WALLY
But when the world went wild with Spring
What days we had! Do you forget?
—V. J. Daley.
BEFORE the homestead the lawn stretched smoothly away, its green expanse broken here and there by a gay flower bed or a mass of shrubbery. Tall palms tossed their feathery heads aloft, above lower growing roses and tumbling masses of creepers. The mellow brick of the house itself was half concealed beneath a mantle of ivy and Virginia creeper, while, on the verandah posts, masses of tecoma and bougainvillæa made a blaze of colour. Beyond the garden fence the water of the lagoon could be seen—a blue gleam, studded with lazily swimming waterfowl. Further off, the yellow grass seemed to tremble under a mist of shimmering heat.
Jim came in from the paddocks, welcoming the silent coolness of the house after the blazing sun of the parched outer world. No one was visible in any of the rooms into which he poked an inquiring head. Finally the sound of Wally’s laugh guided him to the side verandah, and he made his way thither through the French windows of the breakfast-room.
It was always cool on the side verandah after the morning sun had considerately mounted so high that a great pine tree flung its shade across that part of the house. The verandah was very wide, with a low trellis fencing it in from the lawn. Just now its lattice work was covered with nasturtiums and sweet peas, which even sent intrusive tendrils creeping across the red tiles of the floor. On the posts hung clusters of climbing roses, so thick that all the verandah seemed a bower, the green of the garden blending with the ferns that were planted in tubs here and there. Rugs lay on the tiles, and here were tables, littered with books and magazines, and big rush easy chairs and lounges, made more inviting by red cushions. Altogether, the side verandah was a pleasant place, and the Billabong folk were accustomed to spend a great deal of time there in the summer days and the long, hot evenings.
Norah and Jean were at present occupying a wide lounge, the former curled up in a corner, sewing violently at a rent in one of Jim’s white coats, while Jean spread herself over the remaining portion, with a book in her hand, to which she was paying very little attention. Wally, at full length on another couch, was discoursing on many topics, in his own cheerful way, to the huge delight of Mrs. Brown, whose affection for him was unbounded. A huge bowl of peas was in her lap, and Wally was resting after the fatigue of assisting her to shell them.
“Here’s old Jimmy!” he said, as Jim’s long form came through the French window. “You look warm, old man. Have this couch, won’t you?”
“Couldn’t think of turning you out, old chap,” Jim answered grinning.
“I was always a beggar to struggle,” said Wally, thankfully settling himself anew. “Fearful visions were in my mind of how I should bear it if you should accept my heroic offer. Is it warm outside, Jim?”
“Warm!” said Jim, briefly expressive. He dropped into an easy chair, carefully casting the cushions far from him—cushions not being part of his creed. “It’s a fierce day. I don’t envy Dad and the men, tailing into Cunjee behind those cattle.”
“Did you go far with them, Jim?” Norah asked.
“No—only to the second gate. They didn’t need me at all; only Dad wanted to give me directions about some bullocks he wants moved. We’ll have to do that presently, Wal.”
“Certainly,” said Wally, affably. “Judging by my feelings just now, I don’t think I’ll be alive presently, so I can promise without any trouble. Are there many, James, and is it far?”
“Only two, worse luck,” Jim answered. “Two can generally be relied upon to give more trouble than two hundred. It isn’t far, but you can be pretty certain that they’ll make it far.”
“Cheerful brute you are!” Wally ejaculated. “Well, I’m ready any time you are, old man, though I think it would be kind to the cattle not to disturb them until the cool of the evening!”
“I like your kind forethought for the bullocks,” Jim told him, laughing. “They’d appreciate it, I know. You’ll end up as a philanthropist, if you’re not careful, Wally. Unfortunately we’ve a job with the sheep for the time you mention, so the cattle must come first—it’s very certain that we wouldn’t get a move out of the sheep just now.”
Wally sighed heavily.
“It’s a laborious life I lead,” he said, stretching his long limbs on the couch. “I come up here with beautiful hopes of getting fat, and I always go back about two stone lighter. Norah, I wish you wouldn’t sew so hard; it makes a fellow ache to see you.”
“Jim will ache if this coat isn’t ready,” said Norah, stitching vigorously. “His coats are in a dreadful state—there isn’t one cool one that doesn’t need mending. As far as Brownie and I can tell he seems to have locked them away carefully whenever he tore them. Why did you do it, Jimmy?”
“An’ me ready an’ willin’ as ever was to mend ’em,” Brownie said; “an’ now Miss Norah’s doin’ of it, poor lamb! Why did you, Master Jim?”
“Blessed if I know,” said Jim, somewhat embarrassed. “I didn’t know the jolly things weren’t all right. Sorry—but it’s ripping practice for you, Nor., all the same. You can tell old Miss Winter I kept you up to the mark with your needle!”
“M-f!” said Norah, with much scorn in the terse remark. “In the circumstances, Brownie, does he deserve a cool drink?”
“He don’t, but I expect he’ll have to get it,” said Brownie, laughing. She rose with the deliberate majesty that pertains to seventeen stone. “There’s a new brew of lemonade coolin’ in the cellar, and I’ll bring a jug along.”
“Bless you, Brownie, you’re my best friend,” said Jim. “You needn’t bring any for the others—they haven’t earned it.”
“Haven’t I!” said Wally, indignantly. “Why, I’ve shelled peas until my brain reeled! And I believe it’s hotter to be inside on a day like this than out in the paddocks, so you needn’t be superior, James.” He stretched himself, letting one brown hand fall on the railing of the verandah. “I don’t think——”
He broke off suddenly, twisted himself off the lounge, and was on his feet with one quick movement. Jim’s stock whip dangled from the arm of his chair; Wally snatched it and struck furiously at a lithe form that slid off the railing with a sinuous wriggle, and fell to the ground beneath. The boy vaulted over the trellis as it fell, and thrashed violently among the nasturtiums below. It was all done so quickly that the others were scarcely on their feet before he hooked the still writhing body of a black snake out of the creepers, and tossed it out on to the lawn.
“You didn’t lose much time, young Wally!” said Jim, approvingly. “Fancy that brute getting up here! Lucky you spotted him.”
“ ’M,” said Wally. Something in his tone made Norah swing round sharply.
“Wally! He didn’t bite you?”
“He did then,” said Wally. Something of the colour had died out of his tanned face, but his voice was steady.
“Old man!” said Jim. Then he shut his lips tightly, and dived into his pocket for his knife.
Wally took the verandah steps in one stride, and was beside him.
“I’ll do the chopping,” he said. “Lend me that, old chap. Is it sharp?”
Jim nodded.
“Slip round to Brownie,” he said, sharply, to Norah. “She knows where the permanganate is—there’s some in the store, and some in the office.” Norah’s racing feet sounded in the hall almost before he had spoken, and he turned back to his chum.
“Would you rather do it, old man?” he asked.
Wally nodded, without speaking. There were two punctures plainly visible on the lean hand he steadied on the verandah rail.
“Parallel cuts,” said Jim. “Quick, Wal.” He flung a hasty command over his shoulder to Jean. “The men are at the stables—tell them I want the dog-cart with the cobs, as hard as they can tear!”
The knife was razor-edged, and Wally did not flinch. He cut deep and quickly, the blood spurting in the track of the blade. Jim was already busy with a ligature on his arm, tightening it with a stick twisted almost to breaking point. As the last cut went home, and Wally put down the knife, Jim caught his hand and bent down to it. Wally uttered a sharp exclamation, struggling.
“Get out, you old idiot! I’ll suck my own blessed hand!”
He tried to wrench his hand away, but the grasp on his wrist was iron. Jim’s lips were on the wound, sucking it furiously.
“Oh, Lord, I wish you wouldn’t!” said Wally, miserably. “I can do it perfectly well myself; and you may have a scratch about your mouth. For goodness sake, stop it, old man! What’s the good of two of us getting the dose?”
Jim, being otherwise engaged, did not answer. He continued his operations strenuously, deaf to Wally’s entreaties, until Norah came flying back with Brownie in the rear.
“Here are the crystals, Jim!”
The boy caught at the little bottle. Then he saw Brownie’s distressed face, and gave them to her.
“You get ’em ready,” he said, briefly. “I’ll go on sucking for a moment. Hurry the men, Norah!”
Almost by the time the permanganate crystals were worked into a paste and rubbed into the cut about the punctures, the horses were in the stable yard. Every man on Billabong liked the merry Queensland boy—there were willing hands at every buckle of the harness that was flung upon the brown cobs in breathless haste. The dog-cart, with Murty O’Toole on the box, clattered to the front of the house—to the little group that had been so merry when the shadow of death had suddenly fell upon it.
Wally’s face was a little strained. The tightness of the ligature was telling upon him, more than the snake bite itself. But he grinned up at Murty in his old way.
“I’m giving you plenty of trouble, Murty,” he said. “Silly ass, to go patting a snake at my time of life!”
“Begob, it might happen to the owldest of us,” said Murty, consolingly. “Ye have that bandage tied tight, Mr. Jim?”
“He has that!” said Wally, ruefully. “Don’t you worry about Jim when it comes to tying a ligature. My hand will drop off soon, I should say!”
“Y’can have it loosened just f’r a minute, presently,” said Murty. “Whin it’s been on half an hour it’s due f’r a spell. Begob, I’ll bet it hurts y’, me boy!”
“Oh—some,” said Wally, briefly. He glanced at his hand, swollen and purple under the bandage Brownie had wrapped about the part that had been bitten. “Pretty looking object, isn’t it? Well, I do think I was a chump! That beggar must have been lying along the rail for ever so long!”
“Y’ had no business to go killin’ it before ye attinded to y’r hand,” said Murty. “Much better have let him get away on us than wait. Never mind, there ain’t much time lost, an’ y’r as healthy as a rabbit. We’ll have y’ right as rain in no time.”
“Oh, I guess so,” said Wally. Then Jim came plunging out, Norah and Jean at his heels.
“Here’s your hat, old man,” Jim said, clapping it on its owner’s head. “The girls are coming in with us. Hurry along—we don’t want to lose any time.” He made as though to help his chum into the dog-cart, and Wally grinned at him.
“What are you after?” he asked, swinging himself up with one hand. “I’m not a dead man yet. Come on, you old nursemaid!” He waved his hat cheerily to Brownie, whose kind old face was working with anxiety. “Don’t go worrying, Brownie—I’ll be back for tea! May I have pikelets if I’m a good boy?”
“You’ll have everything I can make for you,” said poor Brownie, tears in her eyes as she looked at the merry, defiant face. “Only come back all right, my dear!” Murty gave the cobs their heads, and they shot down the drive. It was but fifteen minutes from the moment Wally had put his hand on the black intruder lying along the railing of the trellis.
A man was waiting at each gate; there was no delay of opening and shutting. Murty swung the horses through the narrow openings, shaving gateposts by a hair’s breadth, but never slackening speed. Out on the road, the brown cobs felt the unaccustomed indignity of the whip on their backs, and resented it by trying to bolt; but the hand on their mouths was rigid, and they came back from a gallop to a flying trot, that spun over the long miles to Cunjee. The shining tyres flashed in the sunlight. Now and then sparks flew from flints hard smitten by the racing, iron-shod hoofs.
Wally kept up a plucky attempt at chatter for awhile. Then he grew silent, nursing his swollen arm in a fruitless effort to relieve the agony caused by the checked circulation. Jim loosened the ligature momentarily, after a time, and the relief was great; but it had to be tightened again, and gradually the boy’s set lips grew white. Once he spoke, in a low voice.
“I say, old chap,” he said. “If things go wrong, you’ll let them know all about it up at home, won’t you? Tell ’em it was all my own stupidity.”
“You shut up,” returned Jim, gruffly. “Things aren’t going wrong—we’ve got you in loads of time.”
“Oh, I know. I’m not expecting them to,” Wally answered. “Still, there’s the chance. Don’t forget, old Stick-in-the-mud.” He pulled Norah’s hair gently, and demanded to know why she was so quiet. “Something unusual to have you civil for so long at a stretch!” he told her, laughing—to which Norah tried to make a cheerful retort, but choked instead, and averred that she had swallowed a fly.
“Hard lines on the fly!” said Wally. “See—there’s your father!”
He pointed ahead to a blur of dust on the track, which resolved itself into Mr. Linton and two men, riding slowly behind some cattle. Murty glanced over his shoulder at the same instant.
“Will I pull up, Mr. Jim?”
“Just for a moment,” Jim said, hesitating. “Dad won’t want much of an explanation.”
Not much was needed. The racing hoofs and the grave faces told their own story, as Mr. Linton checked his horse beside the road. Jim was brief, in answer to his father’s hasty question.
“What’s wrong?”
“Snake,” he said. “He got Wally on the hand. We’re off to Dr. Anderson.”
“You’ve done all you can, of course?” Mr. Linton asked quickly.
“Yes—everything. Haven’t lost any time, either.”
“Well, Anderson’s not there,” Mr. Linton said. “I saw his motor going out along the Mulgoa road half an hour ago. But go in; Mrs. Anderson may know what to do, or where to send for him. Murty can go for him. Meanwhile, I’ll see if I can catch him now; there’s no knowing where he may have pulled up. You’ve got stimulants?”
“Two Thermos flasks of strong black coffee,” Norah said.
“That’s right. Don’t wait. Keep up your pecker, Wally, my boy.” The big man smiled at Wally affectionately. “We’ll have you all right soon, my dear lad.”
“I guess it’ll take a tough snake to kill me,” Wally answered. “I’m all serene, sir.” The buggy whirled away again as Mr. Linton wheeled his horse and went off at a hard gallop.
“Jove, old Monarch can travel!” said Wally, approvingly. A jolt shook his swollen hand, and his lips tightened again.
Mrs. Anderson could give but a vague idea of her husband’s movements, nor was there any one in the township able to do more to help the patient. Murty dashed off on a fresh horse in search of the doctor; and the four from Billabong sat in the shade of a big oak tree and tried to talk—three watching covertly all the time for any new symptoms on Wally’s part. After a while his eyes grew heavy, and Norah brought a flask of coffee, strong and black, and dosed him at short intervals. The boy made a brave fight to help them.
“This won’t do,” he said, after a while. “I’ll be asleep in five minutes if I stay here. Get a pack of cards and we’ll play cribbage.”
They played on a rug in the shade—Jim and Jean against Norah and Wally, the latter playing with one hand and occasionally cracking a laborious joke, almost in the midst of which his head would nod to one side. He always recovered himself with a jerk, and, despite his drowsiness, he played with a keen quickness that shamed the others, who made the most egregious mistakes with a total lack of concern as to their score. It was long before Norah could ever again bear the sight of a cribbage board.
Jim flung down his cards at last, his voice shaking.
“Well, I can’t stand this,” he said. “Hang that man! Will he ever come? Let’s walk up and down, Wal., old man.”
They went up and down, up and down, along the garden path, in the hot air, heavy with the scent of the doctor’s flowers—all the time fighting the fatal drowsiness that threatened to overcome the boy they loved. Mrs. Anderson kept the supply of coffee ready, and Wally took it obediently whenever it was brought to him.
“If this blessed hand would only let me do anything, I’d be all right,” he said sleepily. “I’d give something to be able to use an axe! Norah, asthore, will you stick hatpins into me if I get any more stupid? I’m not going to sleep, if I have to stick them into myself!”
Then, just as they were becoming sick with anxiety and the long watching, came the far-off hum of a hurrying car, and presently little Dr. Anderson swung round the corner, pulled up with a sudden jar that would ordinarily have caused him extreme wrath, and came through his garden at a run. He cast a swift professional eye over Wally.
“Good children!” he said, approvingly. “Come along to the surgery, my boy; you, too, Jim. You girls go and let the wife take care of you.”
But Norah could not talk to any one just then. The long strain had been too heavy a burden. She watched the three figures vanish within the surgery door, the doctor’s hand on Wally’s shoulder, and then turned and went blindly down a winding path. It ended in a fence. She put her head down upon it, swallowing hard, dry sobs. Jean put an arm round her, silent. There was not anything to say.
Within the surgery Wally had faced the little doctor.
“I say, sir,” he said, moistening dry lips, “you won’t let me make a fool of myself if things get a bit beyond me, will you?”
“I will not,” said the doctor, sturdily. “But they won’t—don’t talk nonsense!” He was unwrapping the hand swiftly. “Catch this bottle, Jim.”
Very long after—so it seemed to Norah and Jean—a quick step came down the path behind them.
“Your nice brown lad is all right,” said Mrs. Anderson, happily. “Jack says there’s no risk now. Everything was done in time. We’ll keep him here to-night, just to watch him, and Jim will stay with him. Mr. Linton is waiting for you two lassies; and you can come back to-morrow, and take Wally home for Christmas. Unless you like to leave him with me for a month or so? I like that boy!”
“So does Billabong,” said David Linton’s voice, not quite steady. “We can’t spare him to any one, can we, Norah?”
Norah shook her head. She clung to her father’s hand as they went back to the house, where Jim waited on the verandah, his face still grave.
“The patient sends his love, and you’re none of you to worry,” he said. “And you’re to tell Brownie to keep the pikelets for to-morrow!”
“Wally snatched it and struck furiously at a lithe form that slid off the railing with a sinuous wriggle, and fell to the ground beneath.”