was delightful to walk amid the flowers and cool oneself between dances. A little exertion on such a night made us very hot. After the third dance, the two old squatters, the horse-fire, the clergyman, and Miss Benson disappeared. Judging from the hilarity of their dominion and killing odor of their breaths when they returned an hour or so later, during their absence they must have conscientiously sampled the contents of every whiskey decanter on the dining room sideboard. I could not dance, but had no lack of partners. As ladies being in the minority, the gentlemen had to occasionally put up with their own sex in a dance. Let's take a breeze now and have a song or two, but no more dancing for a while, said some of them. But Harold Beecham said, One more turn, and then we will have a long spell and a change of program. He ordered Joe Archer to play a waltz, and the floor soon held several whirling couples. Harold requested the pleasure of me the first time that night. I demurred. He would not take a refusal. Believe me, if I felt confident, Mr. Beecham, I would not refuse. I cannot dance. It will be no pleasure to you. Allow me to be the best judge of what is a pleasure to me, he said, quietly placing me in position. He swung me once round the room and then threw an open window into the garden. I am sorry that I haven't had more time to look after you today. Come round into my room. I want to strike a bargain with you, were his words. I followed him in the direction of a detached building in the garden. This was Harold's particular domain. It contained three rooms, one a library and office, another an arsenal and deed room, and the third into which he led me was the sort of sitting room containing a piano, facilities for washing, a table, easy chairs and other things. As we entered, I noticed the lamp burning brightly on the table, gleamed on the face of a clock on the wall, which pointed to half past ten. We stood beside the table some distance apart and facing me, he said, it is no use of me making a long yarn about nothing. I'm sure you know what I want to say better than I do myself. You always are wonderfully smart at seeing through a fellow. Tell me, will it be yes or no? This was an experience in love. He did not turn red or white or yellow or green, nor did he tremble or stammer or cry or laugh or become fierce or passionate or tender or anything but just himself, as I had always known him. He displayed no more emotion than had he been inviting me to a picnic. This was not as I had pictured a man would tell his love, or as I had read of it, heard of it or wished it should be. A curious feeling, disappointment, perhaps stole over me. His matter-of-fact coolness flabbergasted me. Is this not rather sudden? You have given me no intimation of your intentions, I stammered. I didn't think it was to dawdle any longer, he replied. Surely you have known what I've been driving at ever since I first clapped eyes on you. There's plenty of time I don't want to hurry you. Only I want you to be engaged to me for safety. He spoke, as usual, in his slow, twangy drawl, which would have proclaimed his colonial nationality anywhere. No word of love was uttered to me, and none requested from me. I put it down to his conceit. I thought that he fancied he could win any woman and me without the least plunder or trouble. I felt annoyed. I settled out. I will become engaged to you, to myself, I added. Just for a little while, the more to surprise and take the conceit out of you when the time comes. Now that I understand his character, I know that it was not conceit, but just his quiet, unpretending way. He had meant all his actions towards me, and had taken mine in return. Thank you, Stabella. That is all I want. We will talk about the matter more some other time. I will go up to Katagat next Sunday. You have surprised me nearly out of my wits. Here he laughed. I never dreamt you would say yes so easily, just like any other girl. I thought I would have a lot of trouble with you. He approached me and was stooping to kiss me. I cannot account for my action or condemn it sufficiently. It was hysterical. The outcome of an overstrung, highly excitable and nervous temperament. Perhaps my vanity was wounded, and my tendency to strike when touched was up in arms. The calm air of ownership with which Harold drew near annoyed me. Or, as Sunday-skill teachers would explain it, Satan got hold of me. He certainly placed a long, strong riding whip on the table beneath my hand. As Harold stooped with the intention of pressing his lips to mine, I quickly raised the whip and brought it with all my strength right across his face. The instant the whip had descended, I would have smashed my arm on the doorpost to recall that blow. But that was impossible. It had left a great wheel on the healthy suntan skin. His moustache had saved his lips, but it had caught his nose, the left cheek, had blinded the left eye, and had left a cut on the temple, from which drops of blood were rolling down his cheek and staining his white coat. A momentary gleam of anger shot into his eyes, and he gave a gasp. Whether of surprise, pain, or annoyance, I know not. He made a gesture towards me. I half expected and fervently wished he would strike. The enormity of what I had done paralyzed me. The whip fell from my fingers, and I dropped on to a low lounge behind me, and placing my elbows on my knees, crouchingly buried my face in my hands. My head tumbled softly over my shoulders and reached the floor, as though to sympathetically curtain my humiliation. Oh, that Harold would thrash me severely. It would have infinitely relieved me. I had done a mean, unwomanly thing in thus striking a man who by his great strength and sex was devoured retaliation. I had committed a violation of self-respect and common decency. I had given a man an ignominous blow in the face with a riding whip. And that man was Harold Beecham, who with all his strength and great stature was so wondrously gentle, who had always treated my whims and nonsense with something like the amused tolerance held by a great newfound land for the pranks of a kitten. The clock struck eleven. A less stingy rebuke would have served your purpose. I had no idea that a simple caress from the man whose proposal of marriage you had just accepted would be considered such an unpardonable demilitude. Harold's voice fell clearly, calmly, cuttingly on the silence. He moved away to the other end of the room, and I heard the sound of water. A desire filled me to tell him that I did not think he had attempted a familiarity, but that I had been mad. I wished to say I could not account for my action that I was dumb. My tongue refused to work, and I felt as though I would choke. The splash of the water came from the other end of the room. I knew he must be suffering acute pain in his eye. A far lighter blow had kept me sleepless a whole night. A fear possessed me that I might have permanently injured his sight. The splash of water ceased. His footfall stopped beside me. I could feel he was within touching distance, but I did not move. Oh, the horrible stillness. Why did he not speak? He placed his hand lightly on my head. It doesn't matter, Sid. I know you didn't mean to hurt me. I suppose you thought you couldn't affect my dark, old, saddle-flap-looking fizz. That is one of the disadvantages of being a big, lumbering concern like I am. Jump up, that's the girl. I arose, I was giddy, and would have fallen, but for Harold steadying me by the shoulder. I looked up at him nervously and tried to ask his forgiveness, but I failed. Good heavens, child, you are as white as a sheet. I was a beast to speak harshly to you. He held a glass of water to my lips, and I drunk. Great Jupiter, there's nothing to worry about. I know you hadn't the slightest intention of hurting me. It's nothing. I'll be right in a few moments. I've often been amused at and have admired your touch-me-not style. You only forgot you had something in your hand. He had taken it quite as a matter of fact, and was excusing me in the kindest possible terms. Good gracious, you mustn't stew over such a trifling accident. It's nothing. Just tie this handkerchief on for me, please, and then we'll go back to the others, or there will be a search-party after us. He could have tied the handkerchief just as well himself. It was only out of kindly tact he requested my services. I accepted his kindness gratefully. He sunk on his knee so that I could reach him, and I tied a large white handkerchief across the injured part. He could not open his eye, and hot water poured from it, but he made light of the idea of it painting. I was feeling better now, so we returned to the ballroom. The clock struck the half-hour after eleven, as we left the room. Harold entered by one door, and I by another, and I slipped into a seat, as though I had been there some time. There were only a few people in the room. The majority were absent, some love-making, others playing cards. Miss Beecham was one who was not thus engaged. She exclaimed at once, Good gracious boy, what have you done to yourself? Looks as if he had been interviewing at the Lutheran Tramp, said Aunt Helen, smilingly. He's running to the clothesline. That's what he's done, said Miss Augusta confidently, after she had peeped beneath the bandage. You ought to get a bun for guessing, Aunt Gus, said Harold, laughing. I told them to put the clothesline up when they had done with them. I knew there would be an accident. Perhaps they were put up high enough for ordinary purposes, remarked her nephew. Let me do something for you, dear. No, thank you, Aunt Gus. It is nothing, he said carelessly, and the matter dropped. Harold Beecham was not a man to invite inquiry concerning himself. Seeing I was unobserved by the company, I slipped away to indulge in my foolish habit of asking the why and the wherefore of things. Why had Harold Beecham, who was a sort of young sultan, who could throw the handkerchief where he liked, chosen me of all women? I had no chance to recommend me, none of the virtues which men demand of the woman they wish to make their wife. To begin with, I was small. I was erratic and unorthodox. I was nothing but a tomboy, and cardinal disqualification. I was ugly. Why, then, had he proposed matrimony to me? Was it merely a whim? Was he really in earnest? The night was soft and dark. After being out in it for a time, I could discern the shrubs dimly silhouetted against the light. The music struck up inside again, as Steph approached me on the gravel walk among the flowers, and Harold called me softly by name. I answered him, Come, he said, we are going to dance. We could be my partner. We danced and then followed songs and parlor games, and it was in the small hours when the merry good-nights were all said, and we had retired to rest. Aunt Helen dropped to sleep in a short time, but I lay awake listening to the soft distant call of the mopops in the scrub beyond the stables. End of Chapter 20 Chapter 21 of my brilliant career. This is a LibraVox recording. All LibraVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibraVox.org. My Brilliant Career by Miles Franklin Chapter 21 My Unladylike Behavior Again Joe Archer was appointed to take us home on the morrow when our host was seeing us off. Still with his eye covered, he took opportunity of whispering to me his intention of coming to Categette on the following Sunday. Early in the afternoon of that day I took a book and, going down the road some distance, climbed up a broad branch willow tree to wait for him. It was not long before he appeared at a smart canter. He did not see me in the tree, but his horse did, and propping snorted wildly and gave a backward run. Harold spurred him. He bucked spherically. Harold now saw me and sung out. I say, don't frighten him any more or he'll fling me, saddle and all. I haven't got a creeper or a breastplate. Why haven't you then? Hang on to him. I'd like to look at you while the horse is going on like that. He had dismounted and had thrown the bridal rain over a post of the fence. I came with nothing but a girth and that loose as it was so hot, and I was as near as tuppence to being off, saddle and all. You might have been the debt of me, he said good humor's lean. Had I been, my fortune would have been made, I replied. How do you make that out? You're as complimentary as ever. Everyone would be wanting to engage me as the great noxious weed killer and poisonous insect exterminator if I made a way with you, I answered. I gave him an invitation to take a seat with me and, accepting, he swung up with easy grace. There was any amount of accommodation for the two of us on the good-natured branches of the old willow tree. When he had settled himself, my companion said, Now, Sid, I'm ready for you. Fire away, but wait a minute. I've got something here for you which I hope you'll like. As he searched in his pockets, I noticed that his eye had quite recovered, though there was still a slight mark on his cheek. He handed me a tiny Morocco case which, on being open, disclosed a costly ring. I had about as much idea of the prices of things as a turkey would have. Perhaps that ring cost thirty pounds or possibly fifty guineas for all I know. It was very heavy and had a big diamond supported on either side by a large sapphire and had many small gems surrounding it. Let me see if it fits, he said, taking my hand, but I drew it away. No, don't you put it on. That would make us irrevocably engaged. Isn't that what we intend to be, he said, in a tone of surprise? Not just yet. That is what I want to say to you. We will have three months' probation to see how we get on. At the end of that time, if we manage to sail along smoothly, we'll have the real thing, until then we will not be any more than we have been to each other. But what am I to do in the meantime? He asked, with amusement, curving the corners of his mouth. Do the usual thing, of course, but don't pay me any special attention or I'll be done with you at once. What's your idea for this? It is no use making fools of ourselves. We might change our minds. Very well, so be it, he said, laughing. I might have known you would have things arranged different from any other girl, that you take the ring and wear it, won't you? Let me put it on. No, I won't let you put a finger on me till the three months are up. Then if we definitely make up our minds, you can put it on, but till then don't for the life of you hint by word or sign that we have any sort of an arrangement between us. Give me the ring and I'll wear it sometimes. He handed it to me again and I tried it on. It was a little large. Harold took it and tried to put it on one of his fingers. It would fit on none, but the very top of his little finger. We laughed heartily at the disparity in the size of our hands. I'll agree to your bargain, he said, that you'll be really engaged to me all the same. Yes, under those conditions, then it will not matter if we have a tip. We can part and no one will be the wiser. Am I suggesting that it was now time to go to the house? He swung himself down by a branch and turned to assist me. Descending from that tree was the feat which presented no difficulties to me when no one was by, but now it seemed an awkward performance. Just lead your horse underneath so that I can get on to his back, then to the ground quite easily, I said. No fear, War Eagle wouldn't stand that kind of dodge. Won't I do? I don't think your weight will quite squash me. He returned, placing himself in the leapfrog position, and I stepped onto his back and slid from there to the ground quite easily. That afternoon, when leaving the house, I had been followed by one of the dogs, which, when I went up the willow tree, amused himself chasing water lizards along the bank of the creek. He treed one and kept up a furious barking at the base of its refuge. The yelping had disturbed Granny, where she was reading on the veranda and coming down the road under a big umbrella to see what the noise was about. As luck would have it, she was in the nick of time to catch me standing on Harold Beecham's back. Granny frequently showed marked displeasure regarding what she termed my laryconism, but never before had I seen her so thoroughly angry. Shutting her umbrella, she thrust at me with it, saying, Shame, shame! You come to some harm yet, you immodest, bold, bad hussy. I will write to your mother about you. Go home at once, miss, and confine yourself in your room for the remainder of the day, and don't dare eat anything until tomorrow. Spend the time in fasting and pray to God to make you better. I don't know what makes you so forward with men. Your mother and aunt never gave me the slightest trouble in that way. She pushed me from her in anger, and I turned and strode households without a word or glancing behind. I could hear Granny deprecating my conduct as I departed, and Harold quietly and decidedly differing from her. From the time of my infancy, punishment of any description, never had a beneficial effect upon me. The dear old Granny was acting according to her principles in putting me through a term of penance, so I shut myself in my room as directed, with goodwill towards her at my heart. I was burning with shame, was I bold and immodest with men, as accused of being? It was the last indiscretion I would intentionally have been guilty of. In associating with men, I never realised that the trifling difference of sex is sufficient to be a great wall between us. The fact of sex never for an instant enters my head, and I find it as easy to be chummy with men as with girls. Men in return have always been very good and have treated me in the same way. I'm returning from her walk, Granny came to my room, brought me some preachy books to read, and held out to me the privilege of saying I was sorry, and being restored to my usual place in the society of the household. Granny, I cannot say I am sorry and promise to reform, for my conscience does not reproach me in the least. I had no evil, not even a violation of menace in my intentions, but I am sorry that I vexed you, I said. Vexing me is not the sinful part of it. It is your unrepentant heart that fills me with fears for your future. I will leave you here to think by yourself. The only redeeming point about you is you do not pretend to be sorry when you are not. The dear old lady shook her head sorrowfully, and she departed. The afternoon soon ran away, as I turned to my bookcase for entertainment and had that beautiful ring to admire. I heard them come in to tea, and I thought Harold had gone till I heard Uncle JJ addressing. Joe Archer told me you ran into a clothesline on race night, and ever since then mother has kept up a daddy at the fuss about ours. You got props about a hundred feet long, and if you weren't in the know you'd think we'd had a telegraph wire to Old St Peter up above. I wondered what Harold thought of the woman he had selected as his future wife, being shut up for being a naughty girl. The situation amused me exceedingly. About nine o'clock he knocked at my window and said, Never mind, Sib, I tried to get you off, but it was of no go. Old people often have troublesome, straight-laced ideas. It will blow over by tomorrow. I did not answer, so he passed on with firm, regular foot-form, and presently I heard his horse's hoof beats dying away in the darkness, and the closing and locking of doors around me, as the household retired for the night. During the following fortnight I saw Harold a good many times at cricket matches, hair-drives, and so forth, but he did not take any particular notice of me. I flirted and froliced with my other young men friends, but he did not care. I did not find him an ardent or a jealous lover. He was so irritatingly cool, and matter of fact, that I wished for the three months to pass, so that I might be done with him, as I had come to the conclusion that he was barren of emotion or passion of any kind.