My Brilliant Career Part 14

"That is the first time I've ever meddled with any of the kitchen fry, and, by Jove, it will be the last!" he said energetically. "I've got myself into a pretty mess."

"What nonsense you talk," I replied. "If you say another word about it, I'll write a full account of it and paste it in my sc.r.a.pbook. But if you don't worry about it, neither will I. You said nothing very uncomplimentary; in fact, I was quite flattered."

I was perched on the high end of a couch, and he was leaning with big careless ease on the piano. Had grannie seen me, I would have been lectured about unladylike behaviour.

"What is your uncle at today?" he inquired.

"He's not at anything. He went to Gool-Gool yesterday on the jury. Court finishes up today, and he is going to bring the judge home tonight.

That's why I am dressed so carefully," I answered.

"Good gracious! I never thought of court this time as I wasn't called on the jury, and for a wonder hadn't so much as a case against a Chinaman.

I was going to stay tonight, but can't if his wors.h.i.+p is going to dine here."

"Why? You're surely not afraid of Judge Fossilt? He's a very simple old customer."

"Imagine dining with a judge in this toggery!" and he glanced down his great figure at his riding gear.

"That doesn't matter; he's near-sighted. I'll get you put at the far end of the table under my wing. Men don't notice dress. If you weren't so big uncle or Frank Hawden could oblige you."

"Do you think I could pa.s.s muster?"

"Yes; after I brush you down you'll look as spruce as a bra.s.s penny.

"I did brush myself," he answered.

"You brush yourself!" I retorted. "There's a big splash of mud on your shoulder. You couldn't expect to do anything decently, for you're only a man, and men are the uselessest, good-for-nothingest, clumsiest animals in the world. All they're good for is to smoke and swear."

I fetched a clothes brush.

"You'll have to stand on the table to reach me," he said, looking down with amused indulgence.

"As you are so impertinent you can go dusty," and I tossed the brush away.

The evening was balmy, so I invited him into the garden. He threw his handkerchief over my chest, saying I might catch cold, but I scouted the idea.

We wandered into an arbour covered with wistaria, banksia, and Marechal Niel roses, and I made him a b.u.t.tonhole.

A traveller pulled rein in the roadway, and, dismounting, threw his bridle over a paling of the garden fence while he went inside to try and buy a loaf of bread.

I jumped up, frightening the horse so that it broke away, pulling off the paling in the bridle-rein. I ran to bring a hammer to repair the damage. Mr Beecham caught the horse while I attempted to drive the nail into the fence. It was a futile attempt. I bruised my fingers. He took the hammer from me, and fixing the paling in its place with a couple of well-aimed blows, said laughingly:

"You drive a nail! You couldn't expect to do anything. You're only a girl. Girls are the helplessest, uselessest, troublesomest little creatures in the world. All they're good for is to torment and pester a fellow."

I had to laugh.

At this juncture we heard uncle Jay-Jay's voice, so Mr Beecham went towards the back, whence it proceeded, after he left me at the front door.

"Oh, auntie, we got on splendidly! He's not a bit of trouble. We're as chummy as though we had been reared together," I exclaimed.

"Did you get him to talk?"

"Oh yes."

"Did you really?" in surprise.

When I came to review the matter I was forced to confess that I had done all the talking, and young Beecham the listening; moreover I described him as the quietest man I had ever seen or heard of.

The judge did not come home with uncle Jay-Jay as expected so it was not necessary for me to shelter Harold Beecham under my wing. Grannie greeted him cordially as "Harold, my boy", he was a great favourite with her. She and uncle Julius monopolized him for the evening. There was great talk of trucking sheep, the bad outlook as regarded the season, the state of the gra.s.s in the triangle, the Leigh Spring, the Bimbalong, and several other paddocks, and of the condition of the London wool market. It did not interest me, so I dived into a book, only occasionally emerging therefrom to smile at Mr Beecham.

He had come to Caddagat for a pair of bullocks which had been fattening in grannie's home paddock. Uncle gave him a start with them next morning. When they came out on the road I was standing in a bed of violets in a tangled corner of the garden, where roses climbed to kiss the lilacs, and spiraea stooped to rest upon the wallflowers, and where two tall kurrajongs stood like sentries over all. Harold Beecham dismounted, and, leaning over the fence, lingered with me, leaving the bullocks to uncle Jay-Jay. Uncle raved vigorously. Women, he a.s.serted, were the bane of society and the ruination of all men; but he had always considered Harold as too sensible to neglect his business to stand grinning at a pesky youngster in short skirts and a pigtail. Which was the greatest idiot of the two he didn't know.

His grumbling did not affect Harold in the least.

"Complimentary to both of us," he remarked as he leisurely threw himself across his great horse, and smiled his pleasant quiet smile, disclosing two rows of magnificent teeth, untainted by contamination with beer or tobacco. Raising his panama hat with the green fly-veil around it, he cantered off. I wondered as I watched him if anything ever disturbed his serenity, and desired to try. He looked too big and quiet to be ruffled by such emotions as rage, worry, jealousy, or even love. Returning to the house, I put aunt Helen through an exhaustive catechism concerning him.

_Question._ Auntie, what age is Harold Beecham?

_Answer._ Twenty-five last December.

_Q._ Did he ever have any brothers or sisters?

_A._ No. His birth caused his mother's death. Q. How long has his father been dead?

_A._ Since Harold could crawl.

_Q._ Who reared him?

A. His aunts.

_Q._ Does he ever talk any more than that? A. Often a great deal less.

_Q._ Is he really very rich?

_A._ If he manages to pull through these seasons he will be second to none but Tyson in point of wealth.

_Q._ Is Five-Bob a very pretty place?

_A._ Yes; one of the show places of the district. Q. Does he often come to Caddagat?

_A._ Yes, he often drops in.

_Q._ What makes his hair so black and his moustache that light colour?

A. You'll have to study science to find that out. I'm sure I can't tell you.

_Q._ Does he--?