Joe Wilson and His Mates [49]
you could take out the pole and put in
the shafts, and there you were. There was a tilt over the front seat;
if you only wanted the buggy to carry two, you could fold down the back seat,
and there you had a handsome, roomy, single buggy. It would go
near fifty pounds.
While I was looking at it, Bill Galletly came in, and slapped me on the back.
`Now, there's a chance for you, Joe!' he said. `I saw you
rubbing your head round that buggy the last time you were in.
You wouldn't get a better one in the colonies, and you won't see
another like it in the district again in a hurry -- for it doesn't pay
to build 'em. Now you're a full-blown squatter, and it's time
you took little Mary for a fly round in her own buggy now and then,
instead of having her stuck out there in the scrub, or jolting
through the dust in a cart like some old Mother Flourbag.'
He called her `little Mary' because the Galletly family had known her
when she was a girl.
I rubbed my head and looked at the buggy again. It was a great temptation.
`Look here, Joe,' said Bill Galletly in a quieter tone.
`I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll let YOU have the buggy.
You can take it out and send along a bit of a cheque
when you feel you can manage it, and the rest later on, --
a year will do, or even two years. You've had a hard pull,
and I'm not likely to be hard up for money in a hurry.'
They were good fellows the Galletlys, but they knew their men.
I happened to know that Bill Galletly wouldn't let the man
he built the buggy for take it out of the shop without cash down,
though he was a big-bug round there. But that didn't make it easier for me.
Just then Robert Galletly came into the shop. He was rather quieter
than his brother, but the two were very much alike.
`Look here, Bob,' said Bill; `here's a chance for you
to get rid of your harness. Joe Wilson's going to take that buggy
off my hands.'
Bob Galletly put his foot up on a saw-stool, took one hand out of his pockets,
rested his elbow on his knee and his chin on the palm of his hand,
and bunched up his big beard with his fingers, as he always did
when he was thinking. Presently he took his foot down,
put his hand back in his pocket, and said to me, `Well, Joe, I've got
a double set of harness made for the man who ordered that damned buggy,
and if you like I'll let you have it. I suppose when Bill there
has squeezed all he can out of you I'll stand a show of getting something.
He's a regular Shylock, he is.'
I pushed my hat forward and rubbed the back of my head and stared
at the buggy.
`Come across to the Royal, Joe,' said Bob.
But I knew that a beer would settle the business, so I said
I'd get the wool up to the station first and think it over,
and have a drink when I came back.
I thought it over on the way to the station, but it didn't seem good enough.
I wanted to get some more sheep, and there was the new run to be fenced in,
and the instalments on the selections. I wanted lots of things
that I couldn't well do without. Then, again, the farther I got away
from debt and hard-upedness the greater the horror I had of it.
I had two horses that would do; but I'd have to get another later on,
and altogether the buggy would run me nearer a hundred than fifty pounds.
Supposing a dry season threw me back with that buggy on my hands.
Besides, I wanted a spell. If I got the buggy it would only mean
an extra turn of hard graft for me. No, I'd take Mary for a trip to Sydney,
and she'd have to be satisfied with that.
I'd got it settled, and was just turning in through the big white gates
to the goods-shed when young Black, the squatter, dashed past the station
in his big new waggonette, with his wife and a driver
and a lot of portmanteaus and rugs and things. They were going
to do the grand in Sydney over Christmas. Now it was young Black
who was so shook after Mary when she was in service with the Blacks
before the old man died, and if I hadn't come along --
and if girls never cared for vagabonds -- Mary would have
the shafts, and there you were. There was a tilt over the front seat;
if you only wanted the buggy to carry two, you could fold down the back seat,
and there you had a handsome, roomy, single buggy. It would go
near fifty pounds.
While I was looking at it, Bill Galletly came in, and slapped me on the back.
`Now, there's a chance for you, Joe!' he said. `I saw you
rubbing your head round that buggy the last time you were in.
You wouldn't get a better one in the colonies, and you won't see
another like it in the district again in a hurry -- for it doesn't pay
to build 'em. Now you're a full-blown squatter, and it's time
you took little Mary for a fly round in her own buggy now and then,
instead of having her stuck out there in the scrub, or jolting
through the dust in a cart like some old Mother Flourbag.'
He called her `little Mary' because the Galletly family had known her
when she was a girl.
I rubbed my head and looked at the buggy again. It was a great temptation.
`Look here, Joe,' said Bill Galletly in a quieter tone.
`I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll let YOU have the buggy.
You can take it out and send along a bit of a cheque
when you feel you can manage it, and the rest later on, --
a year will do, or even two years. You've had a hard pull,
and I'm not likely to be hard up for money in a hurry.'
They were good fellows the Galletlys, but they knew their men.
I happened to know that Bill Galletly wouldn't let the man
he built the buggy for take it out of the shop without cash down,
though he was a big-bug round there. But that didn't make it easier for me.
Just then Robert Galletly came into the shop. He was rather quieter
than his brother, but the two were very much alike.
`Look here, Bob,' said Bill; `here's a chance for you
to get rid of your harness. Joe Wilson's going to take that buggy
off my hands.'
Bob Galletly put his foot up on a saw-stool, took one hand out of his pockets,
rested his elbow on his knee and his chin on the palm of his hand,
and bunched up his big beard with his fingers, as he always did
when he was thinking. Presently he took his foot down,
put his hand back in his pocket, and said to me, `Well, Joe, I've got
a double set of harness made for the man who ordered that damned buggy,
and if you like I'll let you have it. I suppose when Bill there
has squeezed all he can out of you I'll stand a show of getting something.
He's a regular Shylock, he is.'
I pushed my hat forward and rubbed the back of my head and stared
at the buggy.
`Come across to the Royal, Joe,' said Bob.
But I knew that a beer would settle the business, so I said
I'd get the wool up to the station first and think it over,
and have a drink when I came back.
I thought it over on the way to the station, but it didn't seem good enough.
I wanted to get some more sheep, and there was the new run to be fenced in,
and the instalments on the selections. I wanted lots of things
that I couldn't well do without. Then, again, the farther I got away
from debt and hard-upedness the greater the horror I had of it.
I had two horses that would do; but I'd have to get another later on,
and altogether the buggy would run me nearer a hundred than fifty pounds.
Supposing a dry season threw me back with that buggy on my hands.
Besides, I wanted a spell. If I got the buggy it would only mean
an extra turn of hard graft for me. No, I'd take Mary for a trip to Sydney,
and she'd have to be satisfied with that.
I'd got it settled, and was just turning in through the big white gates
to the goods-shed when young Black, the squatter, dashed past the station
in his big new waggonette, with his wife and a driver
and a lot of portmanteaus and rugs and things. They were going
to do the grand in Sydney over Christmas. Now it was young Black
who was so shook after Mary when she was in service with the Blacks
before the old man died, and if I hadn't come along --
and if girls never cared for vagabonds -- Mary would have