1915 Read Online Free PDF Page B

opened and he saw Reilly stare up at him through the gloom.

3
The Girl on the Night Mail
    â€œA man can’t help feeling attached to a place,” Mr Gilchrist began, and spoke to the rhythm of the sulky’s lurching, “with all the work I’ve put into it, and grandpa too. Y’see that old box tree? There was a swarm of bees there last spring.” Walter saw six trees at once, but Douggie piped a muffled “I can” from his pile of blankets. “Wally, when Pa started it was just for the stock. Then me. I was part of the place. We knew the blacks here for a bit. They camped on this corner. Now how come you feel like you do, and want to get off what we’ve made? The bank owns a lot of the places around here. But not us. They’d need a hundred bullocks to root me out.”
    Walter grasped at the similarity: “It’s the same for me.”
    â€œThen what’s all the carry on?”
    â€œDad,” and he risked the truth, silly as it sounded: “The difference is I could go away, and still be like you.”
    â€œI can’t spot that. No sir.” His father turned to him in the dark, bitter tobacco and the warm stink of spittle forcing Walter to gulp a quiet breath and hold it. “The point is you’ve got to go on a bit. How old are you now? Ideas are all right, but work,” he concluded, “it brands something in that wasn’t there. Or brands it deeper if it was. You have to find out for sure. What doyou say? Your mother says yes to the university, y’know. But not yet. We want to give Douggie a couple more years away at school. Two or three, then if you’re still in the same frame of mind you can go off. That’s fair.”
    At the station Douggie called: “Hey! There’s Billy.”
    Under the station lamps Walter felt exposed: he had none of the grit of his old man.
    â€œI won’t wait. I know you’ll do well. Behave yourself on the train, boy.”
    Well, that’s ended, Walter thought. He thudded the cases to the ground, the sulky grated off into darkness, and Billy whistled him over.
    â€œBack to school with the kid, I see.”
    â€œHe’s on his own from now on,” said Walter, thrusting his brother’s case into his hand and giving him a push past Ozzie Deep at the ticket barrier.
    Billy’s riding boots were polished like apples. He wore a dark jacket and freshly-laundered moleskins.
    â€œI thought you were fetching sheep?”
    â€œGot ’em. I’ve only just cleaned up.” Billy extended white scrubbed hands, which were trembling.
    Ozzie Deep the porter punched Walter’s ticket with scrupulous slowness, saying “Oi” and sparring with his ticket punch at the ready when Walter tipped his cap over his eyes — an exchange carried through ritually at the end of every holiday. Away from Ozzie, Billy suddenly became agitated, guiding Walter past the crowd and nudging him into a cul-de-sac of wicker baskets.
    â€œWally,” he looked around for eavesdroppers, “there’s a Mick girl on the train going back to school. Will you do something for me? Willya? When the bloody train gets in I’ll introduce you.” He cleared histhroat. “This is the drill: when you get on the train ask her if she likes me.”
    â€œWho says she’ll even talk to me?”
    Suddenly the train hissed and clanked along the platform. Billy shouted: “When you get to Sydney write me a bloody letter. If she don’t shape up, I won’t care!”
    The fireman on the footplate stared at him. A carpet of steam rose from the platform, warming them, clinging like cotton to their clothes, leaving them damp and chilled.
    Walter saw her first, from behind. How did he know for sure? He knew .
    â€œThat’s her,” said Billy.
    The train was still moving, but the girl stepped to the platform and ran a couple of feet before slowing to a walk. When she turned