Joe Wilson and His Mates [80]
the trip; but now that it was over it was a different thing.
`I'm not a teetotaller, Jack,' he said. `I can take a glass or leave it.'
And he called for a long beer, and we drank `Here's luck!' to each other.
`Well,' I said, `I wish I could take a glass or leave it.' And I meant it.
Then the Boss spoke as I'd never heard him speak before. I thought
for the moment that the one drink had affected him; but I understood
before the night was over. He laid his hand on my shoulder with a grip
like a man who has suddenly made up his mind to lend you five pounds.
`Jack!' he said, `there's worse things than drinking, and there's worse things
than heavy smoking. When a man who smokes gets such a load of trouble on him
that he can find no comfort in his pipe, then it's a heavy load.
And when a man who drinks gets so deep into trouble that he can find
no comfort in liquor, then it's deep trouble. Take my tip for it, Jack.'
He broke off, and half turned away with a jerk of his head,
as if impatient with himself; then presently he spoke
in his usual quiet tone --
`But you're only a boy yet, Jack. Never mind me. I won't ask you
to take the second drink. You don't want it; and, besides, I know the signs.'
He paused, leaning with both hands on the edge of the counter,
and looking down between his arms at the floor. He stood that way
thinking for a while; then he suddenly straightened up,
like a man who'd made up his mind to something.
`I want you to come along home with me, Jack,' he said;
`we'll fix you a shake-down.'
I forgot to tell you that he was married and lived in Bathurst.
`But won't it put Mrs Head about?'
`Not at all. She's expecting you. Come along; there's nothing to see
in Bathurst, and you'll have plenty of knocking round in Sydney.
Come on, we'll just be in time for tea.'
He lived in a brick cottage on the outskirts of the town --
an old-fashioned cottage, with ivy and climbing roses,
like you see in some of those old settled districts. There was,
I remember, the stump of a tree in front, covered with ivy
till it looked like a giant's club with the thick end up.
When we got to the house the Boss paused a minute with his hand on the gate.
He'd been home a couple of days, having ridden in ahead of the bullocks.
`Jack,' he said, `I must tell you that Mrs Head had a great trouble
at one time. We -- we lost our two children. It does her good
to talk to a stranger now and again -- she's always better afterwards;
but there's very few I care to bring. You -- you needn't notice
anything strange. And agree with her, Jack. You know, Jack.'
`That's all right, Boss,' I said. I'd knocked about the Bush too long,
and run against too many strange characters and things,
to be surprised at anything much.
The door opened, and he took a little woman in his arms.
I saw by the light of a lamp in the room behind that the woman's hair
was grey, and I reckoned that he had his mother living with him.
And -- we do have odd thoughts at odd times in a flash -- and I wondered
how Mrs Head and her mother-in-law got on together. But the next minute
I was in the room, and introduced to `My wife, Mrs Head,'
and staring at her with both eyes.
It was his wife. I don't think I can describe her. For the first
minute or two, coming in out of the dark and before my eyes
got used to the lamp-light, I had an impression as of a little old woman
-- one of those fresh-faced, well-preserved, little old ladies --
who dressed young, wore false teeth, and aped the giddy girl.
But this was because of Mrs Head's impulsive welcome of me, and her grey hair.
The hair was not so grey as I thought at first, seeing it with the lamp-light
behind it: it was like dull-brown hair lightly dusted with flour.
She wore it short, and it became her that way. There was something
aristocratic about her face -- her nose and chin -- I fancied,
and something that you couldn't describe. She had big dark eyes --
dark-brown, I thought, though they might have been hazel:
they were
`I'm not a teetotaller, Jack,' he said. `I can take a glass or leave it.'
And he called for a long beer, and we drank `Here's luck!' to each other.
`Well,' I said, `I wish I could take a glass or leave it.' And I meant it.
Then the Boss spoke as I'd never heard him speak before. I thought
for the moment that the one drink had affected him; but I understood
before the night was over. He laid his hand on my shoulder with a grip
like a man who has suddenly made up his mind to lend you five pounds.
`Jack!' he said, `there's worse things than drinking, and there's worse things
than heavy smoking. When a man who smokes gets such a load of trouble on him
that he can find no comfort in his pipe, then it's a heavy load.
And when a man who drinks gets so deep into trouble that he can find
no comfort in liquor, then it's deep trouble. Take my tip for it, Jack.'
He broke off, and half turned away with a jerk of his head,
as if impatient with himself; then presently he spoke
in his usual quiet tone --
`But you're only a boy yet, Jack. Never mind me. I won't ask you
to take the second drink. You don't want it; and, besides, I know the signs.'
He paused, leaning with both hands on the edge of the counter,
and looking down between his arms at the floor. He stood that way
thinking for a while; then he suddenly straightened up,
like a man who'd made up his mind to something.
`I want you to come along home with me, Jack,' he said;
`we'll fix you a shake-down.'
I forgot to tell you that he was married and lived in Bathurst.
`But won't it put Mrs Head about?'
`Not at all. She's expecting you. Come along; there's nothing to see
in Bathurst, and you'll have plenty of knocking round in Sydney.
Come on, we'll just be in time for tea.'
He lived in a brick cottage on the outskirts of the town --
an old-fashioned cottage, with ivy and climbing roses,
like you see in some of those old settled districts. There was,
I remember, the stump of a tree in front, covered with ivy
till it looked like a giant's club with the thick end up.
When we got to the house the Boss paused a minute with his hand on the gate.
He'd been home a couple of days, having ridden in ahead of the bullocks.
`Jack,' he said, `I must tell you that Mrs Head had a great trouble
at one time. We -- we lost our two children. It does her good
to talk to a stranger now and again -- she's always better afterwards;
but there's very few I care to bring. You -- you needn't notice
anything strange. And agree with her, Jack. You know, Jack.'
`That's all right, Boss,' I said. I'd knocked about the Bush too long,
and run against too many strange characters and things,
to be surprised at anything much.
The door opened, and he took a little woman in his arms.
I saw by the light of a lamp in the room behind that the woman's hair
was grey, and I reckoned that he had his mother living with him.
And -- we do have odd thoughts at odd times in a flash -- and I wondered
how Mrs Head and her mother-in-law got on together. But the next minute
I was in the room, and introduced to `My wife, Mrs Head,'
and staring at her with both eyes.
It was his wife. I don't think I can describe her. For the first
minute or two, coming in out of the dark and before my eyes
got used to the lamp-light, I had an impression as of a little old woman
-- one of those fresh-faced, well-preserved, little old ladies --
who dressed young, wore false teeth, and aped the giddy girl.
But this was because of Mrs Head's impulsive welcome of me, and her grey hair.
The hair was not so grey as I thought at first, seeing it with the lamp-light
behind it: it was like dull-brown hair lightly dusted with flour.
She wore it short, and it became her that way. There was something
aristocratic about her face -- her nose and chin -- I fancied,
and something that you couldn't describe. She had big dark eyes --
dark-brown, I thought, though they might have been hazel:
they were