However, in time, ‘Barton’s Jackaroo,’ as he was called throughout the district of the lower rivers, became a favourite, not only at Tarnpirr, but on the neighbouring runs. Even old Bridget admitted that [212] ]‘he was a good sort ov a cratur, barrin’ the want ov a bit more life wid him.’
But he was always calm and self-possessed; and the Manager was accustomed to swear that a bush fire at his heels wouldn’t make him quicken his pace by a step.
And once Daisy, in a moment of irritation, confided
to her father that she felt inclined to stick a needle into his jackaroo for the sake of discovering whether that provoking air of leisurely languor was natural or assumed.
‘He’s got no backbone, my dear,’ said the Manager, laughing. ‘But try him by all means. I’ll bet you ten to one he only says what he did last week, when that old ram made a drive at him in the yard, and knocked him down and jumped on him.’
‘And what did he say to that?’ asked Daisy eagerly.
‘Well,’ replied Mr Barton, laughing again, ‘when he’d cleaned the mud out of his eyes and mouth, he looked surprised and said “Haw!”’
‘Oh,’ said Daisy, disappointedly. ‘But what ought he to have said to show that he had a backbone, papa?’
‘Well,’ replied her father vaguely, ‘you know, Daisy—er—um—well, that is—um—a great many people, my dear, your father amongst them, perhaps, would be apt to say a good deal on such an occasion.’
‘I have a better opinion than ever of Mr Fortescue,’ cried Daisy indignantly at this. ‘Because he keeps his [213] ]temper, and doesn’t go on like Long Jim or Ben the Bullocky when any little thing happens, he’s got no pluck or resolution! I own he exasperates one sometimes with his calm, dawdling ways. But if he were pushed, I shouldn’t be surprised to find more in him than he gets credit for after all!’