“Well—I suppose so. Lots of our fellows will come to London; we’re all awfully keen to see it, and it’s a great chance for us. I only hope we shall take a lot of your men back with us; they’re falling over each other in England—or will be, once the war is over: and we want them. We needed them badly enough before the war: afterwards it will be worse than ever.”
“Don’t you preach emigration in Ireland,” said O’Neill, laughing.
“Why not? They emigrate, whether you preach or not; only they go to America and Canada, because they’re near and there’s nothing between them and Ireland. They would probably do much better if they would come to Australia, only they don’t know a thing about it. I told one old woman a few things about Australia and wages there, and all she could say was, ‘God help us!’ When I’d finished, she said. ‘And Australy’d be somewhere in Americy, wouldn’t it, dear?’ ”
“Did you say, ‘God help us’?” laughed O’Neill.
“I might have,” grinned Wally. “They know Canada—but then, look what Canada is!” He gave a mock shiver—Wally had been reared in hot Queensland. “As one Canadian chap said to me, after visiting our irrigation settlements—‘I don’t know why people come to us instead of to you: just look at the climate you’ve got—and we have three seasons in the year—July, August, and winter!’ But I suppose they seem nearer home, and they can’t realize that when you once get on a ship you might as well be there for a month as a week.”
The white-haired butler announced luncheon, and they found the table laid in the bow-window of a long and lofty room, whence could be seen the park, ending in a glimpse of bog and heather, with a flash of blue that meant a little lough caught among the hills. Afterwards, they strolled out on the terrace and through the scented garden to the stables, where two fine hunters and some useful ponies made friends with Wally instantly.
“The Government took most of my horses when war broke out; but I managed to keep these two,” said O’Neill, his hand on an arching neck while a soft muzzle sought in his pocket for a carrot. “I’d sooner have paid what they were worth than let them go; they’re too good for war treatment, unless it were absolutely necessary. And thank goodness this is not a war of horses. Would you care to try one of these fellows, some day?”
“Wouldn’t I!” said Wally, beaming. “And—could Jim?”
“Of course—and what about Jim’s sister? Does she ride?”
“She does,” said Wally, suppressing a smile at that incomplete statement.