CHAPTER II: THE TWIN LAMBS

I

Jack was tired and a little land-sick, after the long voyage. He felt dazed and rather unhappy, and saw as through a glass, darkly. For he could not yet get used to the fixed land under his feet, after the long weeks on the steamer. And these people went on as if they were wound up, curiously oblivious of him and his feelings. A dream world, with a dark glass between his eyes and it. An uneasy dream.

He waited on the platform. Mr. George had again disappeared somewhere. The train was already backing away. It was evening, and the setting sun from the west, where the great empty sea spread unseen, cast a radiance in the etherealized air, melting the brick shops and the wooden houses and the sandy places in a sort of amethyst glow. And again Jack saw the magic clarity of this new world, as through a glass, darkly. He felt the cool snap of night in the air, coming strange and crude out of the jewel sky. And it seemed to him he was looking through the wrong end of a field-glass, at a far, far country.

Where was Mr. George? Had he gone off to read the letter again, or to inquire about the draft on the bank? Everyone had left the station, the wagonette cabs had driven away. What was to be done? Ought he to have mentioned an hotel? He’d better say something. He’d better say—

But here was Mr. George, with a serious face, coming straight up to say something.

“That vet,” he said, “did he think you had a natural gift for veterinary work?”

“He said so, sir. My mother’s father was a naval surgeon—if that has anything to do with it.”

“Nothing at all.—I knew the old gentleman—and another silly old fossil he was, too.—But he’s dead, so we’ll make the best of him.—No, it was your character I wanted to get at.—Your father wants you to go on a farm or station for twelve months, and sends a pound a week for your board. Suppose you know—?”

“Yes—I hope it’s enough.”

“Oh, it’s enough, if you’re all right yourself—I was thinking of Ellis’ place. I’ve got the twins here now. They’re kinsmen of yours, the Ellises—and of mine, too. We’re all related, in clans and cliques and gangs, out here in this colony. Your mother belongs to the Ellis clan.—Well, now. Ellis’ place is a fine home farm, and not too far. Only he’s got a family of fine young lambs, my step-sister’s children into the bargain. And y’see, if y’re a wolf in sheep’s clothing—for you look mild enough—why, I oughtn’t be sending you among them. Young lasses and boys bred and reared out there in the bush, why—. Come now, son y’ father protected you by silence.—But you’re not in court, and you needn’t heed me. Tell me straight out what you were expelled from your Bedford school for.”

Jack was silent for a moment, rather pale about the nose.

“I was nabbed,” he said in a colourless voice, “at a fight with fists for a purse of sovereigns, laid either side. Plenty of others were there. But they got away, and the police nabbed me for the school colours on my cap. My father was just back from Ceylon, and he stood by me. But the Head said for the sake of example and for the name of the school I’d better be chucked out. They were talking about the school in the newspapers. The Head said he was sorry to expel me.”

Mr. George blew his nose into a large yellow red-spotted handkerchief, and looked for a few moments into the distance.

“Seems to me you let yourself be made a bit of a cat’s paw of,” he said dubiously.

“I suppose it’s because I don’t care,” said Jack.

“But you ought to care.—Why don’t y’?”

There was no answer.

“You’ll have to care some day or other,” the old man continued.

“Do you know, sir, which hotel I shall go to?” asked Jack.

“You’ll go to no hotel. You’ll come home with me.—But mind y’. I’ve got my two young nieces, Ellis’ twins, couple of girls, Ellis’ daughters, where I’m going to send you. They’re at my house. And there’s my other niece, Mary, who I’m very fond of. She’s not an Ellis, she’s a Rath, and an orphan, lives with her Aunt Matilda, my sister. They don’t live with me. None of ‘em live with me. I live alone, except for a good, plain cook, since my wife died.—But I tell you, they’re visiting me. And I shall look to you to behave yourself, now: both here and at Wandoo, which is Ellis’ station. I’ll take you there in the morning.—But y’see now where I’m taking you: among a pack of innocent sheep that’s probably never seen a goat to say Boh! To—or Baa! if you like—makes no difference. We don’t raise goats in Western Australia, as I’m aware of.—But I’m telling you, if you’re a wolf in sheep’s clothing—. No, you needn’t say anything. You probably don’t know what you are, anyhow. So come on. I’ll tell somebody to bring your bags—looks a rare jorum to me—and we’ll walk.”

II

They walked off the timber platform into the sand, and Jack had his first experience of “sand-groping.” The sand was thick and fine and soft, so he was glad to reach the oyster-shell path running up Wellington Street, in front of the shops. They passed along the street of brick cottages and two-storied houses, to Barrack Street, where Jack looked with some surprise on the pretentious buildings that stood up in the dusk: the handsome square red brick tower of the Town Hall, and on the sandy hill to the left, the fine white edifice of the Roman Catholic Church, which building was already older than Jack himself. Beyond the Town Hall was the Church of England. “See it!” said Mr. George. “That’s where your father and mother were married. Slap-dash, military wedding, more muslin and red jackets than would stock a shop.”

Mr. George spoke to everybody he met, ladies and gentlemen alike. The ladies seemed a bit old-fashioned, the gentlemen all wore nether garments at least four sizes too large for them. Jack was much piqued by this pioneering habit. And they all seemed very friendly and easy-going, like men in a pub at home.

“What did the Bedford Headmaster say he was sorry to lose you for? Smart at your books, were you?”

“I was good at Scripture and Shakespeare, but not at the other things.—I expect he was sorry to lose me from the football eleven. I was the cock there.”

Mr. George blew his nose loudly, gasped, prrrhed, and said:

“You’d better say rooster, my son, here in Australia—especially in polite society. We’re a trifle more particular than they are in England, I suppose.—Well, and what else have you got to crow about?”

If Jack had been the sulky sort, he would now have begun to get sulky. As it was, he was tired of being continually pulled up. But he fell back on his own peculiar callous indifference.

“I was captain of the first football eleven,” he said in his indifferent voice, “and not bad in front of the sticks. And I took the long distance running cup a year under age. I tell you because you ask me.”

Then Mr. George astonished Jack again by turning and planting himself in front of him like Balaam’s ass, in the middle of the path, standing with feet apart in his big elephant trousers, snorting behind a walrus moustache, glaring and extending a large and powerful hand. He shook hands vigorously, saying, “You’ll do, my son. You’ll do for me.”

Then he resumed his walk.

III

“Yes, sir, you’ll do for me,” resumed the old man. “For I can see you’re a gentleman.”

Jack was rather taken aback. He had come to Australia to be a man, a wild, bushy man among men. His father was a gentleman.

“I think I’d rather be a man than a gentleman,” he said.

Mr. George stood still, feet apart, as if he had been shot.

“What’s the difference?” he cried in a falsetto, sarcastic tone. “What’s the difference? Can’t be a man unless you are a gentleman. Take that from me. You might say I’m not a gentleman. Sense of the ridiculous runs away with me, for one thing. But, in order to be the best man I could, I’ve tried to be all the gentleman I could. No hanky-pankying about it.—You’re a gentleman born.—I’m not, not altogether. Don’t you go trying to upset what you are. But whether you’re a bush-whacker or a lumper you can be a gentleman. A gentleman’s a man who never laughs to wound, who’s honest with himself and his own judge in the sight of the Almighty.—That’s the Government House down there among the trees, river just beyond.—That’s my house, there, see. I’m going to hand you over to the girls, once we get there. So I shan’t see you again, not to talk to. I want to tell you then, that I put my confidence in you, and you’re going...