Mr Thorn’s Ideas
ALL DAY Thursday Bony cut and carted fence posts from the dense timber covering the eastern half of the government farm. For years posts had been cut from that area of timber when required, and he found that the posts suitable for the rabbit fence were not so plentiful as the uninitiated might think; for many trees, when dry, would easily become destroyed by the omnipresent termite.
Because he would need the horse for the afternoon trip to the timber, Bony stacked the posts among the trees near the gate beside the railway. He then parked the dray in deep shade, and, taking the horse out, tied it to a tree to eat its midday feed. Finally he made a fire, filled the billy with water from his canvas water bag, and set it against the flame to boil for tea; for no Australian could possibly eat a meal without the accompaniment of several cups of tea.
Trucks passed towards Burracoppin loaded with wheat and returned empty. The sun flooded the road with heat and seemed to hold the white dust level with the treetops. A long train came roaring down the grade to the fence, Bony observing with interest the long rake of wheat-loaded trucks on its way to the seaport.
Whilst waiting for the water to boil he leaned against the fence, near one of the new posts he had erected. The wheat train having passed, his gaze dropped to the flame-wrapped billycan and from it to a number of blowflies settled on the ground at the base of the post. When he moved his foot near them they took wing, but immediately his foot was withdrawn they settled again.
The question arising in Bony’s inquisitive mind while he waited for his billy to boil was: Why were those flies so much attracted to the earth around that one post? There was not at that place more moisture than anywhere else. So absorbed was he by his problem that he automatically flung a handful of tea into the boiling water and omitted to remove the billy until the question had been answered several minutes later, when the liquid had become blue-black.
That was the post at the bottom of which he had buried one of Ginger’s rabbits many days before. Fifteen inches below rammed earth lay the body of a rabbit, and it was the process of its decomposition, throwing off a strong smell, penetrating through the packed earth right to the surface, which was attracting the blowflies.
Unheeding the inky-black liquid his tea had become, he lifted the billy from the fire with a stick and thoughtfully carried it to the dray, on the floor of which he was to eat his lunch safe from the ants. He had not long been reclining with his back against one of the sides of the dray when he saw Mr Thorn reach the fence on his patrol bicycle and dismount. The Water Rat looked at his watch, then at the sun, and then round him, whereupon he saw Bony, and, after waving his hand in greeting, fell tounstrapping his billycan and lunch from the machine.
“Bit of luck, sightin ’ you,” he said on reaching the dray. “I’ll shove me billy on your fire, if you don’t mind.”
“Not a bit,” Bony cheerfully assured him.
“Wish it was beer,” Mr Thorn said, filling his billy from Bony’s water bag.
“Tea is better at this time of the day,” the smiling half-caste pointed out to the Water Rat arranging his billy on the fire.
Mr Thorn was emphatic when next he spoke, proclaiming the fact that he knew precisely of what he was talking.
“Beer is best at any time of the day and night, and all through the year. It is especially best on a hot day like this. But I never was lucky. Even theblarsted pipes won’t bust now, but they’ll keep on busting in the middle of winter when the water freezes stiff. Going to thedarnceSat’day night?”
“At Jilbadgie Hall? Yes, I expect so. Are you going?”
“Well, I haven’t been aiming to, seeing as ’owthere’s no pub handy. I can’tdarnce much on coffee. But the old woman says I’ve got to take ’er, and I love peace enough never to argue.” Mr Thorn’s face brightened with hope. He said: “Perhaps we could manage to take along a few bottles with us?”
“We might.”
“How are you going?”
“In a car. I am taking theJellys.”
“Oh!” Mr Thorn uttered the exclamation very slowly and most distinctly. Then he whistled. Then he said: “Old man got money, eh? Justcome outer smoke, eh?”
“I really don’t know when he returned,” Bony lied expertly, and yawned.
“She’s right,” announced Mr Thorn, referring to the billycan. “Give us your pannikin,” he requested when due time had been allowed for the tea to “draw”.
“How did you enjoy the benefit dance?” Bony asked him.
“Good-oh!”Mr Thorn’s round red face lost its creases of anxiety regarding the beer supply at the coming dance. Into his small grey eyes flashed an expression of sweet memory. He added with faint expostulation, “Yououghta ’avecome with meacrost to the pub when I gave you the oil. We ’ad a good time for nearly an hour. But I nearly mademeself sick eating peppermints to takeorf the fumes; and then, when I got back, the old woman swore I was drunk, and a disgrace, and a low, swilling beast. You married?”
“For more than twenty years.”
“Poor blighter,” murmured Mr Thorn sympathetically. For a little while he did not speak, and then presently he burst out: “The driver of Number Ten goods this morning told thelumpers in Burra that George Loftus ’as been located at Leonora. He heard about it inMerredin, and the bloke ’ootold ’imwas the yardman at one of the pubs ’oosesister is married to one of the policemen. Iknoo old Loftus ’ad done a bunk!”
“But why did he do a bunk?” Bony asked calmly, yet feeling deeply disappointed.
“Dunno, I’m sure. Any’ow, they can’t donothink to ’imfor clearingorf. Doing a bunkain’tno crime. Between me and you, I think he did a get because he was fed to the teeth with his flash wife. ’Course, she’s very popular in Burra, but there’s them ’oothinks sheain’t so popular with them. Mymissus don’t think much of ’erfor one. Mrs Loftus is too stuck up forgov’ment workers, but she’s backed by a clique ’ere ’oo’dcrawl under a snake at the bottom of a hundred-foot mine shaft.
“Expect now Mrs Loftus will sue fordivorse. My missus always did reckon that if Landon got the chance he’d marry ’erto get ’er-and the farm. Got ’is ’eadscrewed on right, has Landon, but he’ll do better when he loses interest in the skirts.”
Having finished his meal, Mr Thorn proceeded to replace pannikin and cloth in his lunch tin and then slowly and with concentrated interest to fill and light his pipe. Having got the tobacco to burn to his satisfaction after the expenditure of four matches, he continued his monologue, for Bony was lying back with half-closed eyes.
“Talking about that benefitdarnce reminds me,” said he.“The Wednesday before, my missusdrawed five one-pound notes from the bank. ComeSat’day night she reckons that the last three of them would be safer in ’er’andbagthan under the mattress at ’ome. And as she says it she’s looking ’ardat me. So the notes goes with ’erto thedarnce, and sometime about the middle of it she must needs open ’erbag to powder ’erdial and drops the folded notes without knowing it. There wenta ’undredand twenty nice cold pots down some other bloke’s neck, ’coswe never found ’em.
“She quite calm when she tells me. If I ’adlorst adeaner I’d have got hell for a week. I see Mick Landon without a girl, and he reckoned the bank might ’avekept the numbers. Most obliging chap, Mick. He was in the next day squaring up thedarnce, and he sees the bank manager andarst ’im, and the manager told ’imthat they never keeps the numbers of pound notes.
“Good bloke, Landon! Good spender, too! If ’e does marry Mrs Loftus they’ll make a good pair as far as looks go. But she’ll find that Mick Landon won’t be as easygoing as old Loftus was.”
And so on and on about people in Burracoppin, whilst Bony silently listened and wondered about Landon being so interested in the numbers of lost notes and about the news that Loftus had been discovered at Leonora, away up in the north-east of the State.
At last Mr Thorn announced the end of his lunch hour and rolled off the dray.
“I must go,” he said regretfully. “See you at Jilbadgie, Sat’day. Don’t forget to bring ’arfa dozen bottles with you. I’ll bring my share, an’ we’ll make a plant nice and ’andyso’swe can nip out now and then on the quiet and ’avea deep-noser!”
“A deep-noser!”
“Yes. A snifter.”
“Do you mean a drink?”
“Of course Imeans a drink. A snifter’s a pot, an’ a pot’s a deep-noser. Didn’t you understand that?”
“No. I fear I did not. I shall know in future.”
“You’ll know all right when Iwhispers into your ear: ‘Come an’ ’avea snifter.’ We’ll be all right if wemakes the plant. Hooroo!”
“Aurevoir,”replied Bony pleasantly. While Mr Thorn’s rotund, well-nourished figure waddled away Bony smiled quizzically. When the Water Rat had clambered across the pipeline, mounted his machine, and had pedalled away along the patrolman’s stone-cleared path, he said softly: “Thank you, Mr Thorn. You deserve your plantSat’day night.”