Tom Holmes brought the telegram out, driving his father’s car. A long trail of dust marked his dash up the track through the grassless paddock. The twins, just returned from bathing, met him on the verandah.
“Lucky people—you look disgustingly cool,” said the stout youth, pushing his broad Panama back from his hot forehead. “How do you manage it?”
“Swimming,” said Jean, shaking her damp curls. “There’s still water in the bathing-pool, though very little in the other part of the river.”
“Well, it’ll soon be the only place in this district that isn’t solid dust, if we don’t get rain before long,” declared Tom. “Our billabong and creek are bone-dry, and the river’s only a trickle. Father says he’ll have to send every hoof off the place—not that he’s got many left.”
“The whole country looks awful,” Jo said. “It doesn’t seem possible that there was ever thick green grass on those bare paddocks—or that there ever would be any again. How are your horses, Tom?”
“Poor as crows, except two or three that we keep in the stable. Of course, there are hardly any here now; they’ve all gone away for change of air,” said Tom, laughing rather bitterly. “Well, I’m generally keen enough on being at home, but I’m beginning to feel I can stand a change of scene myself; it gives a fellow the blues to see nothing but dust and half-starved stock. For once in my life I’d rather drive the car than ride; one gets about the country more quickly. That reminds me. I thought I’d bring out your mail. There’s a wire for you.”
“Father’s out, so we’d better open it—I expect it’s from Mother,” Jo said. “Yes; and she’ll be home to-morrow, Jean—hooray! It seems an age since she went away, and it’s only four days. Thanks, ever so, Tom. Do you feel like tea? Or a lemon squash?”
“If I’m to be strictly truthful,” said Tom, “I feel like both. A squash would make me less like a sandy desert, and then I’d enjoy some tea. At present, tea would be wasted on me: it would merely hiss when it struck me, and immediately vanish in steam!”
“Poor boy!” laughed Jo. “Come along, and we’ll brew the squash before tea comes in. Thank goodness Father planted lemon-trees near the spring; they haven’t the least idea there’s a drought on. Would you like a wash first, Tom?”
“I was afraid I looked like that,” said Tom unhappily. “Yes, please. Bathroom on the verandah?”