They used to meet for dinner--dinner consisting of corned beef and potatoes until the corned beef ran out; then it became potatoes and bread and jam for some days, until Joe amazed them by saddling an ancient grey mare and riding into Cunjee, returning with more corned beef--and more jam. He boiled the beef in a kerosene tin, and Bob thought he had never tasted anything better. Appet.i.tes did not need pampering on Howard's Farm. Work in the evening went on until there was barely light enough to get home and find the cow; it was generally quite dark by the time milking was finished, and Bob would come in with his bucket to find Jim just in, and lighting the fire--"Major," not being the milking hand, worked in the paddocks a little longer. Tea required little preparation, since the only menu that occurred to old Joe seemed to be bread and jam. Jim, being a masterful soul, occasionally took the matter into his own hands and, aided by Bob, made "flap-jacks" in the frying-pan; they might have been indigestible for delicately-const.i.tuted people, but at least they had the merit of being hot and comforting on a biting winter night. Old Joe growled under his breath at the "softness"

of people who required "c.o.c.king up with fal-lals." But he ate the flap-jacks.

After tea the "hands" divided the duties of the evening; taking it in turn, one to wash up, while the other "set" bread. Joe's only baking implement was a camp-oven, which resembles a large saucepan on three legs; it could hold just enough for a day's supply, so that it was necessary to set bread every night, and bake every morning. This wounded their employer, who never failed to tell them, with some bitterness, that when alone he had to bake only twice a week. However, he knew all that there was to know about camp-oven baking, and taught them the art thoroughly, as well as that of making yeast from potatoes. "That's an extry," he remarked thoughtfully, "but I won't charge yer for it, yous 'avin' bin soldiers!"

With the bread set, and rising pleasantly before the fire, under a bit of old blanket, and the kitchen tidy, a period of rest ensued, when "Major" and "Captin" were free to draw up chairs--seated with greenhide with the hair left on, and very comfortable--and smoke their pipes. This was the only time of the day when old Joe unbent. At first silent, he would presently shift his pipe to the corner of his mouth and spin them yarns of the early days, told with a queer, dry humour that kept his hearers in a simmer of laughter. It was always a matter of regret to poor "Captin" that he used to be the one to end the telling, since no story on earth could keep him, after a while, from nodding off to sleep.

He would drag himself away to his blankets in the next room, hearing, as sleep fully descended upon him, the droning voice still entertaining Jim--whose powers of keeping awake seemed more than human!

Sat.u.r.day brought no slackening of work. Whatever his previous hired men had done, old Joe was evidently determined that his present "parlour-boarders" should not abate their efforts, and even kept them a little later than usual in the paddocks, remarking that "ter-morrer bein' Sunday, yous might as well cut a bit more scrub." The next morning broke fine and clear, and he looked at them a little doubtfully after breakfast.

"Well, there ain't no work doin' on Sunday, I reckon. I can manage the ol' keow to-night, if yous want to go home."

The guests looked at each other doubtfully.

"What do you say, Bob? Shall we ride over?"

Bob pondered.

"All one to me, o' course," said Joe, getting up and stumping out. He paused at the door. "On'y if yous mean ter stick on 'ere a bit you'll find comin' back a bit 'ard, onced yous see Billabong."

"Just what I was thinking," said Bob, as the old man disappeared.

"I'm not going, Jim; I know jolly well I'd hate to come back after--er--fleshpotting at your place. But look here, old chap--why don't you go home and stay there? You've done quite enough of this, especially as you've no earthly need to do it at all. You go home, and I'll stay out my fortnight."

"What, leave you here alone?" queried Jim. "Not much, Bobby."

"But why not? I've Joseph, and we'd become bosom friends. And your father must think it ridiculous for you to be kept over here, slaving--"

"Don't you worry your old head about dad," said Jim cheerfully. "It's a slack time, and he doesn't need me, and he's perfectly satisfied at my being here. Bless you, it's no harm for me to get a bit of this sort of life."

"You'll never have to do it."

"No one can tell that," said Jim. "The bottom has dropped out of land in other countries, and it may happen here. Besides, if you've got to employ labour it's just as well to know from experience what's a fair thing to expect from a man as a day's work. For which reason, I have desired our friend Joseph to take me off scrub-duty, which I feel I know pretty well, and to detail me for a.s.sorted fatigues, like yours, next week. And anyhow, my son, having brought you to this savage place, I'm not going to leave you. Finally, we couldn't go anywhere, because this is the day that we must wash."

"I have washed!" said Bob indignantly.

"I didn't mean your person, Bobby, but your clothes. The laundress doesn't call out here."

"Oh!" said Bob, and grinned. "Then I'd better put on a kettle."

So they washed, very cheerfully, taking turns in the one bucket, which was all Joe could offer as laundry equipment. He had an iron, but after brief consultation, "Major" and "Captin" decided that to iron working shirts would be merely painting the lily. Old Joe watched them with a twinkle, saying nothing. But a spirit of festivity and magnificence must have entered into him, for when the washermen went for a walk, after disposing their damp raiment upon bushes, he entered the kitchen hurriedly and dived for the flour-bag; and later, they found unwonted additions to the corned beef and potatoes--the said additions being no less than boiled onions and a jam tart.

The week that followed was a repet.i.tion of the first, save for a day of such rain that even old Joe had to admit that work in the paddocks was out of the question. He consoled himself by making them whitewash the kitchen. Large ma.s.ses of soot fell down into the fireplace throughout the day, seriously interfering with cooking operations, which suggested to Joe that "Captin" might acquire yet another art--that of bush chimney sweeping--which he accomplished next day, under direction, by the simple process of tugging a great bunch of tea-tree up and down the flue.

"Better'n all them brushes they 'ave in towns," said Joe, watching his blackened a.s.sistant with satisfaction.

"Well, we're off to-morrow, Mr. Howard," said Jim on Sat.u.r.day night.

They were seated round the fire, smoking.

"I s'pose so. Didn't think yous'd stick it out as long," the old man said.

"We've had a very good time," said Bob; and was astonished to find himself speaking truthfully. "Jolly good of you to have me; I know a new-chum isn't much use."

"Well, I wouldn't say as how you weren't," said old Joe deliberately.

"I ain't strong on new-chums, meself--some of them immy-grants they send out are a fair cow to handle; but I will say, Captin, you ain't got no frills, nor you don't mind puttin' your back into a job. I worked you pretty 'ard, too." He chuckled deeply.

"Did you?" asked Bob--and chuckled in his turn.

"Well, I didn't see no points in spoon-feedin' you. If a man's goin' on the land he may as well know wot 'e's likely to strike. There's lots'll tell you you won't strike anythink 'arder than ol' Joe--an' p'raps you won't," he added. "Any'ow, yous asked fer work, an' it was up ter me ter see that yous got it. But don't go imaginin' you've learned all there is ter know about farmin' yet."

"If there's one thing I'm certain of, it's that," said Bob a trifle grimly.

"That's right. I ain't got much of a farm, an' any'ow, it's winter. I on'y showed yous a few of the odd jobs--an' wot it is to 'ave to batch fer yerself, not comin' in like a lord to Billabong ter see wot Mrs.

Brown's been cookin' for yous. Nothin' like a bit o' batchin' ter teach a cove. An' you mind, Captin--if you start anywhere on yer own, you batch decent; keep things clean an' don't get into the way o' livin'

just any'ow. I ain't much, nor the meenoo ain't excitin'; but things is clean."

"Well--I have a sister," said Bob. "So I'm in luck. But I guess I know a bit more about her side of the job now."

"And that's no bad thing for Tommy," said Jim.

"Oo's 'e?" demanded Joe.

"Oh--that's his sister."

"Rum names gals gets nowadays," said Joe, pondering. "Not on'y gels, neither. 'S a chap on top of the 'ill 'as a new baby, an' 'e's called it 'Aig Wipers Jellicoe. 'Course, 'e did go to the war, but 'e ain't got no need ter rub it into the poor kid like that." He paused to ram the tobacco into the bowl of his pipe with a h.o.r.n.y thumb. "One thing--I'd like to pay you chaps somethin'. Never 'ad blokes workin' fer me fer nothin', an' I don't much care about it."

"No, thanks, Mr. Howard," said Jim. "We came for colonial experience."

"You!" said old Joe, and permitted himself the ghost of a grin. "Well, I ain't goin' ter fight yous about it, an' I'm not worryin' a mighty lot about you, Major, 'cause your little bit o' country's ready made for you. But Captin's different. We won't 'ave no fight about cash, Captin; but that last year's calf of the ol' keow's goin' ter be a pretty decent steer, an' when you gets yer farm 'e's goin' on it as yer first bit o'

stock. An' 'e'll get the best o' my gra.s.s till 'e goes."

"Rubbish!" said Bob, much embarra.s.sed. "Awfully good of you, Mr. Howard, but that wasn't the agreement. I know I'm not worth wages yet."

"Oh, ain't you?" Joe asked. "Well, there's two opinions about that.

Any'ow, 'e's yours, an' I've christened 'im Captin, so there ain't no way out of it." He rose, cutting short further protests. "Too much bloomin' argument about this camp; I'm off ter bed."

CHAPTER XII

ON INFLUENZA AND FURNITURE

"So you think he'll do, Jim?"

"Yes, I certainly do," Jim answered. He was sitting with his father in the smoking-room at Billabong, his long legs outstretched before the fire, and his great form half-concealed in the depths of an enormous leather armchair. "Of course he'll want guidance; you couldn't expect him to know much about stock yet, though he's certainly picked up a good bit."

"Yes--so it seems. His great point is his quick eye and his keenness. I haven't found him forget much."

"No, and he's awfully ashamed if he does. He's a tiger for work, and very quick at picking up the way to tackle any new job. That was one of the things that pleased old Joe about him. I fancy the old chap had suffered at the hands of other new-chums who reckoned they could teach him how to do his work. 'Captin ain't orffered me not one bit of advice,' he told me with relief."

Mr. Linton laughed.