‘But you must,’ said Ernest imperatively; ‘you must take it, in payment for the discovery and breaking of Osmund, besides you will want a fit-out in clothing and other things.’ So he cast the cheque at his feet.
‘Well, if I must, I must,’ said Mr. Windsor reluctantly. ‘It’s a good while since I was as rich as this, and all on the square, too; that’s what gets me. Never mind, sir, if we both live you’ll get over-value for this bit o’ paper some day.’
It was now time to make tracks for Garrandilla. Ernest did not see any road, or know the precise line of country, but Mr. Windsor taking the matter in hand, they soon found themselves in front of a very small slab cottage, standing solemnly alone, at the rear of which, however, were huts, sheds, farm buildings, and haystacks, in such number and abundance that Ernest thought they must have fallen upon the township by mistake.
Mr. Jedwood, however, appeared at the door, and walking out to meet them, told Windsor to betake himself to the stables, and to remain there until he came out to see him, to feed the horse, and to inquire of the groom, who would inform him where he could feed himself. He then invited Ernest to follow him into the house.
‘I am glad to find that you have turned up at last,’ said his host; ‘not that, of course, never having seen you, I should have grieved overmuch myself if you hadn’t, but poor old Paul seemed so anxious that, for his sake, I began to feel an interest in you. If you will walk this way I will show you your room in the barracks—there is a pile of letters for you.’
Ernest felt really pleased to be placed in possession once more of any sort of bedroom, and proceeded to render himself presentable to general society. After these necessary changes had been accomplished, he commenced to look over his letters, of which there were—Americanicé—‘quite a number.’
First of all he opened one in the bluff characters of Mr. Frankston, bold, and easily read, as the true heart of the writer. It ran thus:—
My dear Boy—What, in the name of all the rocks and shoals between the Sow and Pigs and Maafu Reef, are you cruising about so long before turning up at Garrandilla? Is the reason masculine, feminine, or neuter? By the bye, Charley Carryall was here the other day. Told me some first-rate yarns—sorry you weren’t at Morahmee to hear ‘em. Well, but why haven’t you fetched your whaling-ground—I mean your run—yet?
Antonia was in a great way when she saw the telegram, in the Evening Times, that you had been apprehended and locked up for keeping company with ’another prisoner.’ Ha, ha, ha! Can’t help it, couldn’t really! She kept picturing you in a dungeon, and all the rest of it. I said that you would enjoy it for a day or two, during the hot weather. What do you think about walking? Have you got a horse yet? We are all very middling. Couldn’t you square it with Jedwood to come down at Christmas? There’s not much work doing then anywhere. The verandah at Morahmee won’t be half a bad place about that time, if it’s as hot as it was last year. I saw Hartley Selmore the other day. He sold Gammon Downs to a young fellow, just out. My head clerk is rather a queer old character.
‘Ah! sir,’ he said, ‘don’t you think Mr. Selmore will go to hell for selling such a place to that poor young gentleman?’
‘Really I don’t know,’ I answered; ‘there always seems a sufficient supply of young fellows with a little money and no brains. If they were not gobbled up by the Selmores, some other big fish would be sure to have them.’
However, Antonia said Hartley was a cold-blooded rascal, and I was nearly as bad for making light of his villainy. So I did not take much by my joke.
Stock has fallen since you left town, and will fall more yet if the war does not come to an end, and this very dry season. So your money is all the safer in the bank. Don’t on any account invest without consulting me. Work as hard as you like, but don’t get sunstroke. Avoid brandy and water; and when you’re very tired of wool and bullocks, see if you can’t find the road to Morahmee again. Remember me to our Jedwood. He’ll keep you up to the mark, unless he’s altered.—Your old friend,
Paul Frankston.