“I suppose one could never realize the awful effects of the gas unless one actually saw it,” Norah said. “But I can’t help feeling glad, if they had to be hurt, that it was that: not wounds or—crippling.” Her voice fell on the last word. “I just couldn’t bear the thought of Jim or Wally being crippled.”
“Don’t!” said her father, sharply. “Please God, they’ll come out of it without that. And as for the gas—Jim assured us they would be all right, but I’ll be glad when I talk to a doctor about them myself.”
Inquiries proved disappointing. It was certain that the boys would not be allowed to return directly to them. They would travel in hospital trains and a hospital ship; it was difficult to say where men would be taken, when so many, broken and helpless, were being brought to England every day. The Victorian Agent-General was sympathetic and helpful; he promised to find out all that could be found from the overworked authorities, and to let them know at the earliest possible moment.
“But I fancy that long son of yours will find a way of letting you know himself, Mr. Linton,” he said. “I’ll do my best—but I wouldn’t mind betting he gets ahead of me.”
They came out of the building that is a kind of oasis in London to all homesick Victorians, pausing, as they always did, to look at the exhibits in the outer office—wool and wheat and timber, big model gold nuggets, and the shining fruits that spoke of the orchards on the hillsides at home; with pictures of wide pastures where sleek cattle stood in the knee-high grass, or reapers and binders whirred through splendid crops. It was a little patch of Australia, planted in the very heart of London; hard to realize that just outside the swinging glass doors the grey city—history suddenly become a live thing—stretched away eastward, and, to the west, the roaring Strand carried its mighty burden of traffic.
“I’ll always be glad I had the chance of seeing London,” said Norah. “But whenever I come here I know how glad I’ll be to go back!”
“I know that without coming here,” said her father, drily. “It would be jolly if we could take those boys home to get strong, Norah.”
“To Billabong?” said Norah, wistfully. “Oh-h! But we’ll do it some day, daddy.”
“I trust so. Won’t there be a scene when we get back!”
“Oh, I dream about it!” said Norah. “And I wake up all homesick. Can’t you picture Brownie, dad!—she’ll have cooked everything any of us ever liked, and the house will be shining from top to bottom, and there won’t be a thing different—I know she dusts your old pipes and Jim’s stockwhips herself every day! And Murty will have the horses jumping out of their skins with fitness, and Lee Wing’s garden will be something marvellous.”