Basil and Annette: A Novel

by B. L. Farjeon

He put it to her lips, and she kissed it, and raised her face innocently. He stooped and kissed her lips.

"I think," said Edith contemplatively, "I like you better than any one else except mother and father and baby angel."

The office of the Princetown Argus was now an extensive building all on one floor; architects had not yet reached higher flights. The door from the street opened midway between two rooms, the one to the right being that in which advertisements and orders for subscriptions were taken, the one to the left being used for book-keeper, editor, and reporters indiscriminately. The reporting staff did a great part of their work standing; there were only a desk and a stool for the book-keeper, who assisted in the reading of proofs, and a table and two chairs for the accommodation of the editor and sub-editor. Adjoining these two rooms in the rear was the composing-room of the newspaper, in the rear of that the jobbing-room, in the rear of that the press room. The living apartments of the editor and his little family were quite at the end of the building, and were really commodious--sitting-room, kitchen, and two sleeping-rooms, one for little Edith, the other for her parents. In the sitting-room there was a piano upon which every member of the family could play with one finger, there were framed chromos on the walls, and sufficient accommodation in the shape of chairs and tables. The mantelpiece was embellished with an extensive array of photographs of grandfathers, grandmothers, uncles, aunts, and cousins; and the floor was covered with red baize. Taking it altogether it was an elegant abode for a new goldfield, and Edith's garden, upon which the window of her bedroom looked out, imparted to it an air of refinement and sweetness exceedingly pleasant to contemplate. When Edith, still holding Basil's hand, passed through the business rooms and entered the sitting-room, the happy editor and proprietor was alone, his wife being busy in the kitchen getting dinner ready. Domestic servants were the rarest of birds in Princetown; indeed there were none in the private establishments, for as soon as a girl or woman made her appearance in the township there was a "rush" for her, and before she had been there a week she had at least a dozen offers of marriage. A single woman was worth her weight in gold--Princetown was a veritable paradise for spinsters of any age, from fifteen to fifty. Small wonder that they turned up their noses at domestic service, when by merely crooking their little finger they could become their own mistress, picking and choosing from a host of amorous gold diggers. Free and easy was the wedding; the eating and drinking, the popping of corks, the drive through the principal streets, the indiscriminate invitations to all, the dancing at night, with more popping of corks and the cracking of revolvers in the open air to proclaim to the world that an "event" of supreme importance was being celebrated--all tended to show the value of woman as a marketable commodity. Two or three miles away, in a gully upon a hill, was the canvas tent to which the bridegroom bore his bride an hour or two this or that side of midnight, literally bore her often because of the open shafts which dotted the road; and there the married life commenced. It is a lame metaphor to say that woman ruled the roast; she ruled everything, and was bowed down to and worshipped as woman never was before in the history of the world.

The editor looked up as his little daughter and Basil entered, and Edith immediately took upon herself the office of mistress of the ceremonies.

"This is Basil, father." The editor nodded. "He is going to spend the whole day with us."

"He is welcome," said the editor, who knew Basil by sight.

Basil smilingly explained that little Edith had taken entire possession, and was responsible for his intrusion.

"But you are not intruding," said the editor. "We shall be very pleased of your company. Our hive is ruled by a positive Queen Bee, and there she stands"--with an affectionate look at his daughter, who accepted her title with amusing gravity--"so that we cannot exactly help ourselves."

His tone was exceedingly cordial, and Basil, being heartily welcomed by Edith's mother, soon made himself at home. The young man's manners were very winning and afforded pleasure to Edith's parents, who had not, at least on the goldfields, met with a guest of so much culture and refinement. Regarding Basil as her special property, Edith pretty well monopolised his attention in the intervals between meals, but sufficient of Basil's character was revealed to the editor to set him thinking. He saw that he was entertaining a gentleman and a man of attainments, and he felt how valuable such an assistant would be on the editorial staff of his newspaper. The journalists in his employ had sprung out of the rough elements of colonial life, and although they were fairly capable men, they lacked the polish which Basil possessed. The result of his reflections was that before the day was out he made Basil a business proposition.

"It occurs to me," said the shrewd fellow, "that you are not exactly cut out for a digger's life."