Joe Wilson and His Mates [4]
started back to Solong.
I expected Jack to ask me what I thought of Mary -- but he didn't.
He squinted at me sideways once or twice and didn't say anything
for a long time, and then he started talking of other things.
I began to feel wild at him. He seemed so damnably satisfied with the way
things were going. He seemed to reckon that I was a gone case now;
but, as he didn't say so, I had no way of getting at him.
I felt sure he'd go home and tell his wife that Joe Wilson was properly gone
on little 'Possum at Haviland. That was all Jack's way.
Next morning we started to work. We were to build the buggy-house
at the back near the end of the old house, but first we had to take down
a rotten old place that might have been the original hut in the Bush
before the old house was built. There was a window in it,
opposite the laundry window in the old place, and the first thing I did
was to take out the sash. I'd noticed Jack yarning with 'Possum
before he started work. While I was at work at the window
he called me round to the other end of the hut to help him lift a grindstone
out of the way; and when we'd done it, he took the tips of my ear
between his fingers and thumb and stretched it and whispered into it --
`Don't hurry with that window, Joe; the strips are hardwood
and hard to get off -- you'll have to take the sash out very carefully
so as not to break the glass.' Then he stretched my ear a little more
and put his mouth closer --
`Make a looking-glass of that window, Joe,' he said.
I was used to Jack, and when I went back to the window I started to puzzle out
what he meant, and presently I saw it by chance.
That window reflected the laundry window: the room was dark inside
and there was a good clear reflection; and presently I saw Mary
come to the laundry window and stand with her hands behind her back,
thoughtfully watching me. The laundry window had an old-fashioned
hinged sash, and I like that sort of window -- there's more romance about it,
I think. There was thick dark-green ivy all round the window,
and Mary looked prettier than a picture. I squared up my shoulders
and put my heels together and put as much style as I could into the work.
I couldn't have turned round to save my life.
Presently Jack came round, and Mary disappeared.
`Well?' he whispered.
`You're a fool, Jack,' I said. `She's only interested in the old house
being pulled down.'
`That's all right,' he said. `I've been keeping an eye on the business
round the corner, and she ain't interested when I'M round this end.'
`You seem mighty interested in the business,' I said.
`Yes,' said Jack. `This sort of thing just suits a man of my rank
in times of peace.'
`What made you think of the window?' I asked.
`Oh, that's as simple as striking matches. I'm up to all those dodges.
Why, where there wasn't a window, I've fixed up a piece of looking-glass
to see if a girl was taking any notice of me when she thought
I wasn't looking.'
He went away, and presently Mary was at the window again, and this time
she had a tray with cups of tea and a plate of cake and bread-and-butter.
I was prizing off the strips that held the sash, very carefully,
and my heart suddenly commenced to gallop, without any reference to me.
I'd never felt like that before, except once or twice.
It was just as if I'd swallowed some clockwork arrangement,
unconsciously, and it had started to go, without warning.
I reckon it was all on account of that blarsted Jack working me up.
He had a quiet way of working you up to a thing, that made you want
to hit him sometimes -- after you'd made an ass of yourself.
I didn't hear Mary at first. I hoped Jack would come round and help me
out of the fix, but he didn't.
`Mr -- Mr Wilson!' said Mary. She had a sweet voice.
I turned round.
`I thought you and Mr Barnes might like a cup of tea.'
`Oh, thank you!' I said, and I made a dive for the window, as if hurry
would help it. I trod on an old cask-hoop; it sprang up and dinted my shin
and I
I expected Jack to ask me what I thought of Mary -- but he didn't.
He squinted at me sideways once or twice and didn't say anything
for a long time, and then he started talking of other things.
I began to feel wild at him. He seemed so damnably satisfied with the way
things were going. He seemed to reckon that I was a gone case now;
but, as he didn't say so, I had no way of getting at him.
I felt sure he'd go home and tell his wife that Joe Wilson was properly gone
on little 'Possum at Haviland. That was all Jack's way.
Next morning we started to work. We were to build the buggy-house
at the back near the end of the old house, but first we had to take down
a rotten old place that might have been the original hut in the Bush
before the old house was built. There was a window in it,
opposite the laundry window in the old place, and the first thing I did
was to take out the sash. I'd noticed Jack yarning with 'Possum
before he started work. While I was at work at the window
he called me round to the other end of the hut to help him lift a grindstone
out of the way; and when we'd done it, he took the tips of my ear
between his fingers and thumb and stretched it and whispered into it --
`Don't hurry with that window, Joe; the strips are hardwood
and hard to get off -- you'll have to take the sash out very carefully
so as not to break the glass.' Then he stretched my ear a little more
and put his mouth closer --
`Make a looking-glass of that window, Joe,' he said.
I was used to Jack, and when I went back to the window I started to puzzle out
what he meant, and presently I saw it by chance.
That window reflected the laundry window: the room was dark inside
and there was a good clear reflection; and presently I saw Mary
come to the laundry window and stand with her hands behind her back,
thoughtfully watching me. The laundry window had an old-fashioned
hinged sash, and I like that sort of window -- there's more romance about it,
I think. There was thick dark-green ivy all round the window,
and Mary looked prettier than a picture. I squared up my shoulders
and put my heels together and put as much style as I could into the work.
I couldn't have turned round to save my life.
Presently Jack came round, and Mary disappeared.
`Well?' he whispered.
`You're a fool, Jack,' I said. `She's only interested in the old house
being pulled down.'
`That's all right,' he said. `I've been keeping an eye on the business
round the corner, and she ain't interested when I'M round this end.'
`You seem mighty interested in the business,' I said.
`Yes,' said Jack. `This sort of thing just suits a man of my rank
in times of peace.'
`What made you think of the window?' I asked.
`Oh, that's as simple as striking matches. I'm up to all those dodges.
Why, where there wasn't a window, I've fixed up a piece of looking-glass
to see if a girl was taking any notice of me when she thought
I wasn't looking.'
He went away, and presently Mary was at the window again, and this time
she had a tray with cups of tea and a plate of cake and bread-and-butter.
I was prizing off the strips that held the sash, very carefully,
and my heart suddenly commenced to gallop, without any reference to me.
I'd never felt like that before, except once or twice.
It was just as if I'd swallowed some clockwork arrangement,
unconsciously, and it had started to go, without warning.
I reckon it was all on account of that blarsted Jack working me up.
He had a quiet way of working you up to a thing, that made you want
to hit him sometimes -- after you'd made an ass of yourself.
I didn't hear Mary at first. I hoped Jack would come round and help me
out of the fix, but he didn't.
`Mr -- Mr Wilson!' said Mary. She had a sweet voice.
I turned round.
`I thought you and Mr Barnes might like a cup of tea.'
`Oh, thank you!' I said, and I made a dive for the window, as if hurry
would help it. I trod on an old cask-hoop; it sprang up and dinted my shin
and I