"Poor devil!" soliloquised the squatter, filling the gla.s.s for himself.

"He's a bad lot--a d----n bad lot--a d---nation bad lot. Bitter, vindictive sort of man. You're familiar, like myself, with Shakespear; now, Morris reminds me of t.i.tus Andronicus.--Better luck, boys."

"Thank you, Mr. Stewart."

"Thank you, Mr. Stewart."

"This t.i.tus, as you may remember, was expelled from Athens by the people, after they had elected him consul. They could n't stand his d----d pride.

He took up his abode in a cave, and, for the rest of his life, met every overture of friendship with taunts and insults. Even in his epitaph, written by himself:--

Here rests his head upon the lap of earth----

"Now, d---n it, I committed those lines to memory--ay, forty-five years ago.

I wish I could recall them."

"I think I can repeat the pa.s.sage, Mr. Stewart," said I modestly:--

Here lies a wretched corse, of wretched soul bereft; Seek not his name. A plague consume you wicked catiffs left.

Here lie I, Timon, who, alive, all living men did hate.

Pa.s.s on, and curse thy fill, but pa.s.s, and stay not here thy gait.

"Good," replied the squatter--all his hurry forgotten in the fascination of profitless gossip. "Now there you have Morris to the very life.

Hopeless d----d case!"

"But the misanthropy of the Shakespearean hero was not without cause, Mr. Stewart," I urged. "Given certain rigorous circ.u.mstances, acting on a given temperament, and you have a practically inevitable sequence--perhaps a pious faith; perhaps a philosophic calm; perhaps an intensified selfishness; perhaps a sullen despair--in fact, the variety of possible results corresponds exactly with the variety of possible circ.u.mstances and temperaments. In the case of the Greek misanthrope, the factor of temperament is first carefully stated; then the factor of circ.u.mstances is brought into operation; then the genius of the dramatist supplies the resultant revolution of moral being, in such a manner as to excite sympathy rather than reprobation. Reasoning from cause to effect, we see the inevitableness of the issue. But in Morris's case, we must reason from effect to cause. We see a certain outcome"----

"D----d unmistakably," muttered the squatter.

----"And it rests with us to account for this from prior conditions of temperament and circ.u.mstances. Then we shall have, so to speak, the second and third terms; and from these it won't be difficult, I think, to calculate the term which should antecede them, namely, temperament.

Morris is a widower. His wife was a magnificent singer, and, in a general way, one of those tawny-haired tigresses who leave their mark on a man's life, and are much better left alone"----

"Has he any children?" asked Stewart.

"Well, no; these tawny-haired tigresses don't have children. Anyway, she died some ten years ago; but at the time of her death they had been separated for about three years."

"They could n't have been living long together; or else he married young,"

suggested Stewart.

"No, they were n't long together: but Alf is a man of peculiar moral const.i.tution; he frets a lot over her memory; loves and hates her at the same time. Secondary to this, is a misunderstanding with his father, which caused Alf to clear off, leaving the old man to mind everything himself.

Of course, I'm only giving you the heads; and my information is derived from no random hearsay, but is obtained by an intransmissible power of induction, rare in our times."

"Thought as much!" muttered Stewart.

"It remains, then," I continued, "to determine the temperament which, acted upon by these circ.u.mstances, has given the result which is already before us. Now, I think that that temperament, though, perhaps, tending to the volcanic, must have been a sensitive and an amiable one; however it may have soured and hardened into misanthropy and avarice. We can't all be philosophers, Mr. Stewart."

"If there's one thing I hate like (sheol)" replied the squatter gravely, "it is the quoting of Scripture as against my fellow-creature; but, d--n it, we are told that 'when the righteous man turneth away from his righteousness, and committeth iniquity all the days of his vanity which G.o.d giveth him under the sun, he shall be likened unto a foolish man that built his house upon the sand.' You know the rest. If we take upon us to judge Morris at all, we must judge him as he is. Your judgment is generous, but nonsensical; mine is rational, but churlish--d-----d churlish." He paused, in evident discomfort, flicked a roley-poley with his whip, and continued.

"You know, I had him on Kooltopa for a couple of months, bringing in pine logs, when Barker's sawing-plant was there. Well, without going into details----Capable fellow, too; fine combination of a cultivated man and an experienced rough-and-ready bushman. Strictly honest, also, I think--only for his d--nable disposition."

"Doctor Johnson liked a good hater," I suggested sadly, for it was evident that my unfortunate protege had already, in his own peculiar way, recommended himself to Stewart.

You can imagine, by that circ.u.mstance alone, what a strong tincture of venom was held in solution by this feeble tenant of an hour. Indeed, if the matter had rested with the squatters, they would have starved him out of Riverina by industrial boycott. But the in-transport of wool, and the out-transport of goods, are cares that, as a rule, fall to the lot of the forwarding firms; and these resemble George IV., in having no predilections (though, let us hope, the similarity ceases here).

Hence, the jolly good soul of a carrier, with lots of spring in him--the man who seldom buys any groceries, whose breath often smells like broached grog-cargo, and who makes a joke of camping for a few weeks with a load on his wagon--is very naturally pa.s.sed over in favour of the misanthrope who neither asks nor gives quarter. And the personal popularity of the latter with his own guild is not enhanced by this preference.

"Doctor Johnson be d----d!" replied the squatter warmly. "What is his dictum worth? What the (sheol) ent.i.tled him, for instance, to sneer at the very element of population that has made Britain a nation? You know what I allude to? Now, speaking with strict impartiality, it strikes me d-----d forcibly that the finest prospect England ever saw is the road that leads from Scotland." He checked himself, and continued in a gentler tone.

"That just reminds me of a very able article I read some time ago--I think it was in Blackwood's. The writer proves that your Shakespear must have imbibed his genius, to a great extent, in Scotland. He grounds his argument partly--and I think, justly--on the fact that the best play in the collection is a purely Scottish one. He makes a d-----d strong point, I remember, of the expression, 'blasted heath.' 'Say from whence, upon this blasted heath you stop our way, making night hideous?'----and so forth."

"Yes," I replied mechanically. And then, avoiding the eye of the grand old saint, and hating myself as a buffoon, I continued, "My own conjecture is that something must have occurred to irritate the dramatist whilst he was writing that pa.s.sage, and the expression slipped from his pen unawares."

"Never!" replied Stewart. "No man under the influence of petty irritation ever wrote anything like the pa.s.sage where that expression occurs.

Criticism is not your forte, Collins. The writer I'm speaking of sees a landscape photographed in those two words. Pardon me for saying that your talent seems to run more in the line of low-comedy acting. I don't like referring to it again, but d--n it all, my interest in you personally makes me feel very strongly over your interview with this Tom Armstrong."

"Indeed, Mr. Stewart, I can't tell you how sorry I am to have fallen in your estimation. But you were speaking of Alf Morris when I unfortunately drew you from the subject."

"Ay. To return to Morris. Do you know how he came to leave the Bland country, some five or six years ago?"

"Well, yes," I replied reluctantly; "rates are a lot higher here than there."

"Did you ever hear that he shot anyone? A boundary rider, for instance?"

"The kernel of truth in that report, Mr. Stewart, is that he spoke of a certain boundary rider as a man that deserved shooting."

"How do you know?"

"Well, in the first place, I'm only allowing for fair average growth in the report; and in the second place, when a person shoots a boundary man, he's not allowed to just change his district, and go his way in peace."

"Sometimes he is. I'll tell you how it happened with Morris." And the man who had a profanely long stage before him settled into an easy position, his heels on top of the splash-board, and his arms behind the back of the seat, whilst Bob held the reins. "It was on Mirrabooka. O'Grady Brothers had owned the place for a few years; but they were careless and intemperate, great lovers of racehorses, and d--d extravagant all round"----

"Familiar faults with people named O'Grady," I remarked.

"You're perfectly right. They got involved, and had to sell the place.

Prescott bought it; and it was about a month after he had taken possession that the thing occurred. During the O'Grady's time, the bullock drivers had made a d----d thoroughfare of the run, zigzagging from one tank to another, and pa.s.sing close to the home station. Prescott determined to put a stop to this. He locked all the gates on the track, and secured the tanks with cattle-proof fences, and kept his men foxing the teams day and night; and along with all this, he prosecuted right and left.

D----d hard on the bullockies, of course, and far from generous on Prescott's part; but it acted as a check; and in a couple of months the track was closed for good. However, just in the thick of the trouble, Morris crossed the run, and, of course, fared neither better nor worse than the rest. One evening he was seen taking down a fence and camping at a new tank, a couple of miles from the homestead; and at nine or ten o'clock that night he rode up to the station, and asked to see Mr. Prescott. When Prescott appeared, Morris drew him aside and told him, as cool as a d-----d cuc.u.mber, that he wanted to make a deposition before him, as a magistrate, to the effect that he had just shot a man for attempting to remove his bullocks. Prescott refused to take the deposition just then; but he had a pair of horses put in a wagonette, and took the storekeeper with him, to accompany Morris to where the thing had happened.

When they got there, d--n the sign of a body could they find; but Morris showed them the spot, and strictly charged them to note it well.

Then he refused to have anything more to do with the d--d business, and went after his bells, while Prescott and the other fellow returned to the station, cooeeing and listening as they went. They overtook the man on the way, with a revolver bullet-hole through his arm, and the bullet lodged in his side. Of course, he was one of the station men--I forget his name at the present moment, but it's no matter. When they got the chap home, and found there was nothing dangerous, Prescott had his horse saddled at once, and followed the track till he came to Morris's wagon; from there he went to the bells, and found Morris minding his bullocks. They had a long conference, and Prescott went home. Next morning, Morris continued his journey; and when he unloaded--about sixty miles this side of Mirrabooka--he came right on to Riverina. Now, Collins; you put a d----d big value on your ac.u.men, and your sagacity, and your penetration, and all the rest of it--What do you make of that story? Mind, I vouch for the truth of it."

"There's a hitch somewhere, Mr. Stewart."

"Confess you're at fault, d--n you!"

"I am at fault--for once."

"Good," replied the squatter complacently. "Now I'll give you the key.

When the O'Gradys sold the station, there was a 200 tank nearly finished, but not paid for; and somehow (d----d if I know how people can make such blunders!)--somehow this tank was overlooked in the valuation.

Prescott considered that the terms of sale included the tank, the liability being still on the O'Gradys; while they imagined that the whole transaction was taken off their hands. If the truth must be told, Prescott tried to do a sharp thing, under the cloak of an oversight; and the O'Gradys checkmated him with a d----d sight sharper thing.

In this way. Their last action, while the station remained in their power, was to transfer the tank to the Department, on condition that a section of land should be reserved round it. The Department accepted it on these terms, and struck the section off the Mirrabooka a.s.sessment; but Prescott got wind of the thing before it was gazetted, and was moving heaven and earth to secure the reserve, just at the time Morris camped there.

How Morris came by this information beats the devil; but, of course, all he had to say to Prescott was, 'I caught some d----d scoundrel stealing my bullocks by night off the Government reserve close by here.

I tried without effect to get them from him peaceably; and I was compelled to stop him by force. I was careful to ask him if he was a Government official; but, d--n it, he gave me an insulting answer; then, knowing him to be a cattle-thief at large, I shot him in the act of felony.'

It did n't suit Prescott to stir-up the question of the reserve just at that time-so what the (sheol) could he do? And, in any case, Morris was within his legal rights; the reserve was as free to him as to Prescott; and, d--n it all, stock must be protected. Curious case altogether.

Of course, Prescott afterward got the land secured quietly. But just think of the cold-blooded calculation and d----d unscrupulousness of Morris.