Part 40 (2/2)
”That would be so nice,” she said. ”I've brought my drawing things with me, too.”
”Claverton, old feller,” cried old Garrett. ”We 'aven't 'ad a gla.s.s together all day; let's have one now.”
”All right.”
”That's it. Better late than never. 'Ere's my respects,” cried the old chap, nodding; his rubicund countenance aglow with geniality--and grog.
”I suppose, Miss Strange,” he went on, turning to Lilian, ”you'd never 'ave thought we could get up such a pleasant little picnic in these out-of-the-way parts, would you?”
”Well, yes, I think I should, Mr Garrett,” she replied.
”Aha, yes. I dare say 'e's bin putting you up to the ropes,” went on the old fellow, leering and winking at Claverton, and speaking in a tone which he thought was the perfection of genial banter; but which made its object wildly long to shy a bottle at his head. Ordinarily he looked upon old Garrett with a kind of amused contempt; but to be made the b.u.t.t of his muzzy jests, that was quite another thing. So, completely ignoring him, he drew Lilian's attention to an effect of light and shade high above them on the cliff opposite.
”Now we'll make for the cave,” he said, as, feeding operations over, pipes began to appear.
”Yes. I'll get my drawing things,” answered Lilian, rising.
”Are you going up to the cave?” said Miss Smithson, a pretty, fair-haired girl, who lived in the neighbourhood and whom they saw a good deal of. ”That'll be delightful--I should so like to see it. Mr Gough, will you come, too; there are some beautiful ferns up there?”
Gough a.s.sented, while Claverton inwardly anathematised poor Lucy Smithson, little thinking how unjustly, for she was really going out of her way to render him a service.
The four started. No one else seemed inclined to embark in the undertaking, having had enough knocking about at present, they said; old Garrett adding: ”We old fogies don't feel up to climbing, so we'll just sit and 'ave a nice comfortable chat and a smoke.”
”And a big drink,” added Claverton, cynically, to his companion. ”What an infliction that old fool can become!”
”He is rather overpowering,” a.s.sented Lilian. ”Who can the old fellow have been?”
”A bricklayer, most likely, or a clodhopper of some sort. These fellows save a little coin, or make a lucky venture at the Diamond Fields, and buy a farm, and then, there they are. There's precious little cla.s.s distinction here.”
”I suppose so. But as the country gets more thickly settled, that'll all come.”
”Yes. You see, in the old times when all these older men had to rough it together, and were dependent on each other for mutual help and defence, it was the smartest fellow who was made most of, irrespective of social grade. And these bricklayer chaps and journeymen were always in request, and could not only command high wages at any time, but didn't care what they did, so they made their pile quickly enough. In a few generations most of the cla.s.s distinctions of the old country will prevail here, as education and the importation of educated people grows.
As it is, the rising generation, if you notice, is better educated than its parents, and in many instances undisguisedly looks down on its grandparents.”
”Yes, I've noticed that,” said Lilian. ”And my predilection generally lies with the old people, who, if somewhat uncultured, are kindness itself.”
”And their very roughness makes them the fittest people to open up a new colony,” went on Claverton. ”Now look at that scowling fellow Jeffreys--how weary I am of his eternal scowl, by the way. Well, his grandfather would hardly have been taken on as valet to Mr Brathwaite's father in the old country, and yet here the Jeffreys mix with us as equals, and are among the most well-to-do people anywhere about. Isn't this shade delightful?”
For they were walking beneath a growth of ma.s.sive yellow-wood trees, whose great twisted limbs overhead shut out the sunlight, though here and there it struggled through and lay in a golden network on the ground. Ma.s.ses of lichen festooned from trunk and bough, and monkey ropes and trailers of every description hung here straight and cord-like, there tangled together in the most hopeless confusion. A gloom lay beneath the shadowing trees, but it was the softened gloom of a cathedral aisle; and the column-like trunks, firm and ma.s.sive, stood in rows along the coa.r.s.e of the stream which bubbled along--now in little clear pools, now brawling over a stony shallow.
”Yes, perfectly sweet,” answered Lilian.
”Then, like all things to which that description applies, it isn't to last, for here we turn upward.”
A ragged track, half path, half water-course, diverged from the stream, leading up the bush-covered hillside, steep as a flight of steps.
”Wait a minute,” called out Lucy Smithson, who was overtaking them. ”I don't think I'll go up after all. It's turned out so hot, and here we leave the shade. Do you mind, Mr Gough?” she added to her companion.
”But don't let me keep you from going, I can easily go back alone. It isn't far.”
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