 Part 3 Chapter 4 One hot morning, some few days later, Polly was trotty at her side, stood on the doorstep shading her eyes with her hand. She was on the lookout for her vegetable man, who drove in daily from the springs with his green stuff. He was late, as usual. If Richard would only let her deal with the cheaper, more punctual arcing who was at this moment coming up the track. But Devine was a reformed character, after, as a digger, having squandered a fortune in a week, he had given up the drink, and, backed by a hard-working sober wife, was now trying to earn a living at Market Gardening, so he had to be encouraged. The Chinaman jog trotted towards them his baskets as sway his mouth stretched to a friendly grin. You know what cabergy to-day? Me got very good cabergy, he said persuasively, and lowered his pole. No, thank you, John, not to-day, me wait for white man. Me, bling pleasant for Lily Missy, said the chow, and unnotting a dirty nose-cloth he drew from it an ancient lump of candy-ginger. Lily Missy itty him, o' yum-yum, very good, my word! But Chinaman to trotty were fearsome bogies corresponding to the swat-faced, white-eyed chimney-sweeps of the English nursery. She hid behind her aunt, holding fast to the latter's skirts, and only stealing an occasional peep from one saucer-like blue eye. Thank you, John, me take ye chow-chow for Lily Missy, said Polly, who had experience in disposing of such savoury morsels. You know by cabergy to-day, repeated our sing, with the cat-like persistence of his race, and as Polly, with equal firmness and good humour, again shook her head, he shouldered his pole and departed at a half-run, crooning as he went. Meanwhile, at the bottom of the road, another figure had come into view. It was not divine in his spring-cart, it was someone on horse-back, was a lady in a Holland habit, the horse a-pie-balled, advancing at a sober pace, and why, good gracious, I believe she's coming here. At the first of the three houses the rider had dismounted and knocked at the door with the butt of her whip. After a word with the woman who opened, she threw her riding skirt over one arm, put the other through the bridle, and was now making straight for them. As she drew near, she smiled, showing a row of white teeth. Does Dr. Marnie live here? Miss Fortune of Miss Fortune's Richard was out, but almost instantly Polly grasped that this would tell in his favour. He won't be long, I know. I wonder, said the lady, if he would come out to my house when he gets back, I'm Mrs. Glen-Dinning of Dandaloo. Polly flushed with sheer satisfaction. Dandaloo was one of the largest stations in the neighbourhood of Ballarat. Oh, I'm certain he will, she answered quickly. I'm so glad you think so, said Mrs. Glen-Dinning. A mutual friend, Mr. Henry Ockock, tells me how clever he is. Polly's brain leapt at the connection. On the occasion of Richard's last visit the lawyer had again repeated the promise to put a patient in his way. Ockock was one of those people, said Richard, who only remembered your existence when he saw you. Oh, what a blessing in disguise had been that troublesome old land-sale! The lady had stooped to Trottie, whom she was trying to coach from her lurking place. What a darling! How I envy you! Have you no children? Polly asked shyly when Trottie's relationship had been explained. Yes, a boy, but I should have liked a little girl of my own. The ways are so difficult, and she sighed. The horse, nuzzling for sugar, roused Polly to a sense of her amissness. Won't you come in and rest a little after your ride? She asked, and without hesitation Mrs. Glen-Dinning said she would like to very much indeed, and tying the horse to the fence she followed Polly into the house. The latter felt proud this morning of its up-or-pie order. She drew up the best arm-chair, placed a footstool before it, and herself carried in a tray with refreshments. Mrs. Glen-Dinning had taken Trottie on her lap, and given the child her long, gold chains to play with. Polly thought of the most charming creature in the world. She had a slender waist, and an abundant light-brown chignon, and cheeks of a beautiful pink in which two fascinating dimples came and went. The feather from her riding-hat lay on her neck. Her eyes were the colour of forget-me-nots, her mouth was red as any rose. She had too so sweet and natural a manner that Polly was soon chatting frankly about herself and her life. Mrs. Glen-Dinning listened with her face pressed to the spun-glass of Trottie's hair. When she rose she clasped both Polly's hands in hers. You dear little woman, may I kiss you, I'm ever so much older than you. I'm eighteen, said Polly, and I on the shady side of twenty-eight. They laughed and kissed. I shall ask your husband to bring you out to see me and take no refusal, au revoir! And riding off she turned in the saddle and waved her hand. For all her pleasurable excitement Polly did not let the grass grow under her feet. There being still no sign of Richard, he had gone to Soldier's Hill to extract a rusty nail from a child's foot. Ellen was sent to summon him home, and when the girl returned with word that he was on the way, Polly dispatched her to the livery barn to order the horse to be got ready. Richard took the news coolly. Did she say what the matter was? No, she hadn't, and Polly had not liked to ask her. It could surely be nothing very serious, or she would have mentioned it. Hmm! And it's probably as I thought. Glen Dinning's failing is well known. Only the other day I heard that more than one medical man had declined to have anything further to do with the case. It's a long way out, and fees are not always forthcoming. He doesn't ask for a doctor, and womanlike she forgets to pay the bills. I suppose they think they'll try a greenhorn this time. Pressed by Polly, who was curious to learn everything about her new friend, he answered, I should be sorry to tell you, my dear, how many bottles of brandy it is Glen Dinning's boast he can empty in a week. Drink! Oh! Richard, how terrible! And that pretty, pretty woman, cried Polly, and drove her thoughts backwards. She had seen no hint of tragedy in her callous lovely face. However, she did not wait to ponder, but asked a little anxiously. But you'll go, dear, won't you? Go, of course I shall. Beggars can't be choosers. Besides, you know, you might be able to do something when other people have failed. Marnie rode out across the flat. For a couple of miles his route was one with the Melbourne Road on which plied the usual motley traffic. Then branching off at right angles it dived into the bush, in this case a scantily wooded, uneven plain, burnt tobacco-brown and hard as iron. There went no one but himself. He and the mare were the sole living creatures in what, for its stillness, might have been a painted landscape. Not a breath of air stirred the weeping grey-green foliage of the gums, nor was there any bird-life to rustle the leaves or peck or chirrup. Did he draw rain the silence was so intense that he could almost hear it. On striking the outlying boundary of Dandaloo he dismounted to slip a rail. After that he was in and out of the saddle, his way leading through numerous gaitless paddocks before it brought him up to the homestead. This a low white wooden building overspread by a broad veranda, from a distance it looked like an elongated mushroom, stood on a hill. At the end the road had run alongside a well-stocked fruit-and-flower garden, but the hillside itself except for a graveled walk in front of the house was uncultivated, was given over to dead thistles and brown weeds. Passing his bridle to a post Marnie unstrapped his bag of necessaries and stepped onto the veranda. A row of French windows stood open, but flexible green sun-blinds hid the rooms from view. The front door was a French window, too, differing from the rest only in its size. There was neither bell nor knocker. While he was rapping with the knuckles on one panel one of the blinds was pushed aside and Mrs. Glendining came out. She was still in hat and riding habit, had herself, she said, reached home but half an hour ago. Summoning a station hand to attend to the horse, she raised a blind and ushered Marnie into the dining-room where she had been sitting at lunch, alone at the head of a large table. A Chinaman brought fresh plates, and Marnie was invited to draw up his chair. He had an appetite after his ride. The room was cool and dark, there were no flies. Throughout the meal the lady kept up a running fire of talk, the graceful chit-chat that sits so well on pretty lips. She spoke of the coming races, of the last Government House ball, of the untimely death of Governor Hotham. To Marnie she instinctively turned a different side out from that which had captured Polly. With all her well-bred ease there was a womanly deference in her manner, a readiness to be swayed to stand corrected. The riding-dress set off her figure and her delicate features were perfectly chiseled, though she'll be floored before she's forty. From juicy nectarines finished she pushed back her chair. And now, Doctor, will you come and see your patient? Marnie followed her down a broad bare passage, a number of rooms opened off it, but instead of entering one of these she led him out to a back veranda. Here before a small door she listened with bent head, then turned the handle and went in. The room was so dark that Marnie could see nothing. Gradually he made out a figure lying on a stretcher-bed. A watcher sat at the bedside. The atmosphere was more than close, smelt rank and sour. Its first request was for light and air. It was the wreck of a fine man that lay there, strapped over the chest, bound hand and foot to the framework of the bed. The forehead on which the hair had receded to a few mean gray wisps was high and domed. The features were straight, with plenty of bone in them, the shoulders broad, the arms long. The skin of the face had gone a mahogany brown from exposure, and a score of deep wrinkles ran out fan-wise from the corners of the closed lids. Marnie untied the dirty towels that formed the bandages, they had cut ridges on the limbs they can find, and took one of the heavy wrists in his hand. How long has he lain like this, he asked, as he returned the arm to its place? How long is it, Saundersen, asked Mrs. Glen-Dinning. She had sat down on a chair at the foot of the bed. Her skirts overflowed the floor. The watcher guessed it would be since about the same time yesterday. Was he unusually violent on this occasion, for I presume such attacks are not uncommon with him, continued Marnie, who had meanwhile made a superficial examination of the sick man. I'm sorry to say there are only two common doctor, replied the lady. Was he worse than usual this time, Saundersen? She turned again to the man, at which fresh poof of her want of knowledge Marnie mentally raised his eyebrows. To say truth I never seed the boss so bad before, answered Saundersen solemnly, grating the palms of the big red hands that hung down between his knees, and I've helped him through the jumps more and once. As my opinion it would have been a narrow squeak for him this time if me and a mate hadn't nipped in and got these bracelets on him. There he was, raven and sweatin' and cursing his head off, gray as death. Elgate he called it, and he was devil's porter at Elgate, and kept ollerin' for napkins in his fire-sticks. Poor old boss it was El for him and no mistake. By dint of questioning Marnie elicited the fact that Glenn Dinning had been unseated by a young horse three days previously. At the time no heed was paid to the trifling accident. Later on, however, complaining of feeling cold and unwell, he went to bed, and after lying wakeful for some hours was seized by the horrors of delirium. Requesting the lady to leave them, Marnie made a more detailed examination. His suspicions were confirmed. There was internal trouble of old standing rendered acute by the fall. Aided by Saunderson he worked with restoratives for the best part of an hour. In the end he had the satisfaction of seeing the coma pass over into a natural repose. Well, he stood this time, but I won't answer for the next, he said, and looked about him for a basin in which to wash his hands. Can't you manage to keep the drink from him, or at least to limit him? Nay, the Almighty himself couldn't do that, gave back Saunderson, bringing forward soap and a tin dish. How does it come that he lies in a place like this? asked Marnie, as he dried his hands on a corner of the least dirty towel, and glanced curiously around. The room, in size it did not greatly exceed that of his ship's cabin, was in a state of squalor disorder. With a dill table and a couple of chairs its main contents were rows and piles of old paper-covered magazines. The thick brown dust on which showed that they had not been moved for months or even years. The white-washed walls were smoked tanned and dotted with millions of fly-specs. The dried corpses of squashed spiders formed large black patches, or four corners of the ceiling were festooned with cobwebs. Saunderson shrugged his shoulders. This was East Den when he first was manager here in old Morrison's time, and he stuck to it ever since. He shuts himself up in here and won't have a female cross the threshold, or yet Madame G. herself. Having given final instructions, Marnie went out to rejoin the lady. I will not conceal from you that your husband is in a very precarious condition. Do you mean, doctor, he won't live long? She had evidently been lying down. One side of her face was flushed and marked. Crying too, or he was much mistaken, her lids were red-rimmed, her shapely features swollen. Ah! You ask too much of me. I'm only a woman. I have no influence over him," she said sadly, and shook her head. What is his age? His forty-seven. Marnie had put him down for at least ten years older and said so. But the lady was not listening. She fidgeted with her lace-edged handkerchief, looked uneasy, seemed to be in debate with herself. Finally she said aloud, Yes, I will. And to him, Doctor, would you come with me for a moment? This time she conducted him to a well-appointed bed-chamber, off which gave a smaller room containing a little fore-poster draped in dimity. With a vague gesture in the direction of the bed, she sunk on a chair beside the door. Drawing the curtains, Marnie discovered a fair-head boy of some eight or nine years old. He lay with his head far back, his mouth wide open, apparently fast asleep. But the doctor's eye was quick to see that it was no natural sleep. Good God! Who's responsible for this? Mrs. Glen-Dinning held her handkerchief to her face. I've never told any one before, she wept, the shame of it, doctor, is more than I can bear. Who is the blaggard? Come answer me, if you please. Oh, doctor, don't scold me, I'm so unhappy. The pretty face puckered and creased, the full bosom heaved. He's all I have, and such a bright, clever little fellow. You will cure him for me, won't you? How often has it happened? I don't know, about five or six times, I think, perhaps more. There's a place not far from here where he can get it. An old hut-cook, my husband, dismissed once in a fit of temper. He has o' such a temper. He saddles his pony and rides out there if he's not watched, and then they bring him back, like this. But who supplies him with money? Money? Oh, but, doctor, he can't be kept without pocket money, he's always had as much as he wanted. No, it's all my husband's doing. And now she broke out in one of those shameless confessions from which the medical adviser is never safe. He hates me, he's only happy if he can hurt me and humiliate me. I don't care what becomes of him. The sooner he dies, the better. Compose yourself, my dear lady, later you may regret such hasty words. And what is this to do with the child? Come, speak out, it will be a relief to you to tell me. You were so kind, doctor, she sobbed and drank, with hysterical gurglings, the glass of water Marnie poured out for her. Yes, I will tell you everything. It began years ago when Eddie was only a tot in jumpers. It used to amuse my husband as he him toss off a glass of wine like a grown-up person, and it was comical, when he sipped it and smacked his lips. But then he grew to like it and to ask for it, and becross when it was refused. And then, then he learned how to get it for himself. And when his father saw I was upset about it, he egged him on, gave it to him on a sly. Oh, he's a bad man, doctor, a bad, cruel man. He says such wicked things, too. He doesn't believe in God, or that it's wrong to take one's own life. And he says he never wanted children. He jeers at me, because I'm fond of Eddie, and because I go to church when I can, and says, oh, I know I'm not clever, but I'm not quite such a fool as he makes me out to be. He speaks to me as if I were the dirt under his feet. He can't bear the sight of me. I've heard him curse the day he first saw me. And so he's only too glad to be able to come between my boy and me in any way he can. Arnie led the weeping woman back to the dining-room. There he sat long, patiently listening and advising, sat until Mrs. Glen-Dinning had dried her eyes and was a charming self once more. The gist of what he said was, the boy must be removed from home at once, and placed in strict yet kind hands. Here, however, he ran up against a weak maternal obstinacy. Oh, but I couldn't part from Eddie, he's all I have, and so devoted to his mummy. As Marnie insisted, she looked the picture of helplessness. But I should have no idea how to set about it, and my husband would put every possible obstacle in the way. With your permission I will arrange the matter myself. Oh, how kind you are! cried Mrs. Glen-Dinning again. But mind, doctor, it must be somewhere where Eddie will lack none of the comforts he's accustomed to, and where his poor mummy can see him whenever she wishes, otherwise he will fret himself ill. Marnie promised to do his best to satisfy her, and declining very curtly the wine she pressed on him went out to mount his horse which had been brought around. Following him on to the veranda Mrs. Glen-Dinning became once more the pretty woman frankly concerned for her appearance. Oh, I don't know how I look, I'm sure, she said apologetically, and raised both hands to her hair. Now I will go and rest for an hour. There is to be a possuming and a moonlight picnic tonight at Warra Lewin. Catching Marnie's eye, fixed on her with a meaning emphasis, she changed colour. I cannot sit at home and think, doctor, I must distract myself or I should go mad. When he was in the saddle she showed him her dimples again and her small, even teeth. I want you to bring your wife to see me next time you come," she said, patting the horse's neck, I took a great fancy to her, a sweet little woman. But Marnie, jogging down hill, said to himself he would think twice before introducing Polly there. His young wife's sunny, girlish outlook should not, with his consent, be clouded by a knowledge of the sordid things this material prosperity hid from view. A whited sepulcher seemed to him now the richly appointed house, the well-stocked gardens, the acres on acres of good pastureland, a fair outside when within awe was foul. He called to mind what he knew by hearsay of the owner. Glendining was one of the pioneer squatters of the district, had held the run for close on fifteen years. Nowadays, when the land around was entirely taken up and a place like Ballarat stood within Stone's throw, it was hard to imagine the awful solitude to which the early settlers had been condemned. With his next neighbour miles and miles away, Melbourne, the nearest town, a couple of days' ride through Trackless Bush, a man was a veritable prisoner in this desert of paddocks, with not a soul to speak to but rough station hands, and nothing to occupy his mind but the damage done by summer droughts and winter floods. No support or comradeship in the wife, either, this poor pretty foolish little woman, with the brains of a pigeon. Glendining had the name of being intelligent. Was it, under these circumstances, matter for wonder, that he should seek to drown doubts, memories, inevitable regrets, should be led on to the bitter discovery that forgetfulness alone rendered life indurable? Yes, there was something sinister in the dead stillness of the melancholy bush, in the harsh merciless sunlight of the late afternoon. A couple of miles out his horse cast a shoe, and it was evening before he reached home. Polly was watching for him on the doorstep in a Twitterless some accident had happened, or he had had a brush with bush-rangers. It never rains, but it paused here, was her greeting. He had been twice sent for to the flat to attend a woman in labor, and with barely time to wash the worst of the rides dust off him, he had to pick up his bag and hurry away. Part III A very striking-looking man with perfect manners and beautiful hands. Her head bent over her sewing, Polly repeated these words to herself with a happy little smile. They had been told her in confidence by Mrs. Glendining, and had been said by this lady's best friend, Mrs. Urquhart of Yuranga Billy. On the occasion of Richard's second call at Dandaloo he had been requested to ride to the neighbouring station to visit Mrs. Urquhart, who was in delicate health. And of course Polly had passed the flattering opinion on, for though she was a rather good hand at keeping a secret, Richard declared he had never known her better, yet that secret did not exist, or up to now had not existed, which she could imagine herself keeping from him. For the past few weeks these two ladies had vied with each other in singing Richard's praises and in making much of Polly. The second time Mrs. Glendining called she came in her buggy and carried off Polly in Trotty 2 to Yuranga Billy, where there was a nest full of little ones for the child to play with. Another day a whole breakful of lively people drove up to the door in the early morning and insisted on Polly accompanying them just as she was to the race-course on the road to Creswick's Creek. And everybody was so kind to her that Polly heartily enjoyed herself in spite of her plain print dress. She won a pair of gloves and a piece of music in a Philippine with Mr. Urquhart, a jolly, carot-haired man, beside whom she sat on the box-seat coming home, and she was lucky enough to have a half-crown on one of the winners. An impromptu dance was got up that evening by the merry party in a hall in the township, and Polly had the honour of a turn with Mr. Henry Ockock, who was most affable. Richard also looked in for an hour toward the end and waltzed her and Mrs. Glen-Dinning around. Polly had quite lost her heart to her new friend. At the outset Richard had rather frowned on the intimacy, but then he was a person given to taking unaccountable antipathies. In this case, however, he had to yield, for not only did a deep personal liking spring up between the two women, but a wave of pity swept over Polly, blinding her to more subtle considerations. Before Mrs. Glen-Dinning had been many times at the house, she had poured out all her troubles to Polly, impelled there too by Polly's quick sympathy and warm young eyes. Richard had purposely given his wife few details of his visits to Dandelu, but Mrs. Glen-Dinning knew no such scruples and cried her eyes out on Polly's shoulder. What a dreadful man the husband must be, for she really is the dearest little woman, Richard, and means so well with every one. I've never heard her say a sharp or unkind word. Well, not very clever, perhaps, but everybody can't be clever, can they? And she's good, which is better. The only thing she seems a teeny-weeny bit foolish about is her boy. I'm afraid she'll never consent to part with him. Polly said this to prepare her husband, who was in correspondence on the subject with Archdeek and Long, and with John in Melbourne. Richard was putting himself to a great deal of trouble, and would naturally be vexed if nothing came of it. Polly paid her first visit to Dandelu with considerable trepidation. For Mrs. Urquhart, who herself was happily married, although it was true her merry red-haired husband had the reputation of being a little too fond of the ladies, and though he certainly did not make such a paying concern of your anger-billy as Mr. Glen-Dinning of Dandelu, Mrs. Urquhart had whispered to Polly as they sat chatting on the veranda, Such a dreadful man, my dear, a perfect brute, poor little Agnes, it's wonderful how she keeps her spirits up. Polly, however, was in honour bound to admit that to her the owner of Dandelu had appeared anything but the monster report made him out to be. He was perfectly sober the day she was there, and didn't touch wine at luncheon, and afterwards he had been most kind, taking her with him on a quiet little broad-backed mare to an outlying part of the station, and giving her several hints how to improve her seat. He was certainly very haggard-looking and deeply wrinkled, and at table his hand shook so that the water in his glass ran over. But all this only made Polly feel sorry for him, and longed to help him. My dear, you are favoured. I never knew James make such an offer before, whispered Mrs. Glen-Dinning, as she pinned her ample riding-skirt around her friend Slim Hips. The one thing about him that disturbed Polly was his man at wards his wife. He was savagely ironic with her, and trampled hobnailed on her timid opinions. But then Agnes didn't know how to treat him. Polly soon saw that. She was nervous and fluttery, evasive, too, and once during lunch even told her deliberate fib. Slight as was her acquaintance with him, Polly felt sure this want of courage must displease him, for there was something very simple and erect about his own way of speaking. My dear, why don't you stand up to him, asked little Polly. Dearest, I dare not, if you knew him as I do, Polly, he terrifies me. Oh, what a lucky little woman you are to have a husband like yours! Polly had recalled these words that very morning as she stood to watch Richard ride away. Never did he forget to kiss her goodbye, or to turn and wave to her at the foot of the road. Each time she admired afresh the figure he cut on horseback, he was so tall and slender and sat so straight in his saddle. Now, too, he had yielded to her persuasions and shaved off his beard, and his moustache and side-whiskers were like his hair of an extreme silky blonde. Ever since the day of their first meeting at Beamish's family hotel, Polly had thought her husband the handsomest man in the world, and the best as well. He had his peculiarities, of course, but so had every husband, and it was part of a wife's duty to study them, to adapt herself to them, or to endeavour to tone them down. And now came these older, wiser ladies, and confirmed her high opinion of him. Polly beamed with happiness at this juncture, and registered a silent vow always to be the best of wives. Not like, but here she tripped and coloured on the threshold of her thought. She had recently been the recipient of a very distressing confidence, one too which she was not at liberty to share, even with Richard. For after the relief of a thorough-paced confession, Mrs. Dinnig had implored her not to breathe a word to him, I could never look him in the face again, love. Besides the affair was of such a painful nature that Polly felt little desire to draw Richard into it. It was bad enough that she herself should know. The thing was this. Once when Polly had stayed overnight at Dandaloo, Agnes Glen Dinnig, in a sudden fit of misery, had owned to her that she cared for another person more than for her own husband, and that her feelings were returned. But beyond measure Polly tried to close her friend's lips. I don't think you should mention any names, Agnes, she cried, afterwards my dear, you might regret it. But Mrs. Glen Dinnig was hungry for the luxury of speech, not even to Louisa Urquhart had she broken silent she wept, and that for the sake of Louisa's children, and she persisted in laying her heart bare. And here certain vague suspicions that had crossed Polly's mind on the night of the impromptu ball, they were gone again in an instant, quickest thistle down on the breeze. These suddenly returned life-size and weighty, and the name that was spoken came as no surprise to her. Yes, it was Mr. Henry Ockock to whom poor Agnes was attached. There had been a mutual avowal of affection sobbed the latter. They met as often as circumstances permitted. Polly was thunderstruck. Knowing Agnes as she did, she herself could not believe any harm of her, but she shuddered at the thought of what other people, Richard, for instance, would say, did they get wind of it. She implored her friend a caution. She ought never, never to see Mr. Ockock. Why did she not go away to Melbourne for a time? And why had he come to Ballarat? To be near me, dearest, to help me if I should need him. Oh, you can't think what a comfort it is, Polly, to feel that he is here, so good and strong and clever. Yes, I know what you mean, but this is quite, quite different. Polly does not expect me to be clever, too, does not want me to be. He prefers me as I am. He dislikes clever women, would never marry one. And we shall marry, darling, some day, when— Henry Ockock! Polly tried to focus everything she knew of him, all her fleeting impressions in one picture, and failed. He had made himself very agreeable the single time she had met him, but— There was Richard's opinion of him. Richard did not like him or trust him. He thought he was unscrupulous in business, cold and self-seeking—poor, poor little agnes, that such a misfortune should befall just her. Stranger still that she, Polly, should be mixed up in it. She had, of course, always known from books that such things did happen, but then they seemed quite different and very far away. Her thoughts at this crisis were undeniably woolly, but the gist of them was that life and books had nothing in common. Remember in stories the woman who forgot herself was always a bad woman, whereas not the harshest critic could call poor agnes bad. Indeed Polly felt that even if someone proved to her that her friend had actually done wrong, she would not on that account be able to stop caring for her or feeling sorry for her. It was all very uncomfortable and confusing. While these thoughts came and went, she half sat, half knelt, a pair of scissors in her hand. She was busy cutting out a dress, and no table being big enough for the purpose had stretched the material on the parlor floor. This would be the first new dress she had had since her marriage, and it was high time considering all the visiting and going about that fell to her lot just now. Sara had sent the pattern up from Melbourne, and John, hearing what was in the wind, had most kindly and generously made her a present of the silk. Polly hoped she would not bungle it in the cutting, but skirts were growing wider and wider, and John had not reckoned with quite the newest fashion. Steps in the passage made her note subconsciously that Ned had arrived. Jerry had been in the house for the past three weeks with a sprained wrist. At this moment her younger brother himself entered the room, Trotty thrown on his shoulder. Picking his steps around the sea of stuff, Jerry sat down and lowered Trotty to his knee. Ned's grizzling for tea. Polly did not reply. She was laying an odd-shaped piece of paper now this way, now that. For a while Jerry played with the child, and he burst out, I say, pole! And since Polly paid no heed to his apostrophe, Richard says I can go back to work to-morrow. That's a good thing, answered his sister with an air of abstraction. She had solved her puzzle to within half a yard. Jerry cast a boyishly imploring glance at her back and rubbed his chin with his hand. Polly, old girl, I say, wouldn't you put in a word for me with Richard? I'm hanged if I want to go back to the claim. I'm sick to death of digging. At this Polly did race her head to regard him with grave eyes. What tired of work already, Jerry? I don't know what Richard will say to that, I'm sure. You'd better speak to him yourself. Again Jerry rubbed his chin. That's just it, what's so beastly hard, I know he'll say I ought to stick to it. So do I. Well, I'd rather groom the horse than that. But think how pleased you were at first. Jerry roofily admitted it. One expects to dig out gold like spuds, while the real thing's enough to give you the blight. As for stopping a wager's man all my life, I won't do it. I might just as well go home and work in a languisher pit. But Ned. Oh, Ned! Ned walks about with his head in the clouds. He's always blowing of what he's going to do and gets his steam off that way. I'm different. But Jerry's words fell on deaf ears. A noise in the next room was engaging Polly's whole attention. She heard a burr of suppressed laughter, a scuffle and what sounded like a sharp slap. Jumping up she went to the door and was just in time to see Ellen whisk out of the dining-room. Ned sat in an armchair with his feet on the chimney-piece. I had the girl bring in a log-pole, he said, and looked back and up at his sister with his cheery smile. Standing behind him Polly laid her hand on his hair. How currency after the tea! Ned was so unconcerned that she hesitated to put a question. In the kitchen she had no such tender scruples, nor was she imposed on by the exaggerated energy with which Ellen bustled about. What was that noise I heard in the dining-room just now? She demanded. Noise, I don't know, gave back the girl crossly without facing her. Nonsense, Ellen, do you think I didn't hear? Oh, get along with you! It was only one of Ned's jokes. And going on her knees Ellen set to scrubbing the brick floor with a hiss and a scratch that rendered speech impossible. Polly took up the laden tea-tree and carried it into the dining-room. Richard had come home, and the four drew chairs to the table. Polly had a book with him. He propped it open against the butter-cooler and snatched sentences as he ate. It fell to Ned to keep the ball rolling. Polly was distraught to the point of going wrong in her sugars, jerry uneasy at the prospect of coming in conflict with his brother-in-law whom he thought the world of. Ned was as full of talk as an egg of meat. The theme he dwelt longest on was the new glory that lay in store for the Ballarat Dickings. At present these were under a cloud. The alluvial was giving out, and the costs and difficulties of boring through the rock seemed insuperable. One might hear the opinion freely expressed that Ballarat's day as premier Goldfield was done. Ned set up this belief merely for the pleasure of demolishing it. He had it at first hand that great companies were being formed to carry on operations. These would reckon their areas in acres instead of feet would sink to a depth of a quarter of a mile or more, raise wash-dirt in hundreds of tons per day. One such company, indeed, had already sprung into existence out on Golden Point, and now was the time to nip in. If he, Ned, had the brass or knew anybody who had lend it to him, he'd buy up all the shares he could get. Those who followed his lead would make their fortunes. I say, Richard, it would be something for you. His words evoked no response. Sorry, though I shall be, thought Polly, dear Ned had better not come to the house so often in future. I wonder if I need tell Richard why. Jerry was on pins and needles, and even put Trotty un-gently from him. Richard would be so disgusted by Ned's blather-skite that he would have no patience left to listen to him. Marnie kept his nose to his book. As a matter of principle he made a rule of believing, on an average, about the half of what Ned said. You appear to pay attention to him which spur him on to more flagrant overstatements. Dear here, Richard, now's your chance, repeated Ned not to be done. A very different thing this I can tell you from running around dosing people for the collywobbles. I know men who are raising the splosh anyway they can get in. I daresay there's never been any lack of gamblers on Ballarat, said Marnie Dryley, and passed his cup to be refilled. Big-headed fool! was Ned's mental retort, as he sliced a chunk of rabbit pie. Well, I bet you'll feel sore some day you didn't take my advice, he said aloud. We shall see, my lad, we shall see, replied Marnie. In the meantime let me inform you I can make good use of every penny I have. So if you've come here thinking you can weedle something out of me, you're mistaken. He could seldom resist tearing the veil from Ned's gross hints and impostures. Oh, no, Richard, dear, interpolated Polly in her role of Keeper of the Peace. Ned answered huffily. Upon my word I never met such a fellow as you for thinking the worst of people. The thrust went home, Marnie clapped his book, too. You lay yourself open to it, sir. If I'm wrong I beg your pardon, but for goodness' sake Ned put all these trashy ideas of making a fortune out of your mind. Digging is played out, I tell you. Even people turned their backs on it long ago. That's what I think, too, through in Jerry. Marnie bit his lip. Come, come, now, what do you know about it? Jerry flushed and floundered until Polly came to his aid. He's been wanting to speak to you, Richard. He hates the work as much as you did. Well, he has a tongue of his own. Speak for yourself, my boy. Thus encouraged Jerry made his appeal, and fearing lest Richard should throw him half-herd into the same category as Ned, he worded it very tersely. Marnie, who had never given much heed to Jerry, no one did, was pleased by his straight forward air. Still he didn't know what could be done for him, and said so. Here Polly had an inspiration. But I think I do. I remember Mr. Ock Ock saying to me the other day he must take another boy into the business. It was growing so. The fourth this will make. I don't know if he's suited yet, but even if he is, he may have heard of something else. Only you know, Jerry, you mustn't mind what it is. After tea I'll put on my bonnet and go down to the flat with you, and Ned shall come too, she added with a consoling glance at her elder brother. Ned had extended his huff to his second slice of pie, which lay untouched on his plate. Somebody has always got something up her sleeve, said Marnie affectionately, when Polly came to him in walking costume. Nonetheless, wife, I shouldn't be surprised if those brothers of yours gave him some trouble before we're done with them. End of Part 3, Chapter 5. Part 3, Chapter 6 of Australia Felix. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Australia Felix by Henry Handel Richardson. Part 3, Chapter 6. In the weeks and months that followed as he rode from one end of Ballarat to the other, from Ewell's swamp in the west as far east as the ranges and gullies of Little Bendigo, it gradually became plain to Marnie that Ned's frothy tails had somebody in them after all. The character of the diggings was changing before his very eyes. Nowadays, except on an outlying muddy flat or in the hands of the retrograde Chinese, tubs, cradles and windlesses were rarely to be met with. Engine sheds and boiler houses began to dot the ground. There and there a tall chimney-belched smoke beside a lofty puppet head or an aerial trolley-line. The richest gutters were found to take their eyes below the basaltic deposits. The difficulties and risks of rock mining had now to be faced, and the capitalists so long held at bay, at length made free of the field. Large sums of money were being subscribed, and where these proved insufficient the banks stepped into the breach with subsidies on mortgages. The population, in whose veins the gold fever still burned, plunged by wholesale into the new hazard, and under the wooden verandas of Bridge Street a motley crew of jobbers and brokers came into existence, who would demonstrate to you, ala Ned, how you might reap a fortune from a claim without putting in an hour's work on it, without even knowing where it was. A temptation indeed, but one that did not affect him. Marnie let the rain stoop on his horse's neck, and the animal picked its way among the impedimentia of the bush-road. It concerned only those who had money to spare. Months too must go by before from even the most promising of these cooperative affairs any return was to be expected. As for him there still came days when he had not a five-pound note to his name. It had been a delusion to suppose that in accepting John's offer he was leaving money troubles behind him. Despite Polly's thrift their improved style of life cost more than he had reckoned. The patience, slow to come, was slower still to discharge their debts. Moreover, he had not guessed how heavily the quarterly payments of interest would weigh on him. With as good as no margin, with the fate of every shilling decided beforehand, the saving up of thirty-odd pounds four times a year was a veritable achievement. He was always in a quake lest he should not be able to get it together. No one suspected what near-shaves he had not even Polly. The last time hardly bore thinking about. At the eleventh hour he had unexpectedly found himself several pounds short. He did not close an eye all night and got up in the morning as though going for his own execution. Then fortune favoured him. A well-to-do butcher, his hearty, what do yours be, at the nearest public-house waved aside, had settled his bill off hand. Marnie could still feel the sudden lift of the black fog-cloud that had enveloped him, the sense of bodily exhaustion that had succeeded to the intolerable mental strain. For the coming quarter-day he was better prepared, if that was nothing out of the way happened. Of late he had been haunted by the fear of illness. The long hours in the saddle did not suit him. He ought to have a buggy and a second horse, but there could be no question of it in the meantime, or of a great deal else besides. He wanted to buy Polly a piano, for instance, all her friends had pianos, and she played and sang very prettily. She needed more dresses and bonnets, too, than he was able to allow her, as well as a change to the seaside in the summer heat. The first spare money he had should go towards one or the other. He loved to give Polly pleasure, never with such a contended little soul as she, and well for him that it was so, to have had a complaining even an impatient wife at his side just now would have been unbearable. Polly did not know what impatience meant. Her sunny temper, her fixed resolve to make the best of everything, was not to be shaken. Well, comfort's galore should be hers some day, he hoped. The practice was shaping satisfactorily. His attendance at Dandelion had proved a key to many doors. Folks of the Glendinings and Urquat's standing could make a reputation or marit as they chose. It had got abroad, he knew, that at whatever hour of the day or night he was sent for he could be relied on to be sober, and that, unfortunately, was not always the case with some of his colleagues. In addition, his fellow practitioners showed signs of waking up to his existence. He had been called in lately to a couple of consultations, and the doyen of the profession at Ballarat, old Muntz himself, had praised his handling of a difficult case of version. The distances to be covered, that's what made the work stiff, and he could not afford to neglect a single summons no matter where it led him. Until he would not have grumbled had only the money not been so hard to get in. But the fifty thousand odd souls on Ballarat formed even yet anything but a stable population. A patient you attended one day might be gone the next, and gone where no bill could reach him. Or he had been sold off at a public auction, or his wooden shanty had gone up in a flare, hardly a night passed without a fire somewhere. In these, unlike accidents, the unfortunate doctor might whistle for his fee. It seldom happened nowadays that he was paid in cash. Money was growing as scarce here as anywhere else. Sometimes it was true he might have pocketed his fee on the spot had he cared to ask for it, but the presenting of his palm professionally was a gesture that was denied him, and this standoffishness drove from people's minds the thought that he might be in actual need of money. Afterwards he sat at home and racked his brains how to pay butcher and grocer. Patients in the fraternity were by no means so nice. He knew of some who would not stir a yard unless their fee was planked down before them. Old stages these, who at one time had been badly bitten, and were now grown cynically distrustful, or tired. And indeed who could blame a man for hesitating of a pitch-dark night in the winter rains, or on a blazing summer day whether or no he should set out on a twenty-mile ride for which he might never see the ghost of remuneration. During thus Marnie caught at a couple of hard spicy gray-green leaves to chew as he went, the gums on which the old bark hung in ribbons were in flower by now, and bore feathery yellow blossoms side by side with nutty capsules. His horse had been ambling forward, un-pressed. Now it laid its ears flat, and a minute later its master's lower senses caught at the clop-clop of a second set of hooves, the noise of wheels. Marnie had reached a place where two roads joined, and saw a covered buggy approaching. He drew rain and waited. The occupant of the vehicle had wound the rains around the empty lamp-racket, and left it to the sagacity of his horse to keep the familiar track, while he dozed head-on breast in the corner. The animal halted of itself on coming up with its fellow, and arch-deacon long opened his eyes. Ah! Good-day to you, doctor! Yes, as you see, enjoying a little nap. I was out early. He got down from the buggy, and with bent knees and his hands in his pockets stretched the creased cloth of his trousers where this had cut into his flesh. He was a big brawny handsome man, with a massive nose, a cloven chin, and the most companionable smile in the world. As he stood he touched here a strapped there a buckle on the harness of his chestnut, a well-known trotter with which he often made a match, and affectionately clapped the neck of Marnie's bay. He could not keep his hands off a horse. By choice he was his own stableman, and in earlier life had been a dare-double rider. Now increasing weight led him to prefer buggy to saddle, but his recklessness had not diminished. With the reins in his left hand he would run his light two-wheel trap up any wooded boulders to an hill and down the other side, just as in his harem-scarum days he had set it at fell trees, and if rumours spoke true, wire fences. Marnie admired the splendid vitality of the man, as well as the indestructible optimism that bore him triumphantly through all the hardships of a colonial ministry. No sick bed was too remote for long, no sinner sunk too low to be helped to his feet. The leprous Chinaman doomed to an unending isolation, the drunken paddy, the degraded white woman, each came in for share of his benevolence. He spent the greater part of his life visiting the outcasts and outposts, beating up the unbaptised, the unconfirmed, the unwed. But his church did not suffer. He had always some fresh scheme for this on hand. Either he was getting up a tea-meeting to raise money for an organ, or a series of penny-readings towards funds for a chancell, or he was training with his choir for a sacred concert. There was a boyish streak in him, too. He would enter into the joys of the annual Sunday school picnic with a zest equal to the children's own, leading the way in shirt sleeves at leapfrog and obstacle-race. In doctrine he struck a happy mean between low church practises and ritualism, preaching short-spirited sermons to which even languid Christians could listen without tedium, and on a weekday evening he would take a hand at a rubber of wists or a cate, and not for love, or play a sound game of chess. A man, too, who refusing to be bound by the letter of the thirty-nine articles, extended his charity even to persons of the Popeish faith. In short he was one of the few to whom Mane could speak of his own haphazard efforts at criticising the Pentateuch. The Archdeacon was one to respond with his genial smile. Ah, it's all very well for you, doctor, you're a freelance. I'm constrained by my cloth. And frankly, for the rest of us, that kind of things, too, well too disturbing, especially when we have nothing better to put in its place. Dr. and Parson, the latter considerably over six feet, made Mane, who was tall and outflook short and doubly slender, out side by side for nearly a mile, fitting from topic to topic. The rivalry that prevailed between Ballarat's east and west, the seditious uprising in India where both had relatives, the recent rains, the prospects for grazing. The last theme brought them round to Dandalu and its unhappy owner. The Archdeacon expressed the outsider's surprise at the strength of Glendining's constitution and the lively popular sympathy that was felt for his wife. Parson's heart aches for the poor little lady struggling to bear up as though nothing with the matter, between ourselves, doctor, and Mr. Long took off his straw hat to let the air play around his head. Between ourselves it's a thousand pitties he doesn't just pop off the hooks in one of his bouts, or that some of you medical gentlemen don't use your knowledge to help things on. He let out his great hearty laugh as he spoke, and his companions in voluntary stiffening went unnoticed, but on Marnie voicing his attitude with, and his immortal soul, sir, isn't at the church's duty to hope for a miracle, just as it is ours to keep the vital spark going. He made haste to take the edge off his words, now, now, doctor, only my fun, our duty as I trust, plain to us both. It was even easier to soothe than to ruffle Marnie. Remember me very kindly to Mrs. Long, will you, he said, as the Archdeacon prepared to climb into his buggy? But tell her, too, I owe her a grudge just now, my wife so lost in flannel and brown holland that I can't get a word out of her. And mine doesn't know where she'd be with this bizarre if it weren't for Mrs. Marnie. Long was husband to a dot of a woman, who, having borne him half a dozen children of his own feature in build, now worked as parish clerk and district visitor rolled in one, driving about in sun-bonnet and gardening-gloves behind a pair of cream ponies, tiny, sharp-featured resolute, with little of her husband's large tolerance, but an energy that outdid his own and made her an object of both fear and respect. And that reminds me, over at the crossroads by Spring Hill I met your young brother-in-law, and he told me, if I ran across you to ask you to hurry home, your wife has some surprise or other in store for you. No, nothing unpleasant, rather the reverse, I believe, but I wasn't to say more. Well, good-day, doctor, good-day to you. Marnie smiled, nodded, and went on his way. Polly's surprises were usually simple and transparent things. Someone would have made them a present of a sucking pig or a bush-turkey, and Polly, knowing his relish for a savory morsel, did not wish it to be overdone. She had sent similar chance-calls out after him before now. When, having seen his horse rubbed down, he reached home, he found her on the doorstep watching for him. She was flushed, and her eyes had those peculiar highlights in them which led him jokingly to exhort at a caution, lest the spark should set the house on fire. Well, what is it, Pussy, he inquired, as he laid his bag down and hung up his wide awake. What's my little surprise-monger got up a sleeve to-day? Oh, good Lord Polly, I'm tired." Polly was smiling roguishly. Aren't you going into the surgery, Richard? She asked, seeing him heading for the dining-room. Aha! so that's it, said he, and obediently turned the handle. Polly had on occasion taken advantage of his absence to introduce some new comfort or decoration in his room. The blind had been let down. He was still blinking in the half-dark when a figure sprang out from behind the door, barging heavily against him, and a loud voice shouted, Bo, you old beef-brains, bow to a goose! Displeased at such horse-play, Marnie stepped sharply back. His first thought was of Ned having unexpectedly returned from Mount Ararat. Then recognising the voice, he exclaimed incredulously, You, Dickie-bird, you! Dick, old man, I say, Dick, yes, it's me right enough, and not my ghost, the old bad-egg, come back to roost. The blind was raised, and the friends who had last met in the dingy-bush hut on the night of the stockade stood face to face, and now ensued a babble of greeting, a quick fire of question and answer, the two voices going in and out and round each other singly and together like the voices in a duet. Tears rose to Polly's eyes as she listened. It made her heart glow to see Richard so glad. But when, forgetting her presence, Purdy cried, and I must confess, Dick, I took a kiss from Mrs. Polly. Gaddle-man, how she's come on! Polly hastily retired to the kitchen. At table the same high spirits prevailed. It did not often happen that Richard was brought out of his shell like this thought Polly gratefully, and heaped her visitor's plate to the brim. His first hunger stilled, Purdy fell to giving a slap-dash account of his experiences. He kept to know orderly sequence, but threw them out just as they occurred to him. A rub with bush-rangers in the black forest, his adventures as a long distanced rover in the mill-durer, the trials of a week he had spent in a boiling-down establishment on the Murray. Where the stink was so foul, you two, that I vomited like a dog every day. Under the force of this odyssey husband and wife gradually dropped into silence, which they broke only by single words of astonishment and sympathy, while the child trotty spooned in her pudding without seeing it, her round solemn eyes fixed unblinkingly on this new uncle, who was like a wonderful story-book come alive. In Manny's feelings for Purdy at this moment there was none of the old intolerance superiority. He had been dependent for so long on a mere surface acquaintance with his fellows that he now felt to the full how precious the tie was that bound him to Purdy. Here came one for whom he was not alone the reserved, struggling practitioner, the rather moody man advancing to middle age, but also the dick of his boyhood and early youth. He had often imagined the satisfaction it would be to confide his troubles to Purdy. Compared, however, with the hardships the latter had undergone, he seemed of small importance and dinner-past without any illusion to his own affairs. And now the chances of his speaking out were slight. He could have been entirely frank, only under the first stimulus of meeting. Even when they rose from the table Purdy continued to hold the stage, for he had turned up with hardly a shirt to his back, and had to be rigged out afresh from Manny's wardrobe. It was decided that he should remain their guest in the meantime, also that Manny should call on his behalf on the commissioner of police, and put in a good word for him, for Purdy had come back with the idea of seeking a job in the Ballarat mounted force. When Manny could no longer put off starting on his afternoon round, Purdy went with him to the livery-barne, limping briskly at his side. On the way he exclaimed aloud at the marvellous changes that had taken place since he was last in the township. There were half a dozen gas-lamps in Sturt Street by this time, the gas being distilled from a mixture of oil and gum-leaves. One wouldn't credit it if one didn't see it with one's own peepers. He cried, repeatedly bringing up short before the plate-glass windows of the shops, the many handsome verandahed hotels, the granite front of Christchurch. And from what I hear, Dick, now companies have jumped the claims in a deep sinking in earnest, fortunes will be made like one o'clock. But on getting home again he sat down in front of Polly and said with a business-like air, and now tell me all about old Dick, you know Polly is such an odd fish, if he himself doesn't offer to uncork, somehow one just can't pump him, and I want to know everything that concerns him from A to Z. Polly could not hold out against this affectionate curiosity. Entrenching her needle in its stuff, she put her work away and complied, and soon to her own satisfaction. For the first time in her married life she was led to discuss her husband's ways and actions with another, and to her amazement she found that it was easier to talk to Purdy about Richard than to Richard himself. Purdy and she saw things in the same light, no rigmarole of explanation was necessary. Now with Richard it was not so. In conversation with him one constantly felt that he was not speaking out, or to put it more plainly, that he was going on meantime with his own very different thoughts. And behind what he did say there was sure to lurk some imaginary scruple, some rather far-fetched delicacy of feeling which it was hard to get at, and harder still to understand. CHAPTER VII Summer had come round again, and the motionless white heat of December lay heavy on the place. The low little houses seemed to cower beneath it, and the smoke from their chimneys drew black perpendicular lines on the pale sky. If it was a misery at this season to traverse the blazing dusty roads, it was almost worse to be within doors where the thin wooden walls were powerless to keep out the heat and flies and mosquitoes raged in chorus. Nevertheless determined Christmas preparations went on in dozens of tiny zinc-roofed kitchens, the temperature of which was not much below that of the ovens themselves, and kindly well-to-do people like Mrs. Glenn Dinning and Mrs. Urquhart drove in in hooded buggies with green fly-vails dangling from their broad-brimmed hats, and dropped a goose here, a turkey there, on their less prosperous friends. They robbed their gardens two of the summer's last flowers, air and relays and brilliant geraniums, to decorate the Archdeacon's church for the festival, and many ladies spent the whole day beforehand making wreaths and crosses and festoons to encircle the lamps. No one was busier than Polly. She wanted to give Purdy, who had been on short commons for so long, a special Christmas treat. She had willing helpers in him and Jerry, the two of them chopped and stoned and stirred, while she, seated on the block of the wood-stack, her head tied up in an old pillow-case, plucked and singed the goose that had fallen to her share. Towards four o'clock on Christmas Day they drew their chairs to the table, and with loosened collars set about enjoying the good things, or pretending to enjoy them. This was Marnie's case, for the day was no holiday for him and his head ached from the sun. At tea-time Hemple arrived to pay a call, looking very spruce in a long black coat and white tie, and close on his heels followed old Mr. Ockock. The latter, having deposited his hat under his seat, and tapped several pockets, produced a letter which he unfolded and handed to Polly with a broad grin. It was from his daughter, and contained the news of his wife's death. "'Doy de the grumbles, I lay you! And the first good turn she ever done me!' The main point was that Miss Amelia, now at Liberty, was already taking advice about the safest line of clipperships, and asking for a reply by return to a number of extraordinary questions. Could one depend on hearing God's word preached of a Sunday? Was it customary for females to go armed as well as men? Were the blacks converted, and what amount of clothing did they wear? Think she's come into the back of beyond as mealy, chuckled the old man, and slapped his thigh at the sudden idea that occurred to him of taking a rise out of her. Weren't she stare when she gets here, that's all. "'Well, now you'll simply have to build,' said Polly, after threatening to write privately to Miss Amelia to reassure her. Why not move over west and take up a piece of ground on the same road as themselves?' But from this he excused himself with a laugh and a spit, on the score that no land sales had yet been held in their neighborhood, when he did turn out of his present four walls, which had always been plenty good enough for him, he wanted a place he could fit up tidy which it had stick in his throat to do so if he thought it might any day be sold over his head. Marnie winced at this, then laughed with an exaggerated carelessness. If in a country like this you waited for all to be fixed and sure you would wait until doomsday, none the less the thrust rankled. It was a fact that he himself had not spent a sue on his premises since they finished building. The thought at the back of his mind, too, was why waste his hard-earned income on improvements that might benefit only the next-comer? The yard they sat in, for instance. Polly had her hens in a ramshackle hen-house, but not as badeful of earth had been turned toward the wished-for garden. It was just the ordinary colonial back-yard fenced around with rude palings which didn't match, and were mended here and there with bits of hoop-iron, its ground-space littered with a medley of articles for which there was no room elsewhere, boards left lying by the builders, empty kerosene tins, a couple of tubs, a ragged cane chair, some old cases, wash-lines on which at the moment a row of stockings hung stretched permanently from corner to corner, and the hole was dominated by the big-round galvanized iron tank. On Boxing Day, Purdy got the loan of a lorry and drove a large party, including several children, comfortably placed on store, plastics and load-chairs, to the races a few miles out. Half Ballarat was making in the same direction, and whoever owned a horse that was sound in the wind and anything of a stepper had entered it for some item in the programme. The grandstand a bark shed open to the air on three sides was resorted to only in the case of a sudden downpour. The occupants of the dust-laden buggies, wagonettes, brakes, carts, and trays preferred to follow events standing on their seats and on the boards that served them as seats. After the meeting those who belonged to the Urquat Glen-Dinning set went on to Urenger Billy and danced until long past midnight on the broad veranda. It was nearly three o'clock before Purdy brought his load safely home. Under the round white moon the lorry was strewn with the forms of sleeping children. Early next morning, while Polly, still only half awake, was pouring out coffee and giving Richard, who, poor fellow, could not afford to leave his patients, an account of their doings, with certain omissions, of course. She did not mention the glaring in discretion Agnes Glen-Dinning had been guilty of in disappearing with Mr. Henry Ockock into a dark shrubbery. While Polly talked the postman handed in two letters, which were of a nature to put balls and races clean out of her head. The first was in Mrs. Beamish's ill-formed hand and told a sorrowful tale. Custom had entirely gone, a new hotel had been erected on the new road. Beamish was forced to declare himself a bankrupt, and in a few days the family hotel with all its contents would be put up at public auction. What was to become of them got alone new. She supposed she would end her days in taking in washing, and the girls must go out as servants. But she was sure Polly, now so up in the world, with a husband doing so well, would not forget the old friends who had once been so kind to her, with much more in the same strain which Polly skipped in reading the letter aloud. The long and short of it was, would Polly ask her husband to lend them a couple of hundred pounds to make a fresh start with, or failing that to put his name to a bill for the same amount. Of course she hasn't an idea we were obliged to borrow money ourselves, said Polly in response to Manny's ironic laugh. I couldn't tell them that. No, nor that it's perpetual struggle to keep the wolf from the door, answered her husband, battering in the top of an egg with the back of his spoon. Oh, Richard, dear, things aren't quite as bad as that," said Polly cheerfully. Then she heaved a sigh. I know, of course, we can't afford to help them, but I do feel so sorry for them. She herself would have given the dress off her back. And I think, dear, if you don't mind very much, we might ask one of the girls up to stay with us till the worst is over. Yes, I suppose that wouldn't be impossible, said Manny, if you've set your heart on it, my Polly, if, too, you can persuade Master Purdy to forego the comfort of your good feather bed, and I'll see if I can wring out a fiver few to enclose in your letter. Polly jumped up and kissed him. Purdy's going anyhow. He said only last night he must look for lodgings near the police station. Here a thought struck her. She culled and smiled. I'll ask till he first, said she. Manny laughed and shook his finger at her. Her best-laid plans are mice and men, and what's one to say to a matchmaker who's still growing out of her clothes? At this Polly clapped a hand over his mouth for fear Ellen should hear him. It was a sore point with her that she had more than once of late had to lengthen her dresses. As soon as she was alone she sat down to compose a reply to Mrs. Beamish. It was no easy job. She was obliged to say that Richard felt unable to come to their aid, and at the same time to avoid touching on his private affairs had to disappoint as kindly as she could to be truthful yet tactful. Polly wrote and re-wrote the business cost her the forenoon. She could not even press tilly to pack a box and come at once, for her second letter that morning had been from Sara, who wrote that having decided to shake the dust of the colony off her feet, she wished to pay them a flying visit before sailing, por faire mes adieu. She signed herself, your affectionate sister, Sara, with a word, and on her arrival explained that, tired of continually instructing people on the pronunciation of her name, she had decided to alter the spelling and be done with it. Moreover, a little bird had whispered in her ear that under its new form it fitted her rather French air and looks a thousand times better than before. Descending from the coach, Sara eyed Polly up and down and vowed she would never have known her, and on the way home Polly more than once felt her sister's gaze fixed critically on her. For her part she was able to assure Sara that she saw no change whatever in her, since her last visit, even since the date of the wedding. And this pleased Sara mightily, for, as she admitted in removing hat and mantle and passing the damped corner of a towel over her face, she dreaded the aging effects of the climate on her fine complexion. Closer ever about her own concerns she gave no reason for her abrupt determination to leave the country, but from subsequent talk Polly gathered that for one thing Sara had found her position at the head of John's establishment, undertaken in the first place, my dear, at immense personal sacrifice. No sinecure. John had proved a regular maternette. He had countermandered her orders, interfered about the household bills, had even accused her of lining her own pocket. As for little Johnny, the bait originally thrown out to induce her to accept the post, he had long since been sent to boarding school. A thoroughly bad, unprincipled boy was Sara's verdict. And when Polly, big with pity, expostulated, but Sara, he's only six years old. Her sister retorted with her, my dear, I know the world and you don't." To which Polly could think of no reply. Sara had announced herself for a bare fortnight stay, but the man who carried her trunk groaned and sweated under it and was so insolent about the size of the coin she dropped in his palm that Polly followed him by stealth into the passage to make it up to a crown. As usual, Sara was attired in the height of fashion. She brought a set of the hoops with her, the first to be seen on Ballarat, and once more Polly was torn between an honest admiration of her sister's daring and an equally honest embarrassment at the notice she attracted. Sara swam and glided about the streets to the hilarious amazement of the population, floated feather-light, billowing here, depressing there, with all the waywardness of a child's balloon, supported, or so it seemed, by two of the tiniest feet ever bestowed on mortal woman. Aha! But that was one of the chief merits of the hoops, declared Sara, that and the possibility of getting still more stuff into your skirts without materially increasing their weight. There was something in that, conceded Polly, who often felt hers drag heavy. Besides, as she reminded Richard that night, when he lay alternately chuckling and snorting at woman's folly, custom was everything. Once they had smiled at Sara appearing in a hat, and now we're all wearing them. Another practical consideration that occurred to her she expressed with some diffidence. But Sara, don't you—I mean, aren't they very draughty? Sara had to repeat her shocked but emphatic denial in the presence of Mrs. Glenn Dinning and Mrs. Urquhart, both ladies having a mind to bring their wardrobes up to date. They agreed that there was much to be said in favour of the appliance over and above its novelty. Especially would it be welcome at those times when. But here the speakers dropped into woman's mysterious code of nods and signs, while Sara, turning modestly away, pretended to count the stitches in a crochet and maccassa. Yes, nowadays, says Mrs. Dr. Marnie, Polly was able to introduce her sister to a society worthy of Sara's gifts, and Sara enjoyed herself so well that had her birth not been booked she might have contemplated extending her visit. She overflowed with gracious commendation. The house, though of course compared with John's fender, a trifle plain and pokey, was a decided advance on the store. Polly herself much improved. You do look robust, my dear. And though Sara held her peace about this, the fact of Marnie's being from home each day for hours at a stretch lent an additional prop to her satisfaction. Under these conditions it was possible to keep on good terms with her brother-in-law. Sara's natty appearance and sprightly ways made her a favourite with everyone, especially the gentlemen. The episcopal bazaar came off at this time, and Sara had the brilliant idea of a brand pie. This was the success of the entertainment. From behind the refreshment store where, with Mrs. Long, she was pouring out cups of tea and serving cheesecakes and sausage rolls by the hundred, Polly looked proudly across the beflagged hall to the merry group of which her sister was the centre. Sara was holding her own, even with Mr. Henry Ockock, and Mr. Urquhart had constituted himself her right hand. Your sister is no doubt a most fascinating woman, said Mrs. Urquhart from the seat with which she had been accommodated, and heaved a gentle sigh. How odd that she should never have married! I'm afraid Sara's too particular, said Polly. It's not for want of being asked. Her eyes met Purdy's as she spoke. Purdy had come up laden with empty cups, a pair of infant's boots dangling around his neck, and they exchanged smiles. For Sara's latest affair to occur was a source of great amusement to them. Polly had assisted at the first meeting between her sister and Purdy with very mixed feelings. On that occasion Purdy happened to be in plain clothes, and Sara pronounced him charming. The next day, however, he dropped in, clad in the double-breasted blue jacket, the high boots and green veiled cabbage-tree he wore when on duty, and thereupon Sara's opinion of him sank to null, and was not to be raised, even by him presenting himself in full dress, white braided trousers, red-faced shell-jacket, pill-box cap, cartouche-box, and cavalry-sword. La! Polly! Nothing but a common policeman! In vain did Polly explain the difference between a member of the ordinary force and a mounted trooper of the gold-esque court. In vain lay stress on Richard's pleasure at seeing Purdy buckle to steady work, no matter what. Sara's thoughts had taken wing for a land where such anomalies were not, where you were not asked to drink tea with a well-meaning constable who led you across a crowded thoroughfare, or turned on his bull's-eye for you in a fog, preparatory to calling up a hackney-cub. But the chilly condescension with which from now on Sara treated him did not seem to trouble Purdy. When he ran in for five minutes of a morning he astewed the front entrance and took up his perch on the kitchen table. From here, while Polly cooked and he nibbled half-baked pastry, the two of them followed the progress of events in the parlor. Sara's arrival on Ballarat had been the cue for Hempel's reappearance, and now hardly a day went by on which the lay helper did not neglect his chapel-work in order to pay what Sara called his devoise. Slight were his pretexts for coming, a rare bit of dried seaweed for bookmark, a religious journal with a turned-down page, a nose-gay. And though Sara would not nowadays go the length of walking out with the dissenter, she preferred on her airings to occupy the box seat of Mr. Erkut's foreign hand, she had no objection to Hempel keeping her company during the empty hours of the forenoon when Polly was lost in domestic cares. She accepted his offerings, mimicked his faulty speech, and was continually hauling him up the precipice of self-distrust only to let him slip back as soon as he reached the top. One day Purdy entered the kitchen, doubled up with laughter. In passing the front of the house he had thrown a look in at the parlor window, and the sight of the prim and proper Hempel on his knees on the woolly hearth-rug so tickled his sense of humour that having spluttered out the news back he went to the passage where he crouched down before the parlor door and glued his eye to the keyhole. Oh, Purdy, no, what if the door should suddenly fly open? But there was something in Purdy's pranks that a laughter-lover like Polly could never for long withstand. Here now, in feigning to imitate the unfortunate Hempel, he was surely irresistible. He clapped his hands to his heart, showed the whites of his eyes, wrapped, gesticulated, and tore his hair, and Polly, after trying in vain to keep a straight face, sat down and went off into a fit of stifled mirth, and when Polly did give way she was apt to set everyone around her laughing too. Ellen's shoulders shook, she held a fist to her mouth. Even little Trottie shrilled out her tinny treble without knowing in the least what the joke was. When the merriment was at its height the front door opened and in-walked Manny, an instant blank amazement, and he had grasped the whole situation. Richard was always so fearfully quick at understanding thought Polly ruefully. Then, though Purdy jumped to his feet and the laughter died out as if by command, he drew his brows together, and without saying a word stalked into the surgery and shut the door. Like a schoolboy who has been caned, Purdy dug his knuckles into his eyes and rubbed his hind quarters to the fresh delight of Trottie and the girl. Well, so long, Polly, I'd better be making tracks, the old man's on the wall-path, and in an undertone, same old Grouser never could take a joke. He's tired, I'll make it all right," gave Polly back. It was only his fun, Richard, she pleaded, as she held out a linen jacket for her husband to slip his arms into. Fun of a kind I won't permit in my house. What an example to set the child! What's more, I shall let Hempel know that he's being made a butt of, and speak my mind to your sister about her heartless behaviour. Oh, don't do that, Richard, I promise it shan't happen again. It was very stupid of us, I know. But Purdy didn't really mean it unkindly, and he is so comical when he starts to imitate people. And Polly was all but off again at the remembrance. But Manny, stooping to decipher the names Ellen had written on the slate, did not unbend. It was not merely the vulgar joke that had offended him. Though what really rankled was the sudden chill his unlooked for entrance had cast over the group, they had scattered and gone scurrying about their business, like a pack of naughty children who'd been up to mischief behind their master's back. He was the schoolmaster, the spoilsport. They were all afraid of him. Even Polly. But here came Polly herself to say, dinner, dear, in her kindest tone. She also put her arm around his neck and hugged him. Not cross any more, Richard, I know we behaved disgracefully. Her touch put the crown on her words. Manny drew her to him and kissed her. But the true origin of the unpleasantness, Zara, who in her ghoulish delight at seeing Hempel grovel before her, thus Manny worded it, behaved more kidnishly than ever at table. Zara, Manny, could not so easily forgive, and for the remainder of her stay his manner to her was so forbidding that she too froze, and to Polly's regret the old bad relation between them came up anew. But Zara was enjoying herself too well to cut her visit short on Manny's account. Besides poor thing, thought Polly, she's rarely nowhere to go. What she did do was to carry her head very high in her brother-in-law's presence, to speak at him rather than to him, and in private to insist to Polly on her powers of discernment. You may say what you like, my dear, I can see you have a very great deal to put up with. At last, however, the day of her departure broke, and she went off amid a babble of farewells, of requests for remembrance, a fluttering of pocket handkerchiefs the like of which Polly had never known, and to himself Manny breathed the hope that they had seen the last of Zara, her fripperies and affectations. Your sister will certainly fit better into the conditions of English life. Polly cried at the parting, which might be final, then blew her nose and dried her eyes, for she had a busy day before her. Tilly Beamish had been waiting with ill-concealed impatience for Zara to vacate the spare room, and was to arrive that night. Manny was not at home to welcome the newcomer, nor could he be present at high tea. When he returned towards nine o'clock, he found Polly with a very red face, and so full of fussy cares for her guest's comfort, her natural kindliness distorted to caricature, that she had not a word for him. When he looked at Miss Tilly, he explained everything, and his respects duly paid, he retired to the surgery, to indulge a smile at Polly's expense. Here Polly soon joined him, Tilly fatigued by her journey and by her bounteous meal, having partaken herself early to bed. Ha! Ha! laughed Manny, not without a certain mischief of satisfaction at his young wife's discomforture, and with the prospect of a second edition to follow. But Polly would not capitulate right off. I don't think it's very kind of you to talk like that, Richard, she said warmly, people can't help their looks. She moved about the room, putting things straight and avoiding his eye. As long as they mean well and are good, but I think you would rather no one ever came to stay with us at all. Fixing her with meaning insistence and still smiling, Manny opened his arms. The next moment Polly was on his knee, her face hidden in his shoulder. There she shed a few tears. Oh! isn't she dreadful? I don't know what I shall do with her. She's been serving behind the bar, Richard, for more than a year, and she's come expecting to be taken everywhere and to have any amount of gaiety. At coach-time she had dragged a reluctant Purdy to the office, but as soon as he caught sight of Tilly, on the box, Richard, beside the driver, with her hair all towsy-wowsy in the wind, he just said, O Lord, Polly, and disappeared! And that was the last I saw of him. I don't know how I should have got on if it hadn't been for old Mr. Ockock who was down meeting a parcel. He was most kind, he helped us home with her carpet bag and saw after her trunk. And oh, dear, what do you think? When he was going away he said to me in the passage, so loud I'm sure Tilly must have heard him, he said, Well, that's something like a figure of a female this time, Mrs. Dock, as fine a young woman as ever I see. Then Polly hid her face again, and husband and wife laughed in concert. End of Part 3, Chapter 8. That night a great storm rose, Marnie, sitting reading after every one else had retired, saw it coming, and lamp in hand went around the house to secure hasps and catches, then stood at the window to watch the storm's approach. In one half of the sky the stars were still peacefully alight, the other was hidden by a dense cloud which came racing along like a giant bat without spread wings, devouring the stars in its flight. The storm broke. There was a sudden shrill screeching, a grinding, piping whistling, and the wind hurled itself against the house as if to level it with the ground. Failing in this it banged and battered, making windows and doors shake like loose teeth in their sockets. Then it swept by to wreak its fury elsewhere, and there was a grateful lull, out of which burst a peel of thunder. And now peel followed peel, and the face of the sky with its masses of swirling frothy cloud resembled an angry sea. The lightning ripped it in fierce zig-zags darting out hundreds of spectral fangs. It was a magnificent sight. Polly came running to see where he was. The child cried. This tilly opened her door by a hand's breadth and thrust a red puffy face framed in curl twists through the crack. Nobody thought of sleep while the commotion lasted for fear of fire. Once alight these exposed little wooden houses blazed up like heaps of shavings. The clock hands pointed to one before the storm showed signs of abating. Now the rain was pouring down, making an ear-splitting din on the iron roof, and leaping from every gutter and spout. It had turned very cold. Marnie shivered as he got into bed. He seemed hardly to have closed an eye when he was wakened by a loud knocking. At the same time the wire of the night-bell was almost wrenched in two. He sat up and looked at his watch. It wanted a few minutes to three. The rain was still falling in torrents, the wind sighed and moaned. Wild horses should not drag him out on such a night. Thusting his arms into the sleeves of his dressing-gown, he threw up the parlour-window. Who's there? The hiss of the rain cut his words through. A figure on the door-step turned at the sound. Is this a doctor's I was sent here, doctor, for God's sake? What is it? Stop a minute. I'll open the door. He did so, letting in a blast of wind and a rush of rain that flooded the oil-cloth. The intruder, off whom the water streamed, had to shout to make himself audible. It's me, Matt Doyle's me name. It's me wife, doctor. She's dying. I've been all night on the road. Ah, for the love of—where is it? Manny put his hand to the side of his mouth to keep his words from flying adrift in the wind. Paddy's rest, you're the third I've been to. Not one of the dirty dogs'll stare a leg. The girl may die like a rabbit for all they care. The man's voice broke as he hallowed particulars. Paddy's rest, on a night like this, why the creek will be out. Doctor, you're from the old country. I can hear it in your lip. Haven't you a wife, too, doctor? Then show a bit of mercy to mine. Oh, tut-tut, man, none of that, said Manny curtly. You should've bespoken me at the proper time to attend your wife. Besides there'll be no getting along the road to-night. The other caught the note of yielding. Sure, and you'd go out, doctor, dear, without thinking to save your dog if he was drowning. I've got me buggy down there. I'll take you safe. If you shan't regret it, I'll make it worth your while by the Lord Harry, I will. Sure. Manny opened the door of the surgery and struck a match. It was a rough-grizzled fellow, a cocky on his own showing, who presented himself in the lamp-light. His wife had fallen ill that afternoon. At first everything seemed to be going well. Then she was seized with fits, had one fit after another, and all but bit her tongue into. There was nobody with her but a young girl he had fetched from a mile away. He had meant, when her time came, to bring her to the district hospital, but they had been taken unawares. While he waited he sat with his elbows on his knees, his face between his clenched fists. In dressing Manny reassured Polly and instructed her what to say to people who came inquiring after him. It was unlikely he would be back before afternoon. Most of the patients could wait till then. The one exception, a case of typhoid in its second week, a young scotch surgeon, Brace, whom he had obliged in a similar emergency, would no doubt see for him. She should send Ellen down with a note. And having poured Doyle out a nobler and put a flask in his own pocket, Manny reopened the front door to the howl of the wind. The lantern his guide carried shed only a tiny circle of light on the blackness, and the two men picked their steps gingerly along the flooded road. The rain ran in jets off the brim of Manny's hat and down the back of his neck. Having climbed into the buggy, they advanced at a funeral pace, leaving it to the sagacity of the horse to keep the track. At the creek, sure enough, the water was out, the bridge gone. To reach the next bridge, five miles off a crazy cross-country drive would have been necessary, and Manny was forgiving up the job. But Doyle would not acknowledge defeat. He unharnessed the horse, set Manny on its back and putting himself holding to its tail, forced the beast by dint of kicking and lashing into the water, and not only got them safely across, but up the steep, sticky clay of the opposite bank. It was six o'clock on a cloudless morning, when numb with cold his clothing clinging to him like wet seaweed, Manny entered the wooden hut where the real work he had come out to do began. Later in the day, clad in an odd collection of baggy garments, he sat and warmed himself in the sun, which was fast drawing up in the form of a blankety mist, the moisture from the ground. He had successfully performed, under the worst possible conditions, a ticklish operation, and was now so tired that with his chin on his chest he fell fast asleep. Doyle wakened him by announcing the arrival of the baggy. The good man, who had more than one knobbler during the morning, could not hold his tongue, but made still another wordy attempt to express his gratitude. Whether me girl lives or die, he said, it'll not be Matt Doyle who forgets what you did for him this night, doctor. And if ever you want a bit of work done, or someone to do your lie and a week at night for you, just you give me the tip. I don't mind telling you now. I'd me shoot an iron here." He touched his right hip, and if you'd refused, you was the third mind you. I'd have drilled you where you stood, goddammit, if I wouldn't. Manny, I had to speak with derision. Much good that would have done your wife, you fathead. Well, well, we'll say nothing to mine, if you please, about anything of that sort. No may all the saints bless her and give her health, and, as I say, doctor. In speaking, he'd drawn a roll of banknotes from his pocket, and now he'd tried to stuff them between Manny's fingers. What's this? My good man, keep your money till it's asked for. And Manny unclosped his hand so that the notes fluttered to the ground. Then there let him lay. But when in clothes dried stiff as cardboard Manny was rolling downwards, his coachman, a lad of some ten or twelve, who handled the reins to the man who borne, as they went, he chanced to feel in his coat pocket, and there found five ten-pound notes rolled up in a neat bundle. The main part of the road was dry and hard again, but all dips and holes were wells of liquid mud which bespattered the two of them from top to toe as the buggy bumped ceaselessly in and out. Manny diverted himself by thinking of what he could give Polly with this sum. It would serve to buy that pair of gilt cornices or the heavy gilt-framed pier-glass on which she had set her heart. He could see her pink with pleasure, expostulating Richard what wicked extravagance, and hear himself reply, and pray, may my wife not have as pretty a parlour as her neighbour's. He even cast a thought in passing on the piano forte with which Polly longed to crown the furnishings of her room, though, of course, at least trouble this amount would be needed to cover its cost. What a thing for such nonsense! He knew but one legitimate use to make of the unexpected little windfall, and that was to put it by for a rainy day. At my age, in my position, I ought to have fifty pounds in the bank. Times without number he had said this to himself with a growing impatience, but it not yet managed to save a hapeny. Thrive, as the practice might, the expenses of living held even pace with it. And now, having got its cue, his brain started off again on the old treadmill, reckoning, totting up, finding totals, or more often failing to find them, until his head was as hot as his feet were cold. Today he could not think clearly at all. Nor the next day either. By the time he reached home he was conscious of feeling very ill. He had lancinating pains in his limbs, a chill down his spine, and outrageous temperature. The set-out again on a round of visits was impossible. He had just a tumble into bed. They got between the sheets with that sense of utter well-being, of almost sensual satisfaction, which only one who is shivering with fever knows, and at first very small things were enough to fill him with content. The smoothness of the pillow sleek linen, the shadowy light of the room after long days spent in the dusty glare outside. The possibility of resting, the knowledge that it was his duty to rest, Polly's soft, firm hands, which were always of the right temperature, warm in the cold stage, cool when the fever scorched him, and neither hot nor cold when the dripping sweats came on. But as the fever declined these slight pleasures lost their hold. Then he was ridden to death by black thoughts. Not only was day being added to day, he meanwhile not turning over a penny, but ideas which he knew to be preposterous insinuated themselves in his brain. Thus for hours on end he writhed under the belief that his present illness was due solely to the proximity of the great swamp and lay and cursed his folly in having chosen just this neighbourhood to build in. Again there was the case of Typhoid he had been anxious about prior to his own breakdown, and that his locum Peritonitis had set in and carried off the patient. At the time he had accepted the news from Polly's lips with indifference to ill to care. But a little later the knowledge of what it meant broke over him, and he suffered the tortures of the damned. Not brace, he alone would be held responsible for the death, and perhaps not altogether unjustly. Lying there a prey to morbid apprehensions he rebuilt the case in memory struggling to recall each slight variation in temperature, each swift change for better or worse. But as fast as he captured one such detail his drowsy brain at the last but one go, and he had to beat it up anew. During the night he grew confident that the relatives of the dead woman intended to take action against him for negligence or improper attendance. An attempt to speak of these devilish imaginings to wife and friend was a failure. He undertook it in a fit of desperation when it seemed as if only a strong and well-grounded opposition would save his reason. But this was just what he could not get. Perdie, whom he tried first, held the crude notion that a sick person should never be gained said, and soothingly sympathised and agreed, until Marnie could have cried aloud at such blundering stupidity. Polly did better, she contradicted him, but not in the right way. She certainly poo-pooed his idea of the nearness of Ewell Swamp making the house unhealthy, but she didn't argue the matter step by step and convince him that he was wrong. She just laughed at him as if a foolish child and kissed him and tucked him in anew. And when it came to the typhoid's fatal issue she had not the knowledge needed to combat him with any chance of success. She heard him anxiously out and allowed herself to be made quite nervous over a possible fault on his part, so jealous was she for his growing reputation, so that in the end it was he who had to comfort her. Don't take any notice of what I say to day, wife. It's this blessed fever, I'm light-headed, I think. But he could hear her uneasily consulting with Perdie in the passage. It was not until his pulse beat normally again that he could smile at his exaggerated fears. Now, too, reviving health brought back a wholesome interest in everyday affairs. He listened with amusement to Polly's account of the shifts Perdie was reduced to to enter the house unseen by Miss Tilly. On his faithful daily call the young man would creep around by the back door, and Tilly was growing more and more irate at her inability to waylay him. Yes, Polly was rather readily forced to admit she had a better attitude to him in his evasions. You know, Paul, I might just as well tie myself up to old Mother B herself and be done with it. Out of sheer peak Tilly had twice now accepted old Mr. Ockock's invitation to drive with him, once she had returned with a huge bag of lollies, and once with a face like a turkey-cock. Polly couldn't help thinking, no, really, Richard, she could not, that perhaps something might come of it. He should not laugh, just wait and see. Many inquiries had been made after him. People had missed their doctor, it seemed, and wanted him back. It was a real red-letter day when he could snap to the catches of his gloves again and mount the step of a buggy. He had instructed Perdie to arrange for the hire of this vehicle, subtle work being out of the question for him in the mean time, and on his first long journey it led him past Doyle's hut, now he was sorry to see in the hands of strangers, for the wife on the way to making a fair recovery had got up too soon, overtaxed her strength and died, and the broken-hearted husband was gone off no one knew where. On this drive, as mile after mile slid from under the wheels, Arnie felt how grateful was the screen of a hood between him and the sun. While he was laid up, the eternal question of how to live on his income had left him, relatively speaking, in peace. He had, of late, adopted the habit of doing his scraping and saving at the outset of each quarter, so as to get the money due to Ockock put by betimes. His illness had naturally made a hole in this, and now the living from hand to mouth must begin anew. With what remained of Doyle's money he proposed to settle his account at the livery's table. Then the unexpected happened. His reappearance, he looked very thin and washed out, evidently jogged a couple of sleepy memories, simultaneously two big bills were paid, one of which he had entirely given up. In consequence he again found himself fifty pounds to the good. And driving to Ockock's office on term day he resolved to go on afterwards to the Bank of Australasia, and there deposit this sum. Grindel set off by a pair of flaming sideboards, himself ushered Marnie into the sanctum, and the affair was disposed of in a trice. Ockock was one of the busiest of men nowadays, he no longer needed to invent sham clients and fictitious interviews, and he utilised the few odd minutes it took to procure a signature, jot down a note, open a drawer, unlock it in box, to remark abstractedly on the weather and put a polite inquiry. And your good lady, in the best of health I trust! On emerging from the inner room Marnie saw that the places formerly filled by Tom and Johnny were occupied by strangers, and he was wondering whether it would be indiscreet to ask what had become of the brothers when Ockock cut across his intention. By the way, Jenkins, has that memorandum I spoke of been drawn up? He turned to a clerk. With the sheet of fool's cap in his hand he invited Marnie with a beck of the chin to re-enter his room. Half a moment. Now, doctor, if you happen to have a little money lying idle, I can put you on to a good thing, a very good thing indeed. I don't know, I'm sure, whether you keep an eye on the fluctuations of the share market. If so, you'll no doubt have noticed the, let me say, extreme instability of poor apunkers. After making an excellent start they have dropped till they're now to be had at one twentieth of their original value. He did not take much interest in mining matters, was Marnie's reply. However, he knew something of the claim in question, if only because several of his acquaintances had abandoned their shares in disgust at the repeated calls and the lack of dividends. Exactly. Well, now, doctor, I'm in a position to inform you that poorer apunkers will very shortly be prime favourites on the market, selling at many times their original figure. Their original figure, sir. No one with a few hundred's to spare could find a better investment. Now is the time to buy. A few hundred's, what does he take me for, thought Marnie, and declined the transaction off-hand. It was very good of Mr. Ockock to think of him, but he preferred to keep clear of that kind of thing. Quite so, quite so, returned Ockock swavly, and dry-washed his hands with the smile Marnie had never learnt to fathom. Just as you please, of course, I'll only ask you, doctor, to treat the matter as strictly confidential. I suppose he says the same to every one he tells, was Marnie's comment as he flicked up his horse, and he wondered what the extent might be of the lawyer's personal interest in the poorer apunker company. Probably the number of shareholders was not large enough to rake up the capital. Still the incident gave him food for thought, and only after closing time did he remember his intention of driving home by way of the bank. Later in the day he came back on the incident and pondered his abrupt refusal of Ockock's offer. There was nothing unusual in this, he never took advice well, and was it forced upon him nine times out of ten a certain inborn contrariness drove him to do just the opposite. Besides, he had not yet learned to look with lenience on the rage for speculation that had seized the people of Ballarat, and he held that it would be culpable for a man of his slender means to risk money in the great game. But was there any hint of risk in the present instance? To judge from Ockock's manner the investment was as safe as a house and lucrative to a degree that made one's head swim. Many times their original figure. An Arabian knight's fashion of growing rich in no mistake. Very different from the laborious grind of his days in which he had always to reckon with the chance of not being paid at all. That very afternoon had brought him a fresh example of this. He was returning from the old magpie lead, where he had been called to a case of scarlet fever, and saw himself covering the same road daily for some time to come. But he had learned to adjudge his patience in a winking, and these he could swear to it would prove to be non-payers of a kind even to cut and run once the child was out of danger. As he rarely justified, cramped for money as he was in rejecting the straight tip Ockock had given him, and he debated this moot point, argued his need against his principles the whole way home. As soon as he had changed and seen his suspect clothing hung out to air he went impetuously back to Ockock's office. He had altered his mind, a small gift from a grateful patient. Yes, fifty pleas they might bring him luck. And he saw his name written down as the owner of half a hundred shares. After this he took a new interest in the mining-sheet of the star, turned to it indeed, first of all, for a week a fortnight poorer punkers remained stationary, then they made a call, and if he did not wish to forfeit he had to pay out as many shillings as he held shares. A day or two later they sank a trifle and Marnie's hopes with them. There even came a day when they were not mentioned and he gave up his money for lost, but of a sudden they woked a life again, took an upward bound, and within a month were quoted at five pounds on rumour alone. Very sensitive indeed, said the star. Purdy, his only confidant, went about swearing at himself for having led the few he owned laps and Marnie itched to sell. He could now have banked two hundred and fifty pounds. But Ockock laughed him out of countenance even when so far as to pat him on the shoulder, on no account was he to think of selling. Sit tight, doctor, sit tight till I say the word. And Marnie reluctantly obeyed.