“Don't you worry your old head about dad,” said Jim cheerfully. “It's a slack time, and he doesn't need me, and he's perfectly satisfied at my being here. Bless you, it's no harm for me to get a bit of this sort of life.”
“You'll never have to do it.”
“No one can tell that,” said Jim. “The bottom has dropped out of land in other countries, and it may happen here. Besides, if you've got to employ labour it's just as well to know from experience what's a fair thing to expect from a man as a day's work. For which reason, I have desired our friend Joseph to take me off scrub-duty, which I feel I know pretty well, and to detail me for assorted fatigues, like yours, next week. And anyhow, my son, having brought you to this savage place, I'm not going to leave you. Finally, we couldn't go anywhere, because this is the day that we must wash.”
“I have washed!” said Bob indignantly.
“I didn't mean your person, Bobby, but your clothes. The laundress doesn't call out here.”
“Oh!” said Bob, and grinned. “Then I'd better put on a kettle.”
So they washed, very cheerfully, taking turns in the one bucket, which was all Joe could offer as laundry equipment. He had an iron, but after brief consultation, “Major” and “Captin” decided that to iron working shirts would be merely painting the lily. Old Joe watched them with a twinkle, saying nothing. But a spirit of festivity and magnificence must have entered into him, for when the washermen went for a walk, after disposing their damp raiment upon bushes, he entered the kitchen hurriedly and dived for the flour-bag; and later, they found unwonted additions to the corned beef and potatoes—the said additions being no less than boiled onions and a jam tart.
The week that followed was a repetition of the first, save for a day of such rain that even old Joe had to admit that work in the paddocks was out of the question. He consoled himself by making them whitewash the kitchen. Large masses of soot fell down into the fireplace throughout the day, seriously interfering with cooking operations, which suggested to Joe that “Captin” might acquire yet another art—that of bush chimney sweeping—which he accomplished next day, under direction, by the simple process of tugging a great bunch of tea-tree up and down the flue. “Better'n all them brushes they 'ave in towns,” said Joe, watching his blackened assistant with satisfaction.
“Well, we're off to-morrow, Mr. Howard,” said Jim on Saturday night. They were seated round the fire, smoking.
“I s'pose so. Didn't think yous'd stick it out as long,” the old man said.