“But won’t you want some girls?”
“Oh! I think we shall do, sir! Mother sent a note to Mrs. Fotheringay early this morning. They’ll come, I’m pretty sure.”
“Aha! master Philip! you managed that, I can see. Well, quite right—have all the fun you can now; one’s only young once. So you think I may go away with a clear conscience, as far as our guests are concerned?”
“I’ll be responsible, sir! you may trust me and mother, I think,” said the son and heir, a tall, resolute-looking youngster.
So the family council was concluded, and Mr. Blount being informed that the drag party would not start until eleven o’clock, rested tranquil in his mind. Miss Laura, his companion of the morning, let him know that for household reasons her society would not be available until the drag was ready to start—but that he would find a good store of books in the library upstairs, also writing materials; if he had letters to answer, the contents of the post-bag in the hall would reach Hobart at six o’clock.
To this haven of peace Blount betook himself, satisfied that he would have a sufficiency of outdoor life before the end of the day, and not unwilling to conclude pressing correspondence, before commencing the round of gaiety which he plainly saw was cut out for him. There was a really good collection of books in the spacious library, from the windows of which an extensive view of wood and wold opened out. He felt tempted by the old records of the land, calf-bound and numbered with the years of their publication, but resolutely sat down to inform Tregonwell of his whereabouts, with the probable duration of his stay in the district; warning him to write at once if any change took place in the prospects of the Comstock. He also requested the secretary of the Imperial Club at Melbourne to forward to his Hobart address all letters and papers which might arrive. This done, he satisfied himself that he was outwardly fit to bear inspection, presented himself in the hall a few minutes before the time named for the start of the drag party, which he found was to be accompanied by a mounted escort. A distinguished looking neighbour whom everybody called “Dick,” evidently on the most kindly, not to say affectionate terms with all present, was here introduced to him as Mr. Richard Dereker of Holmby—one of those fortunate individuals, who come into the world gifted with all the qualities which recommend the owner equally to men and to women of all ranks, classes, and dispositions. Handsome, gay, heir to a fine estate, clever, generous, manly, he was fortune’s favourite, if any one ever was. He had already come to the front in the Colonial Parliament; there it was sufficient for him to offer himself, for society to declare that it was folly for any one to think of opposing his election. He had been invited to join the party, and as the idea of disappointing the company was too painful to contemplate, he agreed at once to join the mounted division. As, however, he had ridden twenty miles already, Philip Claremont insisted on handing over the reins of the drag to him, and sending for a fresh hackney, prepared to follow the drag on horseback. “Did Mr. Dereker drive well?” Mr. Blount asked his next neighbour—as he had noticed the four well-bred horses, in high condition, giving young Claremont enough to do to hold them, as they came up from the stables; the leaders, indeed, breaking into a hand gallop now and then.
“Drive? Dick Dereker drive?” He looked astonished—“the best four-in-hand whip in the island. Phil is a very fair coachman, but there’s a finish about Dereker, that no other man can touch.”
So, when the all-conquering hero, drawing on his neatly fitting doeskin gloves, lightly ascended to the box seat, the helpers at the leaders’ heads released those fiery steeds: as Mr. Dereker drew the reins through his fingers, and sat up in an attitude of which Whyte Melville would have approved, every feminine countenance in the party seemed irradiated with a fresh gleam of brilliancy, while the team moved smoothly off. The roads of Tasmania in that day—formed chiefly with the aid of convict labour, of which an unlimited supply was available for public works—were the best in Australasia. Well-graded and metalled—with mile stones at proper distances—lined with hawthorn hedges, trimly kept for the most part—passing through quiet villages where the horses were watered, and the landlord of the inn stood with head uncovered, according to traditional courtesy, there was much to remind the stranger of the mother land; to support the intercolonial contention that Tasmania was the most English-appearing of all the colonies, and in many respects, the most advanced and highly civilised.
With this last opinion, Blount felt inclined to agree—although, of course, other evidence might be forthcoming. In conversation with Mr. Dereker, between whom and himself Miss Laura Claremont was seated, he learned that the larger estates from one of which he was coming, and to another of which he was going, had been acquired by purchase or grant, at an early stage of the occupation of the colony. The area of fertile land being more circumscribed than in the colonies of New South Wales and South Australia, the home market good, and the Government expenditure during the transportation system immense, while labour was cheap and plentiful, it followed that agricultural and pastoral pursuits became for a succession of seasons most profitable.
Hence, the country gentlemen of the land, as in the old days of the West Indian planters, were enabled to build good houses—rear high-class horses, cattle and sheep—and, in a general way, live comfortably, even luxuriously. Owing to the high value of the land and the richness of the soil, the distances between the estates were not so great as in New South Wales; were therefore convenient for social meetings, for races, steeplechases, cricket, shooting and hunting; Reynard’s place being supplied by the wild dog, or “dingo,” who gave excellent sport, being both fast and a good stayer. Like his British prototype, he was a depredator, though on a more important scale: sheep, calves and foals falling victims to his wolfish propensities. So his pursuit answered the double purpose of affording excellent sport, and ridding the land of an outlawed felon.