The Prince of Wales’s birthday up the country was celebrated as usual thereaway by the annual horse-races on the Wyambeet course, about fourteen miles from Caddagat.
The holding of these races was an elderly institution, and was followed at night by a servants’ ball given by one of the squatters. Last year it had been Beecham’s ball, the year before Bossier’s, and this year it was to take place in the woolshed of James Grant of Yabtree. Our two girls, the gardener, and Joe Slocombe the groom, were to be present, as also were all the other employees about. Nearly every one in the district — masters and men — attended the races. We were going, Frank Hawden volunteering to stay and mind the house.
We started at nine o’clock. Grannie and uncle Boss sat in the front seat of the buggy, and aunt Helen and I occupied the back. Uncle always drove at a good round gallop. His idea was to have good horses, not donkeys, and not to spare them, as there were plenty more to be had any day. On this morning he went off at his usual pace. Grannie urged as remonstrance that the dust was fearful when going at that rate. I clapped my hands and exclaimed, “Go it, Mr Bossier! Well done, uncle Jay–Jay! Hurrah for Clancy!”
Uncle first said he was glad to see I had the spirit of an Australian, and then threatened to put my nose above my chin if I failed to behave properly. Grannie remarked that I might have the spirit of an Australian, but I had by no means the manners of a lady; while aunt Helen ventured a wish that I might expend all my superfluous spirits on the way, so that I would be enabled to deport myself with a little decorum when arrived at the racecourse.
We went at a great pace; lizards and goannas scampered out of the way in dozens, and, clambering trees, eyed us unblinkingly as we passed. Did we see a person or vehicle a tiny speck ahead of us — in a short time they were as far away in the background.
“Please, uncle, let me drive,” I requested.
“Couldn’t now. Your grannie can’t sit in the back-seat — neither could I— and look like a tame cockatoo while you sat in front. You ask Harry to let you drive him. I bet he’ll consent; he’s sure to be in a sulky with a spare seat on spec. We’re sure to overtake him in a few minutes.”
There was a vehicle in the distance which proved to be from Five–Bob Downs, but as we overhauled it, it was the drag, and not a sulky. Harold occupied the driver’s seat, and the other occupants were all ladies. I noticed the one beside him was wearing a very big hat, all ruffles, flowers, and plumes.
“Shall I pull up and get you a seat?” inquired uncle Jay–Jay.
“No, no, no.”
The boss of Five–Bob drew to his side of the road, and when we had passed uncle began to tease:
“Got faint-hearted, did you? The flower-garden on that woman’s hat corked your chances altogether. Never mind, don’t you funk; I’ll see that you have a fair show. I’ll get you a regular cart-wheel next time I go to town, and we’ll trim it up with some of old Barney’s tail. If that won’t fetch him, I’m sure nothing will.”
Before we got to the racecourse Barney went lame through getting a stone in his hoof; this caused a delay which enabled the Five–Bob trap to catch us, and we pulled rein a little distance apart at the same time, to alight.
Mr Beecham’s groom went to his horses’ heads while Harold himself assisted his carriageful of ladies to set foot on the ground. Aunt Helen and grannie went to talk to them, but I stayed with uncle Jay–Jay while he took the horses out. Somehow I was feeling very disappointed. I had expected Harold Beecham to be alone. He had attended on me so absolutely everywhere I had met him lately, that I had unconsciously grown to look upon him as mine exclusively; and now, seeing he would belong to his own party of ladies for the day, things promised to be somewhat flat without him.
“I told that devil of a Joe to be sure and turn up as soon as I arrived. I wanted him to water the horses, but I can’t see him anywhere — the infernal, crawling, doosed idiot!” ejaculated uncle Julius.
“Never mind, uncle, let him have his holiday. I suppose he’d like to have time to spoon with his girl. I can easily water the horses.”
“That would suit Joe, I have no doubt; but I don’t pay him to let you water the horses. I’ll water ’em myself.”
He led one animal, I took the other, and we went in the direction of water a few hundred yards away.
“You run along to your grannie and the rest of them, and I’ll go by myself,” said uncle, but I kept on with the horse.
“You mustn’t let a five-guinea hat destroy your hopes altogether,” he continued, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “If you stick to your guns you have a better show than anyone to bag the boss of Five–Bob.”
“I am at a loss to interpret your innuendo, Mr Bossier,” I said stiffly.
“Now, little woman, you think you are very smart, but you can’t deceive me. I’ve seen the game you and Harry have been up to this last month. If it had been any other man, I would have restricted your capers long ago.”
“Uncle —” I began.
“Now, Sybylla, none of your crammers. There is no harm in being a bit gone on Harry. It’s only natural, and just what I’d expect. I’ve known him since he was born, and he’s a good all-round fellow. His head is screwed on the right way, his heart is in the right place, and his principles are tip-top. He could give you fal-de-rals and rubbish to no end, and wouldn’t be stingy either. You’ll never get a better man. Don’t you be put out of the running so cheaply: hold your own and win, that’s my advice to you. There is nothing against him, only temper — old Nick himself isn’t a patch on him for temper.”
“Temper!” I exclaimed. “He is always so quiet and pleasant.”
“Yes, he controls it well. He’s a fellow with a will like iron, and that is what you want, as I find you have none of your own. But be careful of Harry Beecham in a temper. He is like a raging lion, and when his temper dies away is a sulking brute, which is the vilest of all tempers. But he is not vindictive, and is easy managed, if you don’t mind giving in and coaxing a little.”
“Now, uncle, you have had your say, I will have mine. You seem to think I have more than a friendly regard for Mr Beecham, but I have not. I would not marry him even if I could. I am so sick of every one thinking I would marry any man for his possessions. I would not stoop to marry a king if I did not love him. As for trying to win a man, I would scorn any action that way; I never intend to marry. Instead of wasting so much money on me in presents and other ways, I wish you would get me something to do, a profession that will last me all my life, so that I may be independent.”
“No mistake, you’re a rum youngster. You can be my companion till further orders. That’s a profession that will last you a goodish while.”
With this I had to be contented, as I saw he considered what I had said as a joke.
I left uncle and went in quest of grannie, who, by this, was beyond the other side of the course, fully a quarter of a mile away. Going in her direction I met Joe Archer, one of the Five–Bob jackeroos, and a great chum of mine. He had a taste for literature, and we got on together like one o’clock. We sat on a log under a stringybark-tree and discussed the books we had read since last we met, and enjoyed ourselves so much that we quite forgot about the races or the flight of time until recalled from book-land by Harold Beecham’s voice.
“Excuse me, Miss Melvyn, but your grannie has commissioned me to find you as we want to have lunch, and it appears you are the only one who knows the run o............