‘What a wonderful new chum you must be!’ said Guy impulsively. ‘I’ve heard of lots that lost nearly all the cash they had the first month, but never of one who made any. You will be as rich as Mr. Rockley soon.’
‘Amateur horse-dealing doesn’t always turn out so well. But I always buy a good horse when I see him. I shall get infatuated about this country; it suits me down to the ground.’
The evening was passed in universal hilarity. Mr. O’More’s spirits appeared to rise in the inverse proportion to the distance which separated him from the Green Isle. Every one was delighted with his naïveté and resolves to do great things in the way of exploration. The expedition he regarded as an entertainment for his special benefit, declaring that if it had not been finally settled he would have got one up on his own account.
As good luck would have it, the Benmohr cattle escaped from the mustering paddock after they had been collected, and having ‘made back’ to fastnesses, which they had been permitted to occupy in consideration of the season, took some days in recapturing. So that yet another week of respite, to everybody’s expressed disgust but secret relief, was granted. Besides, Fred Churbett was not quite ready—he seldom was—and the D’Oyleys were just as well pleased to scrape up a few more of their outliers. There remained then ‘a little season of love and laughter’ for Mr. Gerald O’More to utilise in improving the acquaintance.
And he was just the man to do this. He won old Dick’s good-will by the hearty energy with which he threw himself into the small labours which, of course—for who ever knew an overland journey quite provided for, or a ship’s cargo stowed away, on the appointed day of its departure?—remained to be got through. He had devoted himself en amateur to the duties of third mate on the voyage out, and, being a yachtsman of experience, entitled himself to the possession of a certificate, should he ever require, as he thought seriously was on the cards, to work his way home. In matters connected with ropes and fastenings he showed an easy superiority. Sailors are proverbially the most valued hands in Australia, from their aptitude to make the best kind of bushmen. Their adaptiveness to every kind of labour, grounded on the need for putting out their strength at the orders of a despotic superior, is a fine training for bush life. Having nautical tendencies superadded to recent experiences, Gerald O’More fulfilled these conditions, and was rated accordingly.
‘He’s the makings of a fust-rate settler, that young gentleman is,’ said Dick Evans. ‘He’s a man all over, and can ketch hold anywhere. He’s got that pluck and bottom as he don’t know his own strength.’
His exuberant spirits by no means exhausted themselves during the labour of the day, when in check shirt and A.B. rig he was in the forefront of the drafting, branding, loading, or packing which still went on. In the evening, after a careful toilette, he was equally tireless in his society duties, and kept all the lady part of the family entertained by his varied conversation, his songs, jokes, and tales of many lands. He struck up a great alliance with Annabel, who declared that he was a delightful creature, specially sent by Providence to raise their spirits in this trying hour.
It was well enough to talk lightly of the Great Expedition, but as the day approached for the actual setting out of the Crusade, deep gloom settled upon the inmates of The Chase.
Wilfred Effingham had never before quitted home upon any more danger-seeming journey than a continental trip or a run over to Ireland. He was passionately devoted to his mother and sisters, whom at that period of his life he regarded as the chief repositories, not only of all the virtues, but of all the ‘fine shades’ of the higher feminine character. By no means deficient of natural admiration for the unrelated daughters of Eve, he regarded his sisters with a love such as only that relation can furnish. With them he was ever thoughtful, fond, and chivalrous. For their comfort and advantage he was capable of any sacrifice. Rosamond, nearest to him in age, had been from childhood his close companion, and for her he would have laid down his life. These feelings were reciprocated to the fullest extent.
And now he was going away—the dutiful son, the fond brother, the kindly, cheerful companion—away on a hazardous journey into an unknown, barbarous region, exposed to the dangers of Australian forest wayfaring. Guy, too, was on the march—the frank, fearless boy, idolised, as is the younger son ofttimes, with the boundless love with which the mother strains the babe to her bosom.