Joe Wilson and His Mates [19]
be a row;
the old one had to be mended up, somehow, with string or wire.
If I got my hair cut, he'd want his cut too; and it always troubled him
to see me shave -- as if he thought there must be something wrong somewhere,
else he ought to have to be shaved too. I lathered him one day,
and pretended to shave him: he sat through it as solemn as an owl,
but didn't seem to appreciate it -- perhaps he had sense enough to know
that it couldn't possibly be the real thing. He felt his face,
looked very hard at the lather I scraped off, and whimpered,
`No blood, daddy!'
I used to cut myself a good deal: I was always impatient over shaving.
Then he went in to interview his mother about it. She understood his lingo
better than I did.
But I wasn't always at ease with him. Sometimes he'd sit
looking into the fire, with his head on one side, and I'd watch him and wonder
what he was thinking about (I might as well have wondered what a Chinaman
was thinking about) till he seemed at least twenty years older than me:
sometimes, when I moved or spoke, he'd glance round just as if to see
what that old fool of a dadda of his was doing now.
I used to have a fancy that there was something Eastern, or Asiatic --
something older than our civilisation or religion --
about old-fashioned children. Once I started to explain my idea
to a woman I thought would understand -- and as it happened
she had an old-fashioned child, with very slant eyes --
a little tartar he was too. I suppose it was the sight of him
that unconsciously reminded me of my infernal theory, and set me off on it,
without warning me. Anyhow, it got me mixed up in an awful row
with the woman and her husband -- and all their tribe.
It wasn't an easy thing to explain myself out of it, and the row
hasn't been fixed up yet. There were some Chinamen in the district.
I took a good-size fencing contract, the frontage of a ten-mile paddock,
near Gulgong, and did well out of it. The railway had got
as far as the Cudgeegong river -- some twenty miles from Gulgong
and two hundred from the coast -- and `carrying' was good then.
I had a couple of draught-horses, that I worked in the tip-drays
when I was tank-sinking, and one or two others running in the Bush.
I bought a broken-down waggon cheap, tinkered it up myself --
christened it `The Same Old Thing' -- and started carrying
from the railway terminus through Gulgong and along the bush roads and tracks
that branch out fanlike through the scrubs to the one-pub towns
and sheep and cattle stations out there in the howling wilderness.
It wasn't much of a team. There were the two heavy horses for `shafters';
a stunted colt, that I'd bought out of the pound for thirty shillings;
a light, spring-cart horse; an old grey mare, with points
like a big red-and-white Australian store bullock, and with
the grit of an old washerwoman to work; and a horse that had spanked along
in Cob & Co.'s mail-coach in his time. I had a couple there that didn't
belong to me: I worked them for the feeding of them in the dry weather.
And I had all sorts of harness, that I mended and fixed up myself.
It was a mixed team, but I took light stuff, got through pretty quick,
and freight rates were high. So I got along.
Before this, whenever I made a few pounds I'd sink a shaft somewhere,
prospecting for gold; but Mary never let me rest till she talked me
out of that.
I made up my mind to take on a small selection farm --
that an old mate of mine had fenced in and cleared, and afterwards
chucked up -- about thirty miles out west of Gulgong, at a place
called Lahey's Creek. (The places were all called Lahey's Creek,
or Spicer's Flat, or Murphy's Flat, or Ryan's Crossing, or some such name --
round there.) I reckoned I'd have a run for the horses and be able to grow
a bit of feed. I always had a dread of taking Mary and the children
too far away from a doctor -- or a good woman neighbour;
but there were some people came to live on Lahey's Creek,
and besides, there was a young brother of Mary's
the old one had to be mended up, somehow, with string or wire.
If I got my hair cut, he'd want his cut too; and it always troubled him
to see me shave -- as if he thought there must be something wrong somewhere,
else he ought to have to be shaved too. I lathered him one day,
and pretended to shave him: he sat through it as solemn as an owl,
but didn't seem to appreciate it -- perhaps he had sense enough to know
that it couldn't possibly be the real thing. He felt his face,
looked very hard at the lather I scraped off, and whimpered,
`No blood, daddy!'
I used to cut myself a good deal: I was always impatient over shaving.
Then he went in to interview his mother about it. She understood his lingo
better than I did.
But I wasn't always at ease with him. Sometimes he'd sit
looking into the fire, with his head on one side, and I'd watch him and wonder
what he was thinking about (I might as well have wondered what a Chinaman
was thinking about) till he seemed at least twenty years older than me:
sometimes, when I moved or spoke, he'd glance round just as if to see
what that old fool of a dadda of his was doing now.
I used to have a fancy that there was something Eastern, or Asiatic --
something older than our civilisation or religion --
about old-fashioned children. Once I started to explain my idea
to a woman I thought would understand -- and as it happened
she had an old-fashioned child, with very slant eyes --
a little tartar he was too. I suppose it was the sight of him
that unconsciously reminded me of my infernal theory, and set me off on it,
without warning me. Anyhow, it got me mixed up in an awful row
with the woman and her husband -- and all their tribe.
It wasn't an easy thing to explain myself out of it, and the row
hasn't been fixed up yet. There were some Chinamen in the district.
I took a good-size fencing contract, the frontage of a ten-mile paddock,
near Gulgong, and did well out of it. The railway had got
as far as the Cudgeegong river -- some twenty miles from Gulgong
and two hundred from the coast -- and `carrying' was good then.
I had a couple of draught-horses, that I worked in the tip-drays
when I was tank-sinking, and one or two others running in the Bush.
I bought a broken-down waggon cheap, tinkered it up myself --
christened it `The Same Old Thing' -- and started carrying
from the railway terminus through Gulgong and along the bush roads and tracks
that branch out fanlike through the scrubs to the one-pub towns
and sheep and cattle stations out there in the howling wilderness.
It wasn't much of a team. There were the two heavy horses for `shafters';
a stunted colt, that I'd bought out of the pound for thirty shillings;
a light, spring-cart horse; an old grey mare, with points
like a big red-and-white Australian store bullock, and with
the grit of an old washerwoman to work; and a horse that had spanked along
in Cob & Co.'s mail-coach in his time. I had a couple there that didn't
belong to me: I worked them for the feeding of them in the dry weather.
And I had all sorts of harness, that I mended and fixed up myself.
It was a mixed team, but I took light stuff, got through pretty quick,
and freight rates were high. So I got along.
Before this, whenever I made a few pounds I'd sink a shaft somewhere,
prospecting for gold; but Mary never let me rest till she talked me
out of that.
I made up my mind to take on a small selection farm --
that an old mate of mine had fenced in and cleared, and afterwards
chucked up -- about thirty miles out west of Gulgong, at a place
called Lahey's Creek. (The places were all called Lahey's Creek,
or Spicer's Flat, or Murphy's Flat, or Ryan's Crossing, or some such name --
round there.) I reckoned I'd have a run for the horses and be able to grow
a bit of feed. I always had a dread of taking Mary and the children
too far away from a doctor -- or a good woman neighbour;
but there were some people came to live on Lahey's Creek,
and besides, there was a young brother of Mary's