ACT III
Mr. Egremont (discovered nailing up slabs, in order to complete dwelling). Well, this is a most enjoyable life; that is, it will be enjoyable when I have completed my cottage (hits finger with hammer, and examines same), but at present I seem rather hurried. I have had to help the ploughman in order to get the crop in. I have quite ten acres of wheat nicely sown and harrowed. I intend to plant potatoes after the cottage is up, and I must manage to have some turnips; they're always useful for the stock. A good deal of money seems to be going out; it is equally certain that none is coming in. No man can have worked harder either in an old or new country. But the worst of it is (sits down on round post and considers), I am not fully convinced that I am working to the best purpose. I may be doing all this for nothing! Miss Polyblock—somehow I'm always thinking of that girl!—implied as much the last time I saw her. By all the saints and angels, here she comes! How gloriously handsome she always looks, and how well her habit becomes her! Strange, what a gulf there seems to be between us!
Dulcie. So you're working away as usual, Mr. Egremont? You certainly are a pattern young man. How hot it must make you this terrible weather?
Egremont. I thought everybody worked hard in this country.
Dulcie. That's a popular error, as you'll find out by and by. They work in some ways, but not usually with their hands, except when pioneering or exploring.
Egremont. Well, am I not pioneering?
Dulcie (bursting out laughing). What! upon three hundred and twenty acres of land! Excuse my rudeness in laughing.
Egremont (rather nettled). We think it a decent-sized piece of land in England.
Dulcie. Oh, do you, really? I beg your pardon, but father did all the pioneering work here years and years ago. Fought the blacks when he took up the country, and was speared by them when I was a little girl. So there isn't much pioneering left for you to do, is there?
Egremont. I wish there was.
Dulcie. Oh, do you? Then why don't you go outside?
Egremont. Outside—outside—where's that? I thought I was pretty well outside here; I haven't slept under a roof these two months.
Dulcie (laughing again). Oh, indeed, I didn't mean that. Of course you're outside now; I wish you were not. I'm afraid you'll get a dreadful cold, the weather is so changeable; but I mean real outside country, beyond the settled districts, in Queensland, Western Australia, Kimberley—anywhere.
Egremont. But how far off is that?
Dulcie. Oh, a couple of thousand miles; but it doesn't matter how far it is; it's the way to make money, and position, and a name. Here no one can do anything but potter about, live miserably, and—and vegetate.
Egremont. But I thought everybody farmed in Australia?
Dulcie. Farmed! farmed! (with amazement). Why, nobody does; no gentleman farms, I assure you. But English people never seem to understand things for the first year or two.
Egremont (with air of astonishment). Oh, then I shall only begin to understand the country in another year? At present I am supposed to be blissfully ignorant of the real meaning of matters Colonial. I may have all my work to undo; is that what you think?
Dulcie. Well, very nearly. It's rude, of course, to say so, but you'd rather be told the truth, wouldn't you? (He bows.) I've heard young Englishmen say over and over again that if they'd done nothing for the first two years they would have learned a great deal and saved all their money.
Egremont. But surely there is nothing so hard to understand about the country after all? Any one can see the sense of these regulations, for instance. (Produces book, Land Act Amendment.)
Dulcie. Oh, don't show me that horrid book! It's about free selection and all that, and dad says it's done no end of harm. Oh, I wish I could advise you properly!
Egremont. If you only would undertake the task! (Takes her hand and looks at her tenderly.)
Dulcie (hastily). Oh, really, I have no time now; I shall be late for lunch as it is. Good-morning.
Mr. Polyblock's Drawing-Room.
Mr. Polyblock (looks at wrong card). Mr. Stanley—Hubert Stanley—oh, one of the swells that came up with the governor! Show him in.
Enter Mr. Egremont, neatly and cleanly attired in
bush-fashion—Crimean shirt, moleskin trousers, no coat.
Mr. P. (surprised and irritated). Hulloa! who the devil are you? Oh, I see, swell out of luck! Want employment or else, perhaps, I wouldn't mind advancing twenty pound till your remittance came out. Is that the game?
Egremont (haughtily). No, sir; I am perfectly able to pay my way, and trust to be so for the future. We have not met before, but no doubt you will know who I am when I tell you that my name is Cecil Egremont.
Mr. P. Eggermont? Eggermont? We've not met afore, as you say; but, by George, I'll meet you some day! You're the chap as took up my main camp. Then what the devil do you want at my private house, eh? Mind, I won't sell you a pound of beef or mutton either, if you want it ever so bad. I ain't to be had that way.
Egremont (proudly). You're over-hasty in your conclusions, sir. I have no pressing need for butcher's meat. But you are right in surmising that I do want something from you—something of value also.
Mr. P. (much surprised). Good Gad! (Aside—What can he want? Don't want money nor beef; perhaps it's wheat or 'taters. Never knew a free selector yet that didn't want one of 'em.) What is it, man, speak out?
Egremont. The fact is, Mr. Polyblock, your daughter; that is, I have long cherished an admiration——
Mr. P. (wrathfully). Admiration be hanged! You said my daughter—my daughter! God bless my soul and body! You don't mean to say she'd ever say a word to the likes of you?
Egremont. I fear, sir, that without the least intention of gaining her affections clandestinely, I have been so imprudent as to receive counsel respecting my course of action in a strange land, which Miss Polyblock was too generous to refuse. This harmless intercourse has ripened into intimacy—into, I may boldly say, mutual affection. As a man of honour I feel it my duty to acquaint you with the fact, and to respectfully demand her hand. I——
Mr. P. (deeply shocked and violently affected). Stop! not another word! Man of honour! Ha! ha! how the devil can a free selector be a man of honour? So you think my daughter, as has been eddicated equal to the first lady in the land, is to go into a hut, and—and—— (Breaks into uncontrollable rage.) You—you—robber—murderer—free selector! Leave this room—get off my place, or by —— I'll set the dogs on ye! (Advances threateningly.)
Egremont (slowly receding). I can afford to smile at your vehemence, to laugh at your threats. There are reasons which prevent me from resenting your ignorant, ungentlemanly conduct.
Mr. P. (in boxing attitude). Come on, if that's what you want. Put up your 'ands. I may be a member of the Hupper 'Ouse, and not so young as I was, but I can take the conceit out of a chap like you yet. (Advances with hands up.)
Dulcie (coming from behind, pulls him by the coat-tail). Oh, father, father! don't touch him.
Mr. P. Let me go, girl!
Dulcie. Oh, Cecil, Cecil! why don't you go away? (Throws her arms round Mr. P. and drags him back; Egremont slowly retreating, Mr. Polyblock struggling and menacing him.)
[Curtain falls.
END OF THIRD ACT