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“What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” | Aunt Helen | Helen smiled affectionately at me.<|quote|>“What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.”</|quote|>“But, auntie, I’m sure he | loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me.<|quote|>“What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.”</|quote|>“But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any | and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me.<|quote|>“What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.”</|quote|>“But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” | care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me.<|quote|>“What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.”</|quote|>“But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, | of yourself again. Something has put you out. Be sensible for once in a way. What you have said of men’s love may be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me.<|quote|>“What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.”</|quote|>“But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 The Prince of Wales’s birthday up the country was celebrated as usual thereaway by the | redoubled bitterness. I had no lovable qualities to win for me the love of my fellows, which I so much desired. I returned aunt Helen a gaze as steady as her own, and said bitterly: “Aunt Helen, I can truly say he has never, and will never extend to me more than common politeness. Neither will any other man. Surely you know enough of masculine human nature to see there is no danger of a man losing his heart to a plain woman like me. Love in fancy and song is a pretty myth, embracing unity of souls, congeniality of tastes, and such like commodities. In workaday reality it is the lowest of passions, which is set alight by the most artistic nose and mouth, and it matters not if its object is vile, low, or brainless to idiocy, so long as it has these attributes.” “Sybylla, Sybylla,” said auntie sadly, as if to herself. “In the first flush of girlhood, and so bitter. Why is this?” “Because I have been cursed with the power of seeing, thinking, and, worse than all, feeling, and branded with the stinging affliction of ugliness,” I replied. “Now, Sybylla, you are going to think of yourself again. Something has put you out. Be sensible for once in a way. What you have said of men’s love may be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me.<|quote|>“What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.”</|quote|>“But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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 | Helen. When uncle Jay-Jay heard the whole particulars of the affair, he lay back in his chair and laughed fit to kill himself. “You ought to be ashamed to always encourage her in her tomboyish ways, Julius. It grieves me to see she makes no effort to acquire a ladylike demeanour,” said grannie. Mr Hawden had come off second-best, so he arose from his half-finished meal and stamped out, banging the door after him, and muttering something about “a disgustingly spoilt and petted tomboy” , “a hideous barbarian” , and so forth. Uncle Jay-Jay related that story to everyone, dwelling with great delight upon the fact that Frank Hawden was forced to walk four miles in the heat and dust. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN As Short as I Wish had been the Majority of Sermons to which I have been Forced to give Ear When alone I confessed to aunt Helen that Harold had accompanied me to within a short distance of home. She did not smile as usual, but looked very grave, and, drawing me in front of her, said: “Sybylla, do you know what you are doing? Do you love Harry Beecham? Do you mean to marry him?” “Aunt Helen, what a question to ask! I never dreamt of such a thing. He has never spoken a word of love to me. Marriage! I am sure he does not for an instant think of me in that light. I’m not seventeen.” “Yes, you are young, but some people’s age cannot be reckoned by years. I am glad to see you have developed a certain amount of half-real and half-assumed youthfulness lately, but when the novelty of your present life wears away, your old mature nature will be there, so it is of no use feigning childishness. Harold Beecham is not given to speech—action with him is the same thing. Can you look at me straight, Sybylla, and say that Harold has not extended you something more than common politeness?” Had aunt Helen put that question to me a day before, I would have blushed and felt guilty. But today not so. The words of the jackeroo the night before had struck home. “A hideous barbarian” , he had called me, and it seemed to me he had spoken the truth. My life had been so pleasant lately that I had overlooked this fact, but now it returned to sting with redoubled bitterness. I had no lovable qualities to win for me the love of my fellows, which I so much desired. I returned aunt Helen a gaze as steady as her own, and said bitterly: “Aunt Helen, I can truly say he has never, and will never extend to me more than common politeness. Neither will any other man. Surely you know enough of masculine human nature to see there is no danger of a man losing his heart to a plain woman like me. Love in fancy and song is a pretty myth, embracing unity of souls, congeniality of tastes, and such like commodities. In workaday reality it is the lowest of passions, which is set alight by the most artistic nose and mouth, and it matters not if its object is vile, low, or brainless to idiocy, so long as it has these attributes.” “Sybylla, Sybylla,” said auntie sadly, as if to herself. “In the first flush of girlhood, and so bitter. Why is this?” “Because I have been cursed with the power of seeing, thinking, and, worse than all, feeling, and branded with the stinging affliction of ugliness,” I replied. “Now, Sybylla, you are going to think of yourself again. Something has put you out. Be sensible for once in a way. What you have said of men’s love may be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me.<|quote|>“What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.”</|quote|>“But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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 | he had spoken the truth. My life had been so pleasant lately that I had overlooked this fact, but now it returned to sting with redoubled bitterness. I had no lovable qualities to win for me the love of my fellows, which I so much desired. I returned aunt Helen a gaze as steady as her own, and said bitterly: “Aunt Helen, I can truly say he has never, and will never extend to me more than common politeness. Neither will any other man. Surely you know enough of masculine human nature to see there is no danger of a man losing his heart to a plain woman like me. Love in fancy and song is a pretty myth, embracing unity of souls, congeniality of tastes, and such like commodities. In workaday reality it is the lowest of passions, which is set alight by the most artistic nose and mouth, and it matters not if its object is vile, low, or brainless to idiocy, so long as it has these attributes.” “Sybylla, Sybylla,” said auntie sadly, as if to herself. “In the first flush of girlhood, and so bitter. Why is this?” “Because I have been cursed with the power of seeing, thinking, and, worse than all, feeling, and branded with the stinging affliction of ugliness,” I replied. “Now, Sybylla, you are going to think of yourself again. Something has put you out. Be sensible for once in a way. What you have said of men’s love may be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me.<|quote|>“What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.”</|quote|>“But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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 | My Brilliant Career |
“But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” | Sybylla Melvyn | him so far, you see.”<|quote|>“But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.”</|quote|>“Well, he has a great | has been very easy for him so far, you see.”<|quote|>“But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.”</|quote|>“Well, he has a great number to choose from, for | make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.”<|quote|>“But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.”</|quote|>“Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of | biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.”<|quote|>“But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.”</|quote|>“Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is | men’s love may be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.”<|quote|>“But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.”</|quote|>“Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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 | desired. I returned aunt Helen a gaze as steady as her own, and said bitterly: “Aunt Helen, I can truly say he has never, and will never extend to me more than common politeness. Neither will any other man. Surely you know enough of masculine human nature to see there is no danger of a man losing his heart to a plain woman like me. Love in fancy and song is a pretty myth, embracing unity of souls, congeniality of tastes, and such like commodities. In workaday reality it is the lowest of passions, which is set alight by the most artistic nose and mouth, and it matters not if its object is vile, low, or brainless to idiocy, so long as it has these attributes.” “Sybylla, Sybylla,” said auntie sadly, as if to herself. “In the first flush of girlhood, and so bitter. Why is this?” “Because I have been cursed with the power of seeing, thinking, and, worse than all, feeling, and branded with the stinging affliction of ugliness,” I replied. “Now, Sybylla, you are going to think of yourself again. Something has put you out. Be sensible for once in a way. What you have said of men’s love may be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.”<|quote|>“But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.”</|quote|>“Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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 | to kill himself. “You ought to be ashamed to always encourage her in her tomboyish ways, Julius. It grieves me to see she makes no effort to acquire a ladylike demeanour,” said grannie. Mr Hawden had come off second-best, so he arose from his half-finished meal and stamped out, banging the door after him, and muttering something about “a disgustingly spoilt and petted tomboy” , “a hideous barbarian” , and so forth. Uncle Jay-Jay related that story to everyone, dwelling with great delight upon the fact that Frank Hawden was forced to walk four miles in the heat and dust. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN As Short as I Wish had been the Majority of Sermons to which I have been Forced to give Ear When alone I confessed to aunt Helen that Harold had accompanied me to within a short distance of home. She did not smile as usual, but looked very grave, and, drawing me in front of her, said: “Sybylla, do you know what you are doing? Do you love Harry Beecham? Do you mean to marry him?” “Aunt Helen, what a question to ask! I never dreamt of such a thing. He has never spoken a word of love to me. Marriage! I am sure he does not for an instant think of me in that light. I’m not seventeen.” “Yes, you are young, but some people’s age cannot be reckoned by years. I am glad to see you have developed a certain amount of half-real and half-assumed youthfulness lately, but when the novelty of your present life wears away, your old mature nature will be there, so it is of no use feigning childishness. Harold Beecham is not given to speech—action with him is the same thing. Can you look at me straight, Sybylla, and say that Harold has not extended you something more than common politeness?” Had aunt Helen put that question to me a day before, I would have blushed and felt guilty. But today not so. The words of the jackeroo the night before had struck home. “A hideous barbarian” , he had called me, and it seemed to me he had spoken the truth. My life had been so pleasant lately that I had overlooked this fact, but now it returned to sting with redoubled bitterness. I had no lovable qualities to win for me the love of my fellows, which I so much desired. I returned aunt Helen a gaze as steady as her own, and said bitterly: “Aunt Helen, I can truly say he has never, and will never extend to me more than common politeness. Neither will any other man. Surely you know enough of masculine human nature to see there is no danger of a man losing his heart to a plain woman like me. Love in fancy and song is a pretty myth, embracing unity of souls, congeniality of tastes, and such like commodities. In workaday reality it is the lowest of passions, which is set alight by the most artistic nose and mouth, and it matters not if its object is vile, low, or brainless to idiocy, so long as it has these attributes.” “Sybylla, Sybylla,” said auntie sadly, as if to herself. “In the first flush of girlhood, and so bitter. Why is this?” “Because I have been cursed with the power of seeing, thinking, and, worse than all, feeling, and branded with the stinging affliction of ugliness,” I replied. “Now, Sybylla, you are going to think of yourself again. Something has put you out. Be sensible for once in a way. What you have said of men’s love may be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.”<|quote|>“But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.”</|quote|>“Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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 | enough of masculine human nature to see there is no danger of a man losing his heart to a plain woman like me. Love in fancy and song is a pretty myth, embracing unity of souls, congeniality of tastes, and such like commodities. In workaday reality it is the lowest of passions, which is set alight by the most artistic nose and mouth, and it matters not if its object is vile, low, or brainless to idiocy, so long as it has these attributes.” “Sybylla, Sybylla,” said auntie sadly, as if to herself. “In the first flush of girlhood, and so bitter. Why is this?” “Because I have been cursed with the power of seeing, thinking, and, worse than all, feeling, and branded with the stinging affliction of ugliness,” I replied. “Now, Sybylla, you are going to think of yourself again. Something has put you out. Be sensible for once in a way. What you have said of men’s love may be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.”<|quote|>“But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.”</|quote|>“Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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 Brilliant Career |
“Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” | Aunt Helen | any girl for the asking.”<|quote|>“Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.”</|quote|>“Yes, just for his money,” | he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.”<|quote|>“Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.”</|quote|>“Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll | it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.”<|quote|>“Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.”</|quote|>“Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn | could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.”<|quote|>“Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.”</|quote|>“Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of | and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.”<|quote|>“Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.”</|quote|>“Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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’ | bitterly: “Aunt Helen, I can truly say he has never, and will never extend to me more than common politeness. Neither will any other man. Surely you know enough of masculine human nature to see there is no danger of a man losing his heart to a plain woman like me. Love in fancy and song is a pretty myth, embracing unity of souls, congeniality of tastes, and such like commodities. In workaday reality it is the lowest of passions, which is set alight by the most artistic nose and mouth, and it matters not if its object is vile, low, or brainless to idiocy, so long as it has these attributes.” “Sybylla, Sybylla,” said auntie sadly, as if to herself. “In the first flush of girlhood, and so bitter. Why is this?” “Because I have been cursed with the power of seeing, thinking, and, worse than all, feeling, and branded with the stinging affliction of ugliness,” I replied. “Now, Sybylla, you are going to think of yourself again. Something has put you out. Be sensible for once in a way. What you have said of men’s love may be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.”<|quote|>“Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.”</|quote|>“Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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 | tomboyish ways, Julius. It grieves me to see she makes no effort to acquire a ladylike demeanour,” said grannie. Mr Hawden had come off second-best, so he arose from his half-finished meal and stamped out, banging the door after him, and muttering something about “a disgustingly spoilt and petted tomboy” , “a hideous barbarian” , and so forth. Uncle Jay-Jay related that story to everyone, dwelling with great delight upon the fact that Frank Hawden was forced to walk four miles in the heat and dust. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN As Short as I Wish had been the Majority of Sermons to which I have been Forced to give Ear When alone I confessed to aunt Helen that Harold had accompanied me to within a short distance of home. She did not smile as usual, but looked very grave, and, drawing me in front of her, said: “Sybylla, do you know what you are doing? Do you love Harry Beecham? Do you mean to marry him?” “Aunt Helen, what a question to ask! I never dreamt of such a thing. He has never spoken a word of love to me. Marriage! I am sure he does not for an instant think of me in that light. I’m not seventeen.” “Yes, you are young, but some people’s age cannot be reckoned by years. I am glad to see you have developed a certain amount of half-real and half-assumed youthfulness lately, but when the novelty of your present life wears away, your old mature nature will be there, so it is of no use feigning childishness. Harold Beecham is not given to speech—action with him is the same thing. Can you look at me straight, Sybylla, and say that Harold has not extended you something more than common politeness?” Had aunt Helen put that question to me a day before, I would have blushed and felt guilty. But today not so. The words of the jackeroo the night before had struck home. “A hideous barbarian” , he had called me, and it seemed to me he had spoken the truth. My life had been so pleasant lately that I had overlooked this fact, but now it returned to sting with redoubled bitterness. I had no lovable qualities to win for me the love of my fellows, which I so much desired. I returned aunt Helen a gaze as steady as her own, and said bitterly: “Aunt Helen, I can truly say he has never, and will never extend to me more than common politeness. Neither will any other man. Surely you know enough of masculine human nature to see there is no danger of a man losing his heart to a plain woman like me. Love in fancy and song is a pretty myth, embracing unity of souls, congeniality of tastes, and such like commodities. In workaday reality it is the lowest of passions, which is set alight by the most artistic nose and mouth, and it matters not if its object is vile, low, or brainless to idiocy, so long as it has these attributes.” “Sybylla, Sybylla,” said auntie sadly, as if to herself. “In the first flush of girlhood, and so bitter. Why is this?” “Because I have been cursed with the power of seeing, thinking, and, worse than all, feeling, and branded with the stinging affliction of ugliness,” I replied. “Now, Sybylla, you are going to think of yourself again. Something has put you out. Be sensible for once in a way. What you have said of men’s love may be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.”<|quote|>“Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.”</|quote|>“Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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 | the first flush of girlhood, and so bitter. Why is this?” “Because I have been cursed with the power of seeing, thinking, and, worse than all, feeling, and branded with the stinging affliction of ugliness,” I replied. “Now, Sybylla, you are going to think of yourself again. Something has put you out. Be sensible for once in a way. What you have said of men’s love may be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.”<|quote|>“Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.”</|quote|>“Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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, | My Brilliant Career |
“Yes, just for his money,” | Sybylla Melvyn | for they all like him.”<|quote|>“Yes, just for his money,”</|quote|>I said scornfully. “But I’ll | great number to choose from, for they all like him.”<|quote|>“Yes, just for his money,”</|quote|>I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks | at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.”<|quote|>“Yes, just for his money,”</|quote|>I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” | is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.”<|quote|>“Yes, just for his money,”</|quote|>I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing | life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.”<|quote|>“Yes, just for his money,”</|quote|>I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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 | to me more than common politeness. Neither will any other man. Surely you know enough of masculine human nature to see there is no danger of a man losing his heart to a plain woman like me. Love in fancy and song is a pretty myth, embracing unity of souls, congeniality of tastes, and such like commodities. In workaday reality it is the lowest of passions, which is set alight by the most artistic nose and mouth, and it matters not if its object is vile, low, or brainless to idiocy, so long as it has these attributes.” “Sybylla, Sybylla,” said auntie sadly, as if to herself. “In the first flush of girlhood, and so bitter. Why is this?” “Because I have been cursed with the power of seeing, thinking, and, worse than all, feeling, and branded with the stinging affliction of ugliness,” I replied. “Now, Sybylla, you are going to think of yourself again. Something has put you out. Be sensible for once in a way. What you have said of men’s love may be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.”<|quote|>“Yes, just for his money,”</|quote|>I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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 | a ladylike demeanour,” said grannie. Mr Hawden had come off second-best, so he arose from his half-finished meal and stamped out, banging the door after him, and muttering something about “a disgustingly spoilt and petted tomboy” , “a hideous barbarian” , and so forth. Uncle Jay-Jay related that story to everyone, dwelling with great delight upon the fact that Frank Hawden was forced to walk four miles in the heat and dust. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN As Short as I Wish had been the Majority of Sermons to which I have been Forced to give Ear When alone I confessed to aunt Helen that Harold had accompanied me to within a short distance of home. She did not smile as usual, but looked very grave, and, drawing me in front of her, said: “Sybylla, do you know what you are doing? Do you love Harry Beecham? Do you mean to marry him?” “Aunt Helen, what a question to ask! I never dreamt of such a thing. He has never spoken a word of love to me. Marriage! I am sure he does not for an instant think of me in that light. I’m not seventeen.” “Yes, you are young, but some people’s age cannot be reckoned by years. I am glad to see you have developed a certain amount of half-real and half-assumed youthfulness lately, but when the novelty of your present life wears away, your old mature nature will be there, so it is of no use feigning childishness. Harold Beecham is not given to speech—action with him is the same thing. Can you look at me straight, Sybylla, and say that Harold has not extended you something more than common politeness?” Had aunt Helen put that question to me a day before, I would have blushed and felt guilty. But today not so. The words of the jackeroo the night before had struck home. “A hideous barbarian” , he had called me, and it seemed to me he had spoken the truth. My life had been so pleasant lately that I had overlooked this fact, but now it returned to sting with redoubled bitterness. I had no lovable qualities to win for me the love of my fellows, which I so much desired. I returned aunt Helen a gaze as steady as her own, and said bitterly: “Aunt Helen, I can truly say he has never, and will never extend to me more than common politeness. Neither will any other man. Surely you know enough of masculine human nature to see there is no danger of a man losing his heart to a plain woman like me. Love in fancy and song is a pretty myth, embracing unity of souls, congeniality of tastes, and such like commodities. In workaday reality it is the lowest of passions, which is set alight by the most artistic nose and mouth, and it matters not if its object is vile, low, or brainless to idiocy, so long as it has these attributes.” “Sybylla, Sybylla,” said auntie sadly, as if to herself. “In the first flush of girlhood, and so bitter. Why is this?” “Because I have been cursed with the power of seeing, thinking, and, worse than all, feeling, and branded with the stinging affliction of ugliness,” I replied. “Now, Sybylla, you are going to think of yourself again. Something has put you out. Be sensible for once in a way. What you have said of men’s love may be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.”<|quote|>“Yes, just for his money,”</|quote|>I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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 | all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.”<|quote|>“Yes, just for his money,”</|quote|>I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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 | My Brilliant Career |
I said scornfully. | No speaker | “Yes, just for his money,”<|quote|>I said scornfully.</|quote|>“But I’ll surprise him if | for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,”<|quote|>I said scornfully.</|quote|>“But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get | of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,”<|quote|>I said scornfully.</|quote|>“But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with | think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,”<|quote|>I said scornfully.</|quote|>“But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. | feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,”<|quote|>I said scornfully.</|quote|>“But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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 | politeness. Neither will any other man. Surely you know enough of masculine human nature to see there is no danger of a man losing his heart to a plain woman like me. Love in fancy and song is a pretty myth, embracing unity of souls, congeniality of tastes, and such like commodities. In workaday reality it is the lowest of passions, which is set alight by the most artistic nose and mouth, and it matters not if its object is vile, low, or brainless to idiocy, so long as it has these attributes.” “Sybylla, Sybylla,” said auntie sadly, as if to herself. “In the first flush of girlhood, and so bitter. Why is this?” “Because I have been cursed with the power of seeing, thinking, and, worse than all, feeling, and branded with the stinging affliction of ugliness,” I replied. “Now, Sybylla, you are going to think of yourself again. Something has put you out. Be sensible for once in a way. What you have said of men’s love may be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,”<|quote|>I said scornfully.</|quote|>“But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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 | Mr Hawden had come off second-best, so he arose from his half-finished meal and stamped out, banging the door after him, and muttering something about “a disgustingly spoilt and petted tomboy” , “a hideous barbarian” , and so forth. Uncle Jay-Jay related that story to everyone, dwelling with great delight upon the fact that Frank Hawden was forced to walk four miles in the heat and dust. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN As Short as I Wish had been the Majority of Sermons to which I have been Forced to give Ear When alone I confessed to aunt Helen that Harold had accompanied me to within a short distance of home. She did not smile as usual, but looked very grave, and, drawing me in front of her, said: “Sybylla, do you know what you are doing? Do you love Harry Beecham? Do you mean to marry him?” “Aunt Helen, what a question to ask! I never dreamt of such a thing. He has never spoken a word of love to me. Marriage! I am sure he does not for an instant think of me in that light. I’m not seventeen.” “Yes, you are young, but some people’s age cannot be reckoned by years. I am glad to see you have developed a certain amount of half-real and half-assumed youthfulness lately, but when the novelty of your present life wears away, your old mature nature will be there, so it is of no use feigning childishness. Harold Beecham is not given to speech—action with him is the same thing. Can you look at me straight, Sybylla, and say that Harold has not extended you something more than common politeness?” Had aunt Helen put that question to me a day before, I would have blushed and felt guilty. But today not so. The words of the jackeroo the night before had struck home. “A hideous barbarian” , he had called me, and it seemed to me he had spoken the truth. My life had been so pleasant lately that I had overlooked this fact, but now it returned to sting with redoubled bitterness. I had no lovable qualities to win for me the love of my fellows, which I so much desired. I returned aunt Helen a gaze as steady as her own, and said bitterly: “Aunt Helen, I can truly say he has never, and will never extend to me more than common politeness. Neither will any other man. Surely you know enough of masculine human nature to see there is no danger of a man losing his heart to a plain woman like me. Love in fancy and song is a pretty myth, embracing unity of souls, congeniality of tastes, and such like commodities. In workaday reality it is the lowest of passions, which is set alight by the most artistic nose and mouth, and it matters not if its object is vile, low, or brainless to idiocy, so long as it has these attributes.” “Sybylla, Sybylla,” said auntie sadly, as if to herself. “In the first flush of girlhood, and so bitter. Why is this?” “Because I have been cursed with the power of seeing, thinking, and, worse than all, feeling, and branded with the stinging affliction of ugliness,” I replied. “Now, Sybylla, you are going to think of yourself again. Something has put you out. Be sensible for once in a way. What you have said of men’s love may be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,”<|quote|>I said scornfully.</|quote|>“But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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 | is the same thing. Can you look at me straight, Sybylla, and say that Harold has not extended you something more than common politeness?” Had aunt Helen put that question to me a day before, I would have blushed and felt guilty. But today not so. The words of the jackeroo the night before had struck home. “A hideous barbarian” , he had called me, and it seemed to me he had spoken the truth. My life had been so pleasant lately that I had overlooked this fact, but now it returned to sting with redoubled bitterness. I had no lovable qualities to win for me the love of my fellows, which I so much desired. I returned aunt Helen a gaze as steady as her own, and said bitterly: “Aunt Helen, I can truly say he has never, and will never extend to me more than common politeness. Neither will any other man. Surely you know enough of masculine human nature to see there is no danger of a man losing his heart to a plain woman like me. Love in fancy and song is a pretty myth, embracing unity of souls, congeniality of tastes, and such like commodities. In workaday reality it is the lowest of passions, which is set alight by the most artistic nose and mouth, and it matters not if its object is vile, low, or brainless to idiocy, so long as it has these attributes.” “Sybylla, Sybylla,” said auntie sadly, as if to herself. “In the first flush of girlhood, and so bitter. Why is this?” “Because I have been cursed with the power of seeing, thinking, and, worse than all, feeling, and branded with the stinging affliction of ugliness,” I replied. “Now, Sybylla, you are going to think of yourself again. Something has put you out. Be sensible for once in a way. What you have said of men’s love may be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,”<|quote|>I said scornfully.</|quote|>“But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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 | My Brilliant Career |
“But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” | Sybylla Melvyn | his money,” I said scornfully.<|quote|>“But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.”</|quote|>“Sybylla, never flirt. To play | like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully.<|quote|>“But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.”</|quote|>“Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I | will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully.<|quote|>“But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.”</|quote|>“Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, | bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully.<|quote|>“But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.”</|quote|>“Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does | loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully.<|quote|>“But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.”</|quote|>“Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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 | any other man. Surely you know enough of masculine human nature to see there is no danger of a man losing his heart to a plain woman like me. Love in fancy and song is a pretty myth, embracing unity of souls, congeniality of tastes, and such like commodities. In workaday reality it is the lowest of passions, which is set alight by the most artistic nose and mouth, and it matters not if its object is vile, low, or brainless to idiocy, so long as it has these attributes.” “Sybylla, Sybylla,” said auntie sadly, as if to herself. “In the first flush of girlhood, and so bitter. Why is this?” “Because I have been cursed with the power of seeing, thinking, and, worse than all, feeling, and branded with the stinging affliction of ugliness,” I replied. “Now, Sybylla, you are going to think of yourself again. Something has put you out. Be sensible for once in a way. What you have said of men’s love may be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully.<|quote|>“But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.”</|quote|>“Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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 | come off second-best, so he arose from his half-finished meal and stamped out, banging the door after him, and muttering something about “a disgustingly spoilt and petted tomboy” , “a hideous barbarian” , and so forth. Uncle Jay-Jay related that story to everyone, dwelling with great delight upon the fact that Frank Hawden was forced to walk four miles in the heat and dust. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN As Short as I Wish had been the Majority of Sermons to which I have been Forced to give Ear When alone I confessed to aunt Helen that Harold had accompanied me to within a short distance of home. She did not smile as usual, but looked very grave, and, drawing me in front of her, said: “Sybylla, do you know what you are doing? Do you love Harry Beecham? Do you mean to marry him?” “Aunt Helen, what a question to ask! I never dreamt of such a thing. He has never spoken a word of love to me. Marriage! I am sure he does not for an instant think of me in that light. I’m not seventeen.” “Yes, you are young, but some people’s age cannot be reckoned by years. I am glad to see you have developed a certain amount of half-real and half-assumed youthfulness lately, but when the novelty of your present life wears away, your old mature nature will be there, so it is of no use feigning childishness. Harold Beecham is not given to speech—action with him is the same thing. Can you look at me straight, Sybylla, and say that Harold has not extended you something more than common politeness?” Had aunt Helen put that question to me a day before, I would have blushed and felt guilty. But today not so. The words of the jackeroo the night before had struck home. “A hideous barbarian” , he had called me, and it seemed to me he had spoken the truth. My life had been so pleasant lately that I had overlooked this fact, but now it returned to sting with redoubled bitterness. I had no lovable qualities to win for me the love of my fellows, which I so much desired. I returned aunt Helen a gaze as steady as her own, and said bitterly: “Aunt Helen, I can truly say he has never, and will never extend to me more than common politeness. Neither will any other man. Surely you know enough of masculine human nature to see there is no danger of a man losing his heart to a plain woman like me. Love in fancy and song is a pretty myth, embracing unity of souls, congeniality of tastes, and such like commodities. In workaday reality it is the lowest of passions, which is set alight by the most artistic nose and mouth, and it matters not if its object is vile, low, or brainless to idiocy, so long as it has these attributes.” “Sybylla, Sybylla,” said auntie sadly, as if to herself. “In the first flush of girlhood, and so bitter. Why is this?” “Because I have been cursed with the power of seeing, thinking, and, worse than all, feeling, and branded with the stinging affliction of ugliness,” I replied. “Now, Sybylla, you are going to think of yourself again. Something has put you out. Be sensible for once in a way. What you have said of men’s love may be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully.<|quote|>“But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.”</|quote|>“Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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 | is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully.<|quote|>“But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.”</|quote|>“Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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 | My Brilliant Career |
“Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” | Aunt Helen | get me for the asking.”<|quote|>“Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.”</|quote|>“I would scorn to flirt | if he thinks he can get me for the asking.”<|quote|>“Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.”</|quote|>“I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned | “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.”<|quote|>“Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.”</|quote|>“I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I | make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.”<|quote|>“Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.”</|quote|>“I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” | accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.”<|quote|>“Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.”</|quote|>“I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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 | is no danger of a man losing his heart to a plain woman like me. Love in fancy and song is a pretty myth, embracing unity of souls, congeniality of tastes, and such like commodities. In workaday reality it is the lowest of passions, which is set alight by the most artistic nose and mouth, and it matters not if its object is vile, low, or brainless to idiocy, so long as it has these attributes.” “Sybylla, Sybylla,” said auntie sadly, as if to herself. “In the first flush of girlhood, and so bitter. Why is this?” “Because I have been cursed with the power of seeing, thinking, and, worse than all, feeling, and branded with the stinging affliction of ugliness,” I replied. “Now, Sybylla, you are going to think of yourself again. Something has put you out. Be sensible for once in a way. What you have said of men’s love may be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.”<|quote|>“Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.”</|quote|>“I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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 | the door after him, and muttering something about “a disgustingly spoilt and petted tomboy” , “a hideous barbarian” , and so forth. Uncle Jay-Jay related that story to everyone, dwelling with great delight upon the fact that Frank Hawden was forced to walk four miles in the heat and dust. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN As Short as I Wish had been the Majority of Sermons to which I have been Forced to give Ear When alone I confessed to aunt Helen that Harold had accompanied me to within a short distance of home. She did not smile as usual, but looked very grave, and, drawing me in front of her, said: “Sybylla, do you know what you are doing? Do you love Harry Beecham? Do you mean to marry him?” “Aunt Helen, what a question to ask! I never dreamt of such a thing. He has never spoken a word of love to me. Marriage! I am sure he does not for an instant think of me in that light. I’m not seventeen.” “Yes, you are young, but some people’s age cannot be reckoned by years. I am glad to see you have developed a certain amount of half-real and half-assumed youthfulness lately, but when the novelty of your present life wears away, your old mature nature will be there, so it is of no use feigning childishness. Harold Beecham is not given to speech—action with him is the same thing. Can you look at me straight, Sybylla, and say that Harold has not extended you something more than common politeness?” Had aunt Helen put that question to me a day before, I would have blushed and felt guilty. But today not so. The words of the jackeroo the night before had struck home. “A hideous barbarian” , he had called me, and it seemed to me he had spoken the truth. My life had been so pleasant lately that I had overlooked this fact, but now it returned to sting with redoubled bitterness. I had no lovable qualities to win for me the love of my fellows, which I so much desired. I returned aunt Helen a gaze as steady as her own, and said bitterly: “Aunt Helen, I can truly say he has never, and will never extend to me more than common politeness. Neither will any other man. Surely you know enough of masculine human nature to see there is no danger of a man losing his heart to a plain woman like me. Love in fancy and song is a pretty myth, embracing unity of souls, congeniality of tastes, and such like commodities. In workaday reality it is the lowest of passions, which is set alight by the most artistic nose and mouth, and it matters not if its object is vile, low, or brainless to idiocy, so long as it has these attributes.” “Sybylla, Sybylla,” said auntie sadly, as if to herself. “In the first flush of girlhood, and so bitter. Why is this?” “Because I have been cursed with the power of seeing, thinking, and, worse than all, feeling, and branded with the stinging affliction of ugliness,” I replied. “Now, Sybylla, you are going to think of yourself again. Something has put you out. Be sensible for once in a way. What you have said of men’s love may be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.”<|quote|>“Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.”</|quote|>“I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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 | congeniality of tastes, and such like commodities. In workaday reality it is the lowest of passions, which is set alight by the most artistic nose and mouth, and it matters not if its object is vile, low, or brainless to idiocy, so long as it has these attributes.” “Sybylla, Sybylla,” said auntie sadly, as if to herself. “In the first flush of girlhood, and so bitter. Why is this?” “Because I have been cursed with the power of seeing, thinking, and, worse than all, feeling, and branded with the stinging affliction of ugliness,” I replied. “Now, Sybylla, you are going to think of yourself again. Something has put you out. Be sensible for once in a way. What you have said of men’s love may be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.”<|quote|>“Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.”</|quote|>“I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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 | My Brilliant Career |
“I would scorn to flirt with any man,” | Sybylla Melvyn | sex can be guilty of.”<|quote|>“I would scorn to flirt with any man,”</|quote|>I returned with vigour. “Play | most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.”<|quote|>“I would scorn to flirt with any man,”</|quote|>I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d | all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.”<|quote|>“I would scorn to flirt with any man,”</|quote|>I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing | Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.”<|quote|>“I would scorn to flirt with any man,”</|quote|>I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of | little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.”<|quote|>“I would scorn to flirt with any man,”</|quote|>I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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 | unity of souls, congeniality of tastes, and such like commodities. In workaday reality it is the lowest of passions, which is set alight by the most artistic nose and mouth, and it matters not if its object is vile, low, or brainless to idiocy, so long as it has these attributes.” “Sybylla, Sybylla,” said auntie sadly, as if to herself. “In the first flush of girlhood, and so bitter. Why is this?” “Because I have been cursed with the power of seeing, thinking, and, worse than all, feeling, and branded with the stinging affliction of ugliness,” I replied. “Now, Sybylla, you are going to think of yourself again. Something has put you out. Be sensible for once in a way. What you have said of men’s love may be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.”<|quote|>“I would scorn to flirt with any man,”</|quote|>I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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 | that story to everyone, dwelling with great delight upon the fact that Frank Hawden was forced to walk four miles in the heat and dust. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN As Short as I Wish had been the Majority of Sermons to which I have been Forced to give Ear When alone I confessed to aunt Helen that Harold had accompanied me to within a short distance of home. She did not smile as usual, but looked very grave, and, drawing me in front of her, said: “Sybylla, do you know what you are doing? Do you love Harry Beecham? Do you mean to marry him?” “Aunt Helen, what a question to ask! I never dreamt of such a thing. He has never spoken a word of love to me. Marriage! I am sure he does not for an instant think of me in that light. I’m not seventeen.” “Yes, you are young, but some people’s age cannot be reckoned by years. I am glad to see you have developed a certain amount of half-real and half-assumed youthfulness lately, but when the novelty of your present life wears away, your old mature nature will be there, so it is of no use feigning childishness. Harold Beecham is not given to speech—action with him is the same thing. Can you look at me straight, Sybylla, and say that Harold has not extended you something more than common politeness?” Had aunt Helen put that question to me a day before, I would have blushed and felt guilty. But today not so. The words of the jackeroo the night before had struck home. “A hideous barbarian” , he had called me, and it seemed to me he had spoken the truth. My life had been so pleasant lately that I had overlooked this fact, but now it returned to sting with redoubled bitterness. I had no lovable qualities to win for me the love of my fellows, which I so much desired. I returned aunt Helen a gaze as steady as her own, and said bitterly: “Aunt Helen, I can truly say he has never, and will never extend to me more than common politeness. Neither will any other man. Surely you know enough of masculine human nature to see there is no danger of a man losing his heart to a plain woman like me. Love in fancy and song is a pretty myth, embracing unity of souls, congeniality of tastes, and such like commodities. In workaday reality it is the lowest of passions, which is set alight by the most artistic nose and mouth, and it matters not if its object is vile, low, or brainless to idiocy, so long as it has these attributes.” “Sybylla, Sybylla,” said auntie sadly, as if to herself. “In the first flush of girlhood, and so bitter. Why is this?” “Because I have been cursed with the power of seeing, thinking, and, worse than all, feeling, and branded with the stinging affliction of ugliness,” I replied. “Now, Sybylla, you are going to think of yourself again. Something has put you out. Be sensible for once in a way. What you have said of men’s love may be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.”<|quote|>“I would scorn to flirt with any man,”</|quote|>I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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 | girlhood, and so bitter. Why is this?” “Because I have been cursed with the power of seeing, thinking, and, worse than all, feeling, and branded with the stinging affliction of ugliness,” I replied. “Now, Sybylla, you are going to think of yourself again. Something has put you out. Be sensible for once in a way. What you have said of men’s love may be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.”<|quote|>“I would scorn to flirt with any man,”</|quote|>I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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 | My Brilliant Career |
I returned with vigour. | No speaker | to flirt with any man,”<|quote|>I returned with vigour.</|quote|>“Play with a man’s heart! | guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,”<|quote|>I returned with vigour.</|quote|>“Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had | I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,”<|quote|>I returned with vigour.</|quote|>“Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It | of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,”<|quote|>I returned with vigour.</|quote|>“Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 The Prince | “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,”<|quote|>I returned with vigour.</|quote|>“Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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 | like commodities. In workaday reality it is the lowest of passions, which is set alight by the most artistic nose and mouth, and it matters not if its object is vile, low, or brainless to idiocy, so long as it has these attributes.” “Sybylla, Sybylla,” said auntie sadly, as if to herself. “In the first flush of girlhood, and so bitter. Why is this?” “Because I have been cursed with the power of seeing, thinking, and, worse than all, feeling, and branded with the stinging affliction of ugliness,” I replied. “Now, Sybylla, you are going to think of yourself again. Something has put you out. Be sensible for once in a way. What you have said of men’s love may be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,”<|quote|>I returned with vigour.</|quote|>“Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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 | upon the fact that Frank Hawden was forced to walk four miles in the heat and dust. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN As Short as I Wish had been the Majority of Sermons to which I have been Forced to give Ear When alone I confessed to aunt Helen that Harold had accompanied me to within a short distance of home. She did not smile as usual, but looked very grave, and, drawing me in front of her, said: “Sybylla, do you know what you are doing? Do you love Harry Beecham? Do you mean to marry him?” “Aunt Helen, what a question to ask! I never dreamt of such a thing. He has never spoken a word of love to me. Marriage! I am sure he does not for an instant think of me in that light. I’m not seventeen.” “Yes, you are young, but some people’s age cannot be reckoned by years. I am glad to see you have developed a certain amount of half-real and half-assumed youthfulness lately, but when the novelty of your present life wears away, your old mature nature will be there, so it is of no use feigning childishness. Harold Beecham is not given to speech—action with him is the same thing. Can you look at me straight, Sybylla, and say that Harold has not extended you something more than common politeness?” Had aunt Helen put that question to me a day before, I would have blushed and felt guilty. But today not so. The words of the jackeroo the night before had struck home. “A hideous barbarian” , he had called me, and it seemed to me he had spoken the truth. My life had been so pleasant lately that I had overlooked this fact, but now it returned to sting with redoubled bitterness. I had no lovable qualities to win for me the love of my fellows, which I so much desired. I returned aunt Helen a gaze as steady as her own, and said bitterly: “Aunt Helen, I can truly say he has never, and will never extend to me more than common politeness. Neither will any other man. Surely you know enough of masculine human nature to see there is no danger of a man losing his heart to a plain woman like me. Love in fancy and song is a pretty myth, embracing unity of souls, congeniality of tastes, and such like commodities. In workaday reality it is the lowest of passions, which is set alight by the most artistic nose and mouth, and it matters not if its object is vile, low, or brainless to idiocy, so long as it has these attributes.” “Sybylla, Sybylla,” said auntie sadly, as if to herself. “In the first flush of girlhood, and so bitter. Why is this?” “Because I have been cursed with the power of seeing, thinking, and, worse than all, feeling, and branded with the stinging affliction of ugliness,” I replied. “Now, Sybylla, you are going to think of yourself again. Something has put you out. Be sensible for once in a way. What you have said of men’s love may be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,”<|quote|>I returned with vigour.</|quote|>“Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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 | his heart to a plain woman like me. Love in fancy and song is a pretty myth, embracing unity of souls, congeniality of tastes, and such like commodities. In workaday reality it is the lowest of passions, which is set alight by the most artistic nose and mouth, and it matters not if its object is vile, low, or brainless to idiocy, so long as it has these attributes.” “Sybylla, Sybylla,” said auntie sadly, as if to herself. “In the first flush of girlhood, and so bitter. Why is this?” “Because I have been cursed with the power of seeing, thinking, and, worse than all, feeling, and branded with the stinging affliction of ugliness,” I replied. “Now, Sybylla, you are going to think of yourself again. Something has put you out. Be sensible for once in a way. What you have said of men’s love may be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,”<|quote|>I returned with vigour.</|quote|>“Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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. | My Brilliant Career |
“Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” | Sybylla Melvyn | man,” I returned with vigour.<|quote|>“Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.”</|quote|>“Sybylla, you talk at random. | scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour.<|quote|>“Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.”</|quote|>“Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are | I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour.<|quote|>“Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.”</|quote|>“Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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 | wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour.<|quote|>“Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.”</|quote|>“Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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 | He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour.<|quote|>“Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.”</|quote|>“Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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 | reality it is the lowest of passions, which is set alight by the most artistic nose and mouth, and it matters not if its object is vile, low, or brainless to idiocy, so long as it has these attributes.” “Sybylla, Sybylla,” said auntie sadly, as if to herself. “In the first flush of girlhood, and so bitter. Why is this?” “Because I have been cursed with the power of seeing, thinking, and, worse than all, feeling, and branded with the stinging affliction of ugliness,” I replied. “Now, Sybylla, you are going to think of yourself again. Something has put you out. Be sensible for once in a way. What you have said of men’s love may be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour.<|quote|>“Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.”</|quote|>“Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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 | Frank Hawden was forced to walk four miles in the heat and dust. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN As Short as I Wish had been the Majority of Sermons to which I have been Forced to give Ear When alone I confessed to aunt Helen that Harold had accompanied me to within a short distance of home. She did not smile as usual, but looked very grave, and, drawing me in front of her, said: “Sybylla, do you know what you are doing? Do you love Harry Beecham? Do you mean to marry him?” “Aunt Helen, what a question to ask! I never dreamt of such a thing. He has never spoken a word of love to me. Marriage! I am sure he does not for an instant think of me in that light. I’m not seventeen.” “Yes, you are young, but some people’s age cannot be reckoned by years. I am glad to see you have developed a certain amount of half-real and half-assumed youthfulness lately, but when the novelty of your present life wears away, your old mature nature will be there, so it is of no use feigning childishness. Harold Beecham is not given to speech—action with him is the same thing. Can you look at me straight, Sybylla, and say that Harold has not extended you something more than common politeness?” Had aunt Helen put that question to me a day before, I would have blushed and felt guilty. But today not so. The words of the jackeroo the night before had struck home. “A hideous barbarian” , he had called me, and it seemed to me he had spoken the truth. My life had been so pleasant lately that I had overlooked this fact, but now it returned to sting with redoubled bitterness. I had no lovable qualities to win for me the love of my fellows, which I so much desired. I returned aunt Helen a gaze as steady as her own, and said bitterly: “Aunt Helen, I can truly say he has never, and will never extend to me more than common politeness. Neither will any other man. Surely you know enough of masculine human nature to see there is no danger of a man losing his heart to a plain woman like me. Love in fancy and song is a pretty myth, embracing unity of souls, congeniality of tastes, and such like commodities. In workaday reality it is the lowest of passions, which is set alight by the most artistic nose and mouth, and it matters not if its object is vile, low, or brainless to idiocy, so long as it has these attributes.” “Sybylla, Sybylla,” said auntie sadly, as if to herself. “In the first flush of girlhood, and so bitter. Why is this?” “Because I have been cursed with the power of seeing, thinking, and, worse than all, feeling, and branded with the stinging affliction of ugliness,” I replied. “Now, Sybylla, you are going to think of yourself again. Something has put you out. Be sensible for once in a way. What you have said of men’s love may be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour.<|quote|>“Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.”</|quote|>“Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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. | such like commodities. In workaday reality it is the lowest of passions, which is set alight by the most artistic nose and mouth, and it matters not if its object is vile, low, or brainless to idiocy, so long as it has these attributes.” “Sybylla, Sybylla,” said auntie sadly, as if to herself. “In the first flush of girlhood, and so bitter. Why is this?” “Because I have been cursed with the power of seeing, thinking, and, worse than all, feeling, and branded with the stinging affliction of ugliness,” I replied. “Now, Sybylla, you are going to think of yourself again. Something has put you out. Be sensible for once in a way. What you have said of men’s love may be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour.<|quote|>“Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.”</|quote|>“Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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 | My Brilliant Career |
“Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” | Aunt Helen | a woman is played with.”<|quote|>“Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,”</|quote|>said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN | It does not matter how a woman is played with.”<|quote|>“Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,”</|quote|>said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 | vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.”<|quote|>“Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,”</|quote|>said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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 | heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.”<|quote|>“Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,”</|quote|>said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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 | another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.”<|quote|>“Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,”</|quote|>said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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 | and, worse than all, feeling, and branded with the stinging affliction of ugliness,” I replied. “Now, Sybylla, you are going to think of yourself again. Something has put you out. Be sensible for once in a way. What you have said of men’s love may be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.”<|quote|>“Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,”</|quote|>said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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 | said: “Sybylla, do you know what you are doing? Do you love Harry Beecham? Do you mean to marry him?” “Aunt Helen, what a question to ask! I never dreamt of such a thing. He has never spoken a word of love to me. Marriage! I am sure he does not for an instant think of me in that light. I’m not seventeen.” “Yes, you are young, but some people’s age cannot be reckoned by years. I am glad to see you have developed a certain amount of half-real and half-assumed youthfulness lately, but when the novelty of your present life wears away, your old mature nature will be there, so it is of no use feigning childishness. Harold Beecham is not given to speech—action with him is the same thing. Can you look at me straight, Sybylla, and say that Harold has not extended you something more than common politeness?” Had aunt Helen put that question to me a day before, I would have blushed and felt guilty. But today not so. The words of the jackeroo the night before had struck home. “A hideous barbarian” , he had called me, and it seemed to me he had spoken the truth. My life had been so pleasant lately that I had overlooked this fact, but now it returned to sting with redoubled bitterness. I had no lovable qualities to win for me the love of my fellows, which I so much desired. I returned aunt Helen a gaze as steady as her own, and said bitterly: “Aunt Helen, I can truly say he has never, and will never extend to me more than common politeness. Neither will any other man. Surely you know enough of masculine human nature to see there is no danger of a man losing his heart to a plain woman like me. Love in fancy and song is a pretty myth, embracing unity of souls, congeniality of tastes, and such like commodities. In workaday reality it is the lowest of passions, which is set alight by the most artistic nose and mouth, and it matters not if its object is vile, low, or brainless to idiocy, so long as it has these attributes.” “Sybylla, Sybylla,” said auntie sadly, as if to herself. “In the first flush of girlhood, and so bitter. Why is this?” “Because I have been cursed with the power of seeing, thinking, and, worse than all, feeling, and branded with the stinging affliction of ugliness,” I replied. “Now, Sybylla, you are going to think of yourself again. Something has put you out. Be sensible for once in a way. What you have said of men’s love may be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.”<|quote|>“Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,”</|quote|>said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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 | fellows, which I so much desired. I returned aunt Helen a gaze as steady as her own, and said bitterly: “Aunt Helen, I can truly say he has never, and will never extend to me more than common politeness. Neither will any other man. Surely you know enough of masculine human nature to see there is no danger of a man losing his heart to a plain woman like me. Love in fancy and song is a pretty myth, embracing unity of souls, congeniality of tastes, and such like commodities. In workaday reality it is the lowest of passions, which is set alight by the most artistic nose and mouth, and it matters not if its object is vile, low, or brainless to idiocy, so long as it has these attributes.” “Sybylla, Sybylla,” said auntie sadly, as if to herself. “In the first flush of girlhood, and so bitter. Why is this?” “Because I have been cursed with the power of seeing, thinking, and, worse than all, feeling, and branded with the stinging affliction of ugliness,” I replied. “Now, Sybylla, you are going to think of yourself again. Something has put you out. Be sensible for once in a way. What you have said of men’s love may be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.”<|quote|>“Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,”</|quote|>said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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 | My Brilliant Career |
said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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, | No speaker | for you to be unwomanly,”<|quote|>said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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,</|quote|>“Go it, Mr Bossier! Well | of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,”<|quote|>said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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,</|quote|>“Go it, Mr Bossier! Well done, uncle Jay-Jay! Hurrah for | am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,”<|quote|>said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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,</|quote|>“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 | “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,”<|quote|>said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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,</|quote|>“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 | Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,”<|quote|>said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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,</|quote|>“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 | you are going to think of yourself again. Something has put you out. Be sensible for once in a way. What you have said of men’s love may be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,”<|quote|>said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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,</|quote|>“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 marry him?” “Aunt Helen, what a question to ask! I never dreamt of such a thing. He has never spoken a word of love to me. Marriage! I am sure he does not for an instant think of me in that light. I’m not seventeen.” “Yes, you are young, but some people’s age cannot be reckoned by years. I am glad to see you have developed a certain amount of half-real and half-assumed youthfulness lately, but when the novelty of your present life wears away, your old mature nature will be there, so it is of no use feigning childishness. Harold Beecham is not given to speech—action with him is the same thing. Can you look at me straight, Sybylla, and say that Harold has not extended you something more than common politeness?” Had aunt Helen put that question to me a day before, I would have blushed and felt guilty. But today not so. The words of the jackeroo the night before had struck home. “A hideous barbarian” , he had called me, and it seemed to me he had spoken the truth. My life had been so pleasant lately that I had overlooked this fact, but now it returned to sting with redoubled bitterness. I had no lovable qualities to win for me the love of my fellows, which I so much desired. I returned aunt Helen a gaze as steady as her own, and said bitterly: “Aunt Helen, I can truly say he has never, and will never extend to me more than common politeness. Neither will any other man. Surely you know enough of masculine human nature to see there is no danger of a man losing his heart to a plain woman like me. Love in fancy and song is a pretty myth, embracing unity of souls, congeniality of tastes, and such like commodities. In workaday reality it is the lowest of passions, which is set alight by the most artistic nose and mouth, and it matters not if its object is vile, low, or brainless to idiocy, so long as it has these attributes.” “Sybylla, Sybylla,” said auntie sadly, as if to herself. “In the first flush of girlhood, and so bitter. Why is this?” “Because I have been cursed with the power of seeing, thinking, and, worse than all, feeling, and branded with the stinging affliction of ugliness,” I replied. “Now, Sybylla, you are going to think of yourself again. Something has put you out. Be sensible for once in a way. What you have said of men’s love may be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,”<|quote|>said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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,</|quote|>“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 | much desired. I returned aunt Helen a gaze as steady as her own, and said bitterly: “Aunt Helen, I can truly say he has never, and will never extend to me more than common politeness. Neither will any other man. Surely you know enough of masculine human nature to see there is no danger of a man losing his heart to a plain woman like me. Love in fancy and song is a pretty myth, embracing unity of souls, congeniality of tastes, and such like commodities. In workaday reality it is the lowest of passions, which is set alight by the most artistic nose and mouth, and it matters not if its object is vile, low, or brainless to idiocy, so long as it has these attributes.” “Sybylla, Sybylla,” said auntie sadly, as if to herself. “In the first flush of girlhood, and so bitter. Why is this?” “Because I have been cursed with the power of seeing, thinking, and, worse than all, feeling, and branded with the stinging affliction of ugliness,” I replied. “Now, Sybylla, you are going to think of yourself again. Something has put you out. Be sensible for once in a way. What you have said of men’s love may be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,”<|quote|>said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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,</|quote|>“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 | My Brilliant Career |
“Go it, Mr Bossier! Well done, uncle Jay-Jay! Hurrah for Clancy!” | Sybylla Melvyn | clapped my hands and exclaimed,<|quote|>“Go it, Mr Bossier! Well done, uncle Jay-Jay! Hurrah for Clancy!”</|quote|>Uncle first said he was | going at that rate. I clapped my hands and exclaimed,<|quote|>“Go it, Mr Bossier! Well done, uncle Jay-Jay! Hurrah for Clancy!”</|quote|>Uncle first said he was glad to see I had | 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,<|quote|>“Go it, Mr Bossier! Well done, uncle Jay-Jay! Hurrah for Clancy!”</|quote|>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 | 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,<|quote|>“Go it, Mr Bossier! Well done, uncle Jay-Jay! Hurrah for Clancy!”</|quote|>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 | 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,<|quote|>“Go it, Mr Bossier! Well done, uncle Jay-Jay! Hurrah for Clancy!”</|quote|>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 | easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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,<|quote|>“Go it, Mr Bossier! Well done, uncle Jay-Jay! Hurrah for Clancy!”</|quote|>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 | of my fellows, which I so much desired. I returned aunt Helen a gaze as steady as her own, and said bitterly: “Aunt Helen, I can truly say he has never, and will never extend to me more than common politeness. Neither will any other man. Surely you know enough of masculine human nature to see there is no danger of a man losing his heart to a plain woman like me. Love in fancy and song is a pretty myth, embracing unity of souls, congeniality of tastes, and such like commodities. In workaday reality it is the lowest of passions, which is set alight by the most artistic nose and mouth, and it matters not if its object is vile, low, or brainless to idiocy, so long as it has these attributes.” “Sybylla, Sybylla,” said auntie sadly, as if to herself. “In the first flush of girlhood, and so bitter. Why is this?” “Because I have been cursed with the power of seeing, thinking, and, worse than all, feeling, and branded with the stinging affliction of ugliness,” I replied. “Now, Sybylla, you are going to think of yourself again. Something has put you out. Be sensible for once in a way. What you have said of men’s love may be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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,<|quote|>“Go it, Mr Bossier! Well done, uncle Jay-Jay! Hurrah for Clancy!”</|quote|>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. | abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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,<|quote|>“Go it, Mr Bossier! Well done, uncle Jay-Jay! Hurrah for Clancy!”</|quote|>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, | My Brilliant Career |
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. | No speaker | uncle Jay-Jay! Hurrah for Clancy!”<|quote|>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.</|quote|>“Please, uncle, let me drive,” | it, Mr Bossier! Well done, uncle Jay-Jay! Hurrah for Clancy!”<|quote|>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.</|quote|>“Please, uncle, let me drive,” I requested. “Couldn’t now. Your | 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!”<|quote|>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.</|quote|>“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 | 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!”<|quote|>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.</|quote|>“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 | 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!”<|quote|>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.</|quote|>“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 | he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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!”<|quote|>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.</|quote|>“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, | Helen a gaze as steady as her own, and said bitterly: “Aunt Helen, I can truly say he has never, and will never extend to me more than common politeness. Neither will any other man. Surely you know enough of masculine human nature to see there is no danger of a man losing his heart to a plain woman like me. Love in fancy and song is a pretty myth, embracing unity of souls, congeniality of tastes, and such like commodities. In workaday reality it is the lowest of passions, which is set alight by the most artistic nose and mouth, and it matters not if its object is vile, low, or brainless to idiocy, so long as it has these attributes.” “Sybylla, Sybylla,” said auntie sadly, as if to herself. “In the first flush of girlhood, and so bitter. Why is this?” “Because I have been cursed with the power of seeing, thinking, and, worse than all, feeling, and branded with the stinging affliction of ugliness,” I replied. “Now, Sybylla, you are going to think of yourself again. Something has put you out. Be sensible for once in a way. What you have said of men’s love may be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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!”<|quote|>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.</|quote|>“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 | 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!”<|quote|>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.</|quote|>“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 | My Brilliant Career |
“Please, uncle, let me drive,” | Sybylla Melvyn | far away in the background.<|quote|>“Please, uncle, let me drive,”</|quote|>I requested. “Couldn’t now. Your | short time they were as far away in the background.<|quote|>“Please, uncle, let me drive,”</|quote|>I requested. “Couldn’t now. Your grannie can’t sit in 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.<|quote|>“Please, uncle, let me drive,”</|quote|>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 | 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.<|quote|>“Please, uncle, let me drive,”</|quote|>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 | 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.<|quote|>“Please, uncle, let me drive,”</|quote|>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 | which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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.<|quote|>“Please, uncle, let me drive,”</|quote|>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. | and so bitter. Why is this?” “Because I have been cursed with the power of seeing, thinking, and, worse than all, feeling, and branded with the stinging affliction of ugliness,” I replied. “Now, Sybylla, you are going to think of yourself again. Something has put you out. Be sensible for once in a way. What you have said of men’s love may be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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.<|quote|>“Please, uncle, let me drive,”</|quote|>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. | conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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.<|quote|>“Please, uncle, let me drive,”</|quote|>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 | My Brilliant Career |
I requested. | No speaker | “Please, uncle, let me drive,”<|quote|>I requested.</|quote|>“Couldn’t now. Your grannie can’t | far away in the background. “Please, uncle, let me drive,”<|quote|>I requested.</|quote|>“Couldn’t now. Your grannie can’t sit in the back-seat—neither could | 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,”<|quote|>I requested.</|quote|>“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 | 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,”<|quote|>I requested.</|quote|>“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 | 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,”<|quote|>I requested.</|quote|>“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 | long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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,”<|quote|>I requested.</|quote|>“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 | this?” “Because I have been cursed with the power of seeing, thinking, and, worse than all, feeling, and branded with the stinging affliction of ugliness,” I replied. “Now, Sybylla, you are going to think of yourself again. Something has put you out. Be sensible for once in a way. What you have said of men’s love may be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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,”<|quote|>I requested.</|quote|>“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 | 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,”<|quote|>I requested.</|quote|>“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 | My Brilliant Career |
“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.” | Uncle Julius | let me drive,” I requested.<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>There was a vehicle in | in the background. “Please, uncle, let me drive,” I requested.<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>There was a vehicle in the distance which proved to | 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.<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>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 | 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.<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>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 | 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.<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>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 | It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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.<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>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 | I have been cursed with the power of seeing, thinking, and, worse than all, feeling, and branded with the stinging affliction of ugliness,” I replied. “Now, Sybylla, you are going to think of yourself again. Something has put you out. Be sensible for once in a way. What you have said of men’s love may be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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.<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>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. | 1896 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.<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>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 | My Brilliant Career |
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. | No speaker | him in a few minutes.”<|quote|>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.</|quote|>“Shall I pull up and | spec. We’re sure to overtake him in a few minutes.”<|quote|>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.</|quote|>“Shall I pull up and get you a seat?” inquired | 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.”<|quote|>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.</|quote|>“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 | 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.”<|quote|>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.</|quote|>“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 | 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.”<|quote|>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.</|quote|>“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 | 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.”<|quote|>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.</|quote|>“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 | be true in a sense, but it is not always so, and Harry is not that kind of man. I have known him all his life, and understand him, and feel sure he loves you truly. Tell me plainly, do you intend to accept him?” “Intend to accept him!” I echoed. “I haven’t once thought of such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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.”<|quote|>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.</|quote|>“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.” | a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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.”<|quote|>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.</|quote|>“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 | My Brilliant Career |
“Shall I pull up and get you a seat?” | Uncle Julius | all ruffles, flowers, and plumes.<|quote|>“Shall I pull up and get you a seat?”</|quote|>inquired uncle Jay-Jay. “No, no, | wearing a very big hat, all ruffles, flowers, and plumes.<|quote|>“Shall I pull up and get you a seat?”</|quote|>inquired uncle Jay-Jay. “No, no, no.” The boss of Five-Bob | 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.<|quote|>“Shall I pull up and get you a seat?”</|quote|>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 | 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.<|quote|>“Shall I pull up and get you a seat?”</|quote|>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 | 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.<|quote|>“Shall I pull up and get you a seat?”</|quote|>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 | 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.<|quote|>“Shall I pull up and get you a seat?”</|quote|>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 | such a possibility. I never mean to marry anyone.” “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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.<|quote|>“Shall I pull up and get you a seat?”</|quote|>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 | 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.<|quote|>“Shall I pull up and get you a seat?”</|quote|>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 | My Brilliant Career |
inquired uncle Jay-Jay. | No speaker | and get you a seat?”<|quote|>inquired uncle Jay-Jay.</|quote|>“No, no, no.” The boss | plumes. “Shall I pull up and get you a seat?”<|quote|>inquired uncle Jay-Jay.</|quote|>“No, no, no.” The boss of Five-Bob drew to his | 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?”<|quote|>inquired uncle Jay-Jay.</|quote|>“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. | 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?”<|quote|>inquired uncle Jay-Jay.</|quote|>“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 | 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?”<|quote|>inquired uncle Jay-Jay.</|quote|>“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 | 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?”<|quote|>inquired uncle Jay-Jay.</|quote|>“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.” | “Don’t you care for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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?”<|quote|>inquired uncle Jay-Jay.</|quote|>“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 | 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?”<|quote|>inquired uncle Jay-Jay.</|quote|>“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 | My Brilliant Career |
“No, no, no.” | Sybylla Melvyn | a seat?” inquired uncle Jay-Jay.<|quote|>“No, no, no.”</|quote|>The boss of Five-Bob drew | pull up and get you a seat?” inquired uncle Jay-Jay.<|quote|>“No, no, no.”</|quote|>The boss of Five-Bob drew to his side of the | 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.<|quote|>“No, no, no.”</|quote|>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 | 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.<|quote|>“No, no, no.”</|quote|>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 | 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.<|quote|>“No, no, no.”</|quote|>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 | 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.<|quote|>“No, no, no.”</|quote|>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 | for Harold? Just a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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.<|quote|>“No, no, no.”</|quote|>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 | 9th of November 1896 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.<|quote|>“No, no, no.”</|quote|>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 | My Brilliant Career |
The boss of Five-Bob drew to his side of the road, and when we had passed uncle began to tease: | No speaker | uncle Jay-Jay. “No, no, no.”<|quote|>The boss of Five-Bob drew to his side of the road, and when we had passed uncle began to tease:</|quote|>“Got faint-hearted, did you? The | get you a seat?” inquired uncle Jay-Jay. “No, no, no.”<|quote|>The boss of Five-Bob drew to his side of the road, and when we had passed uncle began to tease:</|quote|>“Got faint-hearted, did you? The flower-garden on that woman’s hat | 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.”<|quote|>The boss of Five-Bob drew to his side of the road, and when we had passed uncle began to tease:</|quote|>“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. | 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.”<|quote|>The boss of Five-Bob drew to his side of the road, and when we had passed uncle began to tease:</|quote|>“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 | 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.”<|quote|>The boss of Five-Bob drew to his side of the road, and when we had passed uncle began to tease:</|quote|>“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 | 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.”<|quote|>The boss of Five-Bob drew to his side of the road, and when we had passed uncle began to tease:</|quote|>“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, | a little? Think.” “How could I care for him?” “For many, many reasons. He is young, and very kind and gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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.”<|quote|>The boss of Five-Bob drew to his side of the road, and when we had passed uncle began to tease:</|quote|>“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 | 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.”<|quote|>The boss of Five-Bob drew to his side of the road, and when we had passed uncle began to tease:</|quote|>“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 | My Brilliant Career |
“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.” | Uncle Julius | passed uncle began to tease:<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>Before we got to the | road, and when we had passed uncle began to tease:<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>Before we got to the racecourse Barney went lame through | 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:<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>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 | 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:<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>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 | 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:<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>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 | 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:<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>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 | gentle. He is one of the biggest and finest-looking men you could find. He is a man whom no one could despise, for he has nothing despicable about him. But, best of all, he is true, and that, I think, is the bedrock of all virtues.” “But he is so conceited,” I remarked. “That does not make him any the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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:<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>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 | no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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:<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>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 | My Brilliant Career |
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. | No speaker | him, I’m sure nothing will.”<|quote|>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.</|quote|>“I told that devil of | tail. If that won’t fetch him, I’m sure nothing will.”<|quote|>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.</|quote|>“I told that devil of a Joe to be sure | 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.”<|quote|>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.</|quote|>“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 | 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.”<|quote|>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.</|quote|>“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 | 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.”<|quote|>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.</|quote|>“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 | 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.”<|quote|>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.</|quote|>“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 | the less lovable. I know another young person very conceited, and it does not prevent me from loving her dearly,” here aunt Helen smiled affectionately at me. “What you complain of in Harold will wear off presently—life has been very easy for him so far, you see.” “But, auntie, I’m sure he thinks he could have any girl for the asking.” “Well, he has a great number to choose from, for they all like him.” “Yes, just for his money,” I said scornfully. “But I’ll surprise him if he thinks he can get me for the asking.” “Sybylla, never flirt. To play with a man’s heart, I think, is one of the most horribly unwomanly actions our sex can be guilty of.” “I would scorn to flirt with any man,” I returned with vigour. “Play with a man’s heart! You’d really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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.”<|quote|>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.</|quote|>“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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every | 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.”<|quote|>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.</|quote|>“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 | My Brilliant Career |
“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!” | Uncle Julius | be somewhat flat without him.<|quote|>“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!”</|quote|>ejaculated uncle Julius. “Never mind, | the day, things promised to be somewhat flat without him.<|quote|>“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!”</|quote|>ejaculated uncle Julius. “Never mind, uncle, let him have his | 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.<|quote|>“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!”</|quote|>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 | 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.<|quote|>“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!”</|quote|>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 | 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.<|quote|>“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!”</|quote|>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 | 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.<|quote|>“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!”</|quote|>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.” | aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men’s hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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.<|quote|>“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!”</|quote|>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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so | 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.<|quote|>“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!”</|quote|>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 | My Brilliant Career |
ejaculated uncle Julius. | No speaker | anywhere—the infernal, crawling, doosed idiot!”<|quote|>ejaculated uncle Julius.</|quote|>“Never mind, uncle, let him | but I can’t see him anywhere—the infernal, crawling, doosed idiot!”<|quote|>ejaculated uncle Julius.</|quote|>“Never mind, uncle, let him have his holiday. I suppose | 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!”<|quote|>ejaculated uncle Julius.</|quote|>“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 | 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!”<|quote|>ejaculated uncle Julius.</|quote|>“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 | 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!”<|quote|>ejaculated uncle Julius.</|quote|>“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 | 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!”<|quote|>ejaculated uncle Julius.</|quote|>“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 | hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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!”<|quote|>ejaculated uncle Julius.</|quote|>“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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves | 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!”<|quote|>ejaculated uncle Julius.</|quote|>“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 | My Brilliant Career |
“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.” | Sybylla Melvyn | doosed idiot!” ejaculated uncle Julius.<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>“That would suit Joe, I | see him anywhere—the infernal, crawling, doosed idiot!” ejaculated uncle Julius.<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>“That would suit Joe, I have no doubt; but I | 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.<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>“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 | 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.<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>“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 | 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.<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>“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 | 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.<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>“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. | an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with.” “Sybylla, you talk at random. The shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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.<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>“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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick | 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.<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>“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 | My Brilliant Career |
“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.” | Uncle Julius | can easily water the horses.”<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>He led one animal, I | spoon with his girl. I can easily water the horses.”<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>He led one animal, I took the other, and we | 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.”<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>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 | 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.”<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>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 | 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.”<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>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 | 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.”<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>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 | shortcomings of men are no excuse for you to be unwomanly,” said aunt Helen. CHAPTER NINETEEN The 9th of November 1896 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.”<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. | 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.”<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>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 | My Brilliant Career |
He led one animal, I took the other, and we went in the direction of water a few hundred yards away. | No speaker | horses. I’ll water ’em myself.”<|quote|>He led one animal, I took the other, and we went in the direction of water a few hundred yards away.</|quote|>“You run along to your | to let you water the horses. I’ll water ’em myself.”<|quote|>He led one animal, I took the other, and we went in the direction of water a few hundred yards away.</|quote|>“You run along to your grannie and the rest of | 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.”<|quote|>He led one animal, I took the other, and we went in the direction of water a few hundred yards away.</|quote|>“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 | 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.”<|quote|>He led one animal, I took the other, and we went in the direction of water a few hundred yards away.</|quote|>“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 | 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.”<|quote|>He led one animal, I took the other, and we went in the direction of water a few hundred yards away.</|quote|>“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 | 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.”<|quote|>He led one animal, I took the other, and we went in the direction of water a few hundred yards away.</|quote|>“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 | 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.”<|quote|>He led one animal, I took the other, and we went in the direction of water a few hundred yards away.</|quote|>“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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” | 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.”<|quote|>He led one animal, I took the other, and we went in the direction of water a few hundred yards away.</|quote|>“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, | My Brilliant Career |
“You run along to your grannie and the rest of them, and I’ll go by myself,” | Uncle Julius | a few hundred yards away.<|quote|>“You run along to your grannie and the rest of them, and I’ll go by myself,”</|quote|>said uncle, but I kept | in the direction of water a few hundred yards away.<|quote|>“You run along to your grannie and the rest of them, and I’ll go by myself,”</|quote|>said uncle, but I kept on with the horse. “You | 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.<|quote|>“You run along to your grannie and the rest of them, and I’ll go by myself,”</|quote|>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 | 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.<|quote|>“You run along to your grannie and the rest of them, and I’ll go by myself,”</|quote|>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 | 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.<|quote|>“You run along to your grannie and the rest of them, and I’ll go by myself,”</|quote|>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 | 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.<|quote|>“You run along to your grannie and the rest of them, and I’ll go by myself,”</|quote|>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 | 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.<|quote|>“You run along to your grannie and the rest of them, and I’ll go by myself,”</|quote|>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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, | 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.<|quote|>“You run along to your grannie and the rest of them, and I’ll go by myself,”</|quote|>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 | My Brilliant Career |
said uncle, but I kept on with the horse. | No speaker | and I’ll go by myself,”<|quote|>said uncle, but I kept on with the horse.</|quote|>“You mustn’t let a five-guinea | and the rest of them, and I’ll go by myself,”<|quote|>said uncle, but I kept on with the horse.</|quote|>“You mustn’t let a five-guinea hat destroy your hopes altogether,” | 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,”<|quote|>said uncle, but I kept on with the horse.</|quote|>“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 | 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,”<|quote|>said uncle, but I kept on with the horse.</|quote|>“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, | 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,”<|quote|>said uncle, but I kept on with the horse.</|quote|>“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 | 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,”<|quote|>said uncle, but I kept on with the horse.</|quote|>“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 | 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,”<|quote|>said uncle, but I kept on with the horse.</|quote|>“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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer | 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,”<|quote|>said uncle, but I kept on with the horse.</|quote|>“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 | My Brilliant Career |
“You mustn’t let a five-guinea hat destroy your hopes altogether,” | Uncle Julius | kept on with the horse.<|quote|>“You mustn’t let a five-guinea hat destroy your hopes altogether,”</|quote|>he continued, with a mischievous | myself,” said uncle, but I kept on with the horse.<|quote|>“You mustn’t let a five-guinea hat destroy your hopes altogether,”</|quote|>he continued, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “If | 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.<|quote|>“You mustn’t let a five-guinea hat destroy your hopes altogether,”</|quote|>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 | 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.<|quote|>“You mustn’t let a five-guinea hat destroy your hopes altogether,”</|quote|>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 | 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.<|quote|>“You mustn’t let a five-guinea hat destroy your hopes altogether,”</|quote|>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 | 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.<|quote|>“You mustn’t let a five-guinea hat destroy your hopes altogether,”</|quote|>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 | 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.<|quote|>“You mustn’t let a five-guinea hat destroy your hopes altogether,”</|quote|>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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he | 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.<|quote|>“You mustn’t let a five-guinea hat destroy your hopes altogether,”</|quote|>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 | My Brilliant Career |
he continued, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. | No speaker | hat destroy your hopes altogether,”<|quote|>he continued, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.</|quote|>“If you stick to your | “You mustn’t let a five-guinea hat destroy your hopes altogether,”<|quote|>he continued, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.</|quote|>“If you stick to your guns you have a better | 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,”<|quote|>he continued, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.</|quote|>“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 | 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,”<|quote|>he continued, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.</|quote|>“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 | 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,”<|quote|>he continued, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.</|quote|>“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 | 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,”<|quote|>he continued, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.</|quote|>“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 | 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,”<|quote|>he continued, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.</|quote|>“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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his | 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,”<|quote|>he continued, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.</|quote|>“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. | My Brilliant Career |
“If you stick to your guns you have a better show than anyone to bag the boss of Five-Bob.” | Uncle Julius | mischievous twinkle in his eyes.<|quote|>“If you stick to your guns you have a better show than anyone to bag the boss of Five-Bob.”</|quote|>“I am at a loss | altogether,” he continued, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.<|quote|>“If you stick to your guns you have a better show than anyone to bag the boss of Five-Bob.”</|quote|>“I am at a loss to interpret your innuendo, Mr | 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.<|quote|>“If you stick to your guns you have a better show than anyone to bag the boss of Five-Bob.”</|quote|>“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 | 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.<|quote|>“If you stick to your guns you have a better show than anyone to bag the boss of Five-Bob.”</|quote|>“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 | 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.<|quote|>“If you stick to your guns you have a better show than anyone to bag the boss of Five-Bob.”</|quote|>“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 | 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.<|quote|>“If you stick to your guns you have a better show than anyone to bag the boss of Five-Bob.”</|quote|>“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 | 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.<|quote|>“If you stick to your guns you have a better show than anyone to bag the boss of Five-Bob.”</|quote|>“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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on | 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.<|quote|>“If you stick to your guns you have a better show than anyone to bag the boss of Five-Bob.”</|quote|>“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 | My Brilliant Career |
“I am at a loss to interpret your innuendo, Mr Bossier,” | Sybylla Melvyn | bag the boss of Five-Bob.”<|quote|>“I am at a loss to interpret your innuendo, Mr Bossier,”</|quote|>I said stiffly. “Now, little | better show than anyone to bag the boss of Five-Bob.”<|quote|>“I am at a loss to interpret your innuendo, Mr Bossier,”</|quote|>I said stiffly. “Now, little woman, you think you are | 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.”<|quote|>“I am at a loss to interpret your innuendo, Mr Bossier,”</|quote|>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, | 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.”<|quote|>“I am at a loss to interpret your innuendo, Mr Bossier,”</|quote|>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 | 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.”<|quote|>“I am at a loss to interpret your innuendo, Mr Bossier,”</|quote|>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 | “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.”<|quote|>“I am at a loss to interpret your innuendo, Mr Bossier,”</|quote|>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 | 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.”<|quote|>“I am at a loss to interpret your innuendo, Mr Bossier,”</|quote|>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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he | 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.”<|quote|>“I am at a loss to interpret your innuendo, Mr Bossier,”</|quote|>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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying | My Brilliant Career |
I said stiffly. | No speaker | interpret your innuendo, Mr Bossier,”<|quote|>I said stiffly.</|quote|>“Now, little woman, you think | am at a loss to interpret your innuendo, Mr Bossier,”<|quote|>I said stiffly.</|quote|>“Now, little woman, you think you are very smart, but | 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,”<|quote|>I said stiffly.</|quote|>“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 | 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,”<|quote|>I said stiffly.</|quote|>“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 | 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,”<|quote|>I said stiffly.</|quote|>“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 | 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,”<|quote|>I said stiffly.</|quote|>“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 | 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,”<|quote|>I said stiffly.</|quote|>“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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to | 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,”<|quote|>I said stiffly.</|quote|>“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 | My Brilliant Career |
“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 Julius | Mr Bossier,” I said stiffly.<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>“Uncle—” I began. “Now, Sybylla, | loss to interpret your innuendo, Mr Bossier,” I said stiffly.<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>“Uncle—” I began. “Now, Sybylla, none of your crammers. There | 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.<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>“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 | ’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.<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>“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 | 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.<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>“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 | 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.<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>“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 | 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.<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>“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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to | 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.<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>“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 | My Brilliant Career |
“Uncle—” | Sybylla Melvyn | restricted your capers long ago.”<|quote|>“Uncle—”</|quote|>I began. “Now, Sybylla, none | other man, I would have restricted your capers long ago.”<|quote|>“Uncle—”</|quote|>I began. “Now, Sybylla, none of your crammers. There is | 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.”<|quote|>“Uncle—”</|quote|>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 | 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.”<|quote|>“Uncle—”</|quote|>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 | 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.”<|quote|>“Uncle—”</|quote|>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 | 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.”<|quote|>“Uncle—”</|quote|>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. | 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.”<|quote|>“Uncle—”</|quote|>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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey | 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.”<|quote|>“Uncle—”</|quote|>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 | My Brilliant Career |
I began. | No speaker | your capers long ago.” “Uncle—”<|quote|>I began.</|quote|>“Now, Sybylla, none of your | man, I would have restricted your capers long ago.” “Uncle—”<|quote|>I began.</|quote|>“Now, Sybylla, none of your crammers. There is no harm | 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—”<|quote|>I began.</|quote|>“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 | 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—”<|quote|>I began.</|quote|>“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 | 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—”<|quote|>I began.</|quote|>“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 | 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—”<|quote|>I began.</|quote|>“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 | 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—”<|quote|>I began.</|quote|>“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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like | 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—”<|quote|>I began.</|quote|>“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 | My Brilliant Career |
“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.” | Uncle Julius | long ago.” “Uncle—” I began.<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>“Temper!” I exclaimed. “He is | would have restricted your capers long ago.” “Uncle—” I began.<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>“Temper!” I exclaimed. “He is always so quiet and pleasant.” | 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.<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>“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 | 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.<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>“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. | 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.<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>“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 | 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.<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>“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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you | 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.<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>“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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was | 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.<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>“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 | My Brilliant Career |
“Temper!” | Sybylla Melvyn | patch on him for temper.”<|quote|>“Temper!”</|quote|>I exclaimed. “He is always | temper—old Nick himself isn’t a patch on him for temper.”<|quote|>“Temper!”</|quote|>I exclaimed. “He is always so quiet and pleasant.” “Yes, | 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.”<|quote|>“Temper!”</|quote|>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 | 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.”<|quote|>“Temper!”</|quote|>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 | 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.”<|quote|>“Temper!”</|quote|>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 | 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.”<|quote|>“Temper!”</|quote|>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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, | 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.”<|quote|>“Temper!”</|quote|>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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always | 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.”<|quote|>“Temper!”</|quote|>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 | My Brilliant Career |
I exclaimed. | No speaker | on him for temper.” “Temper!”<|quote|>I exclaimed.</|quote|>“He is always so quiet | Nick himself isn’t a patch on him for temper.” “Temper!”<|quote|>I exclaimed.</|quote|>“He is always so quiet and pleasant.” “Yes, he controls | 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!”<|quote|>I exclaimed.</|quote|>“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, | 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!”<|quote|>I exclaimed.</|quote|>“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 | 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!”<|quote|>I exclaimed.</|quote|>“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 | 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!”<|quote|>I exclaimed.</|quote|>“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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? | 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!”<|quote|>I exclaimed.</|quote|>“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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of | 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!”<|quote|>I exclaimed.</|quote|>“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. | My Brilliant Career |
“He is always so quiet and pleasant.” | Sybylla Melvyn | for temper.” “Temper!” I exclaimed.<|quote|>“He is always so quiet and pleasant.”</|quote|>“Yes, he controls it well. | isn’t a patch on him for temper.” “Temper!” I exclaimed.<|quote|>“He is always so quiet and pleasant.”</|quote|>“Yes, he controls it well. He’s a fellow with a | 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.<|quote|>“He is always so quiet and pleasant.”</|quote|>“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 | 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.<|quote|>“He is always so quiet and pleasant.”</|quote|>“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 | 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.<|quote|>“He is always so quiet and pleasant.”</|quote|>“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 | 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.<|quote|>“He is always so quiet and pleasant.”</|quote|>“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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” | 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.<|quote|>“He is always so quiet and pleasant.”</|quote|>“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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could | 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.<|quote|>“He is always so quiet and pleasant.”</|quote|>“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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that | My Brilliant Career |
“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.” | Uncle Julius | always so quiet and pleasant.”<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>“Now, uncle, you have had | “Temper!” I exclaimed. “He is always so quiet and pleasant.”<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>“Now, uncle, you have had your say, I will have | 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.”<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>“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 | 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.”<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>“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, | 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.”<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>“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 | 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.”<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>“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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so | 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.”<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>“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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to | 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.”<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>“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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. | My Brilliant Career |
“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.” | Sybylla Melvyn | in and coaxing a little.”<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>“No mistake, you’re a rum | if you don’t mind giving in and coaxing a little.”<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>“No mistake, you’re a rum youngster. You can be my | 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.”<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>“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 | 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.”<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>“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 | 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.”<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>“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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that | 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.”<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>“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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in | 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.”<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>“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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the | 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.”<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>“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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a | My Brilliant Career |
“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.” | Uncle Julius | that I may be independent.”<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>With this I had to | me all my life, so that I may be independent.”<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>With this I had to be contented, as I saw | 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.”<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>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 | 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.”<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>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 | 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.”<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, | 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.”<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt | “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.”<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In | 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.”<|quote|>“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.”</|quote|>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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he | My Brilliant Career |
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. | No speaker | last you a goodish while.”<|quote|>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.</|quote|>“Excuse me, Miss Melvyn, but | That’s a profession that will last you a goodish while.”<|quote|>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.</|quote|>“Excuse me, Miss Melvyn, but your grannie has commissioned me | 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.”<|quote|>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.</|quote|>“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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” | 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.”<|quote|>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.</|quote|>“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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe | 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.”<|quote|>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.</|quote|>“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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll | 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.”<|quote|>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.</|quote|>“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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, | 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.”<|quote|>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.</|quote|>“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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven | 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.”<|quote|>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.</|quote|>“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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member | My Brilliant Career |
“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 of some of the tucker bags.” | Harold Beecham | book-land by Harold Beecham’s voice.<|quote|>“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 of some of the tucker bags.”</|quote|>“How do you do, Mr | of time until recalled from book-land by Harold Beecham’s voice.<|quote|>“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 of some of the tucker bags.”</|quote|>“How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going | 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.<|quote|>“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 of some of the tucker bags.”</|quote|>“How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I | 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.<|quote|>“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 of some of the tucker bags.”</|quote|>“How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there | 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.<|quote|>“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 of some of the tucker bags.”</|quote|>“How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he | 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.<|quote|>“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 of some of the tucker bags.”</|quote|>“How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did | 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.<|quote|>“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 of some of the tucker bags.”</|quote|>“How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock | 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.<|quote|>“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 of some of the tucker bags.”</|quote|>“How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty | My Brilliant Career |
“How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” | Sybylla Melvyn | some of the tucker bags.”<|quote|>“How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?”</|quote|>“Over in that clump of | who knows the run of some of the tucker bags.”<|quote|>“How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?”</|quote|>“Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in | 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 of some of the tucker bags.”<|quote|>“How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?”</|quote|>“Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe | 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 of some of the tucker bags.”<|quote|>“How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?”</|quote|>“Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better | 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 of some of the tucker bags.”<|quote|>“How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?”</|quote|>“Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By | 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 of some of the tucker bags.”<|quote|>“How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?”</|quote|>“Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could | 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 of some of the tucker bags.”<|quote|>“How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?”</|quote|>“Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to | 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 of some of the tucker bags.”<|quote|>“How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?”</|quote|>“Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying | My Brilliant Career |
“Over in that clump of box-trees,” | Harold Beecham | they going to have lunch?”<|quote|>“Over in that clump of box-trees,”</|quote|>he replied, pointing in the | do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?”<|quote|>“Over in that clump of box-trees,”</|quote|>he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise | “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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?”<|quote|>“Over in that clump of box-trees,”</|quote|>he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?”<|quote|>“Over in that clump of box-trees,”</|quote|>he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?”<|quote|>“Over in that clump of box-trees,”</|quote|>he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated | “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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?”<|quote|>“Over in that clump of box-trees,”</|quote|>he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?”<|quote|>“Over in that clump of box-trees,”</|quote|>he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?”<|quote|>“Over in that clump of box-trees,”</|quote|>he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on | My Brilliant Career |
he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. | No speaker | in that clump of box-trees,”<|quote|>he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance.</|quote|>“How are you enjoying yourself?” | going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,”<|quote|>he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance.</|quote|>“How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,”<|quote|>he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance.</|quote|>“How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,”<|quote|>he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance.</|quote|>“How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,”<|quote|>he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance.</|quote|>“How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,”<|quote|>he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance.</|quote|>“How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,”<|quote|>he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance.</|quote|>“How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,”<|quote|>he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance.</|quote|>“How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He | My Brilliant Career |
“How are you enjoying yourself?” | Harold Beecham | rise at a good distance.<|quote|>“How are you enjoying yourself?”</|quote|>he asked, looking straight at | the direction of a little rise at a good distance.<|quote|>“How are you enjoying yourself?”</|quote|>he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I | it appears you are the only one who knows the run of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance.<|quote|>“How are you enjoying yourself?”</|quote|>he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance.<|quote|>“How are you enjoying yourself?”</|quote|>he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance.<|quote|>“How are you enjoying yourself?”</|quote|>he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance.<|quote|>“How are you enjoying yourself?”</|quote|>he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance.<|quote|>“How are you enjoying yourself?”</|quote|>he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance.<|quote|>“How are you enjoying yourself?”</|quote|>he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is | My Brilliant Career |
he asked, looking straight at me. | No speaker | “How are you enjoying yourself?”<|quote|>he asked, looking straight at me.</|quote|>“Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. | rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?”<|quote|>he asked, looking straight at me.</|quote|>“Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the | only one who knows the run of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?”<|quote|>he asked, looking straight at me.</|quote|>“Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?”<|quote|>he asked, looking straight at me.</|quote|>“Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?”<|quote|>he asked, looking straight at me.</|quote|>“Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?”<|quote|>he asked, looking straight at me.</|quote|>“Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?”<|quote|>he asked, looking straight at me.</|quote|>“Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?”<|quote|>he asked, looking straight at me.</|quote|>“Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go | My Brilliant Career |
“Treminjous intoirely, sor,” | Sybylla Melvyn | asked, looking straight at me.<|quote|>“Treminjous intoirely, sor,”</|quote|>I replied. “I suppose you | are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me.<|quote|>“Treminjous intoirely, sor,”</|quote|>I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every | of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me.<|quote|>“Treminjous intoirely, sor,”</|quote|>I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me.<|quote|>“Treminjous intoirely, sor,”</|quote|>I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me.<|quote|>“Treminjous intoirely, sor,”</|quote|>I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me.<|quote|>“Treminjous intoirely, sor,”</|quote|>I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me.<|quote|>“Treminjous intoirely, sor,”</|quote|>I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me.<|quote|>“Treminjous intoirely, sor,”</|quote|>I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, | My Brilliant Career |
I replied. | No speaker | at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,”<|quote|>I replied.</|quote|>“I suppose you know the | yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,”<|quote|>I replied.</|quote|>“I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he | the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,”<|quote|>I replied.</|quote|>“I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,”<|quote|>I replied.</|quote|>“I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,”<|quote|>I replied.</|quote|>“I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,”<|quote|>I replied.</|quote|>“I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,”<|quote|>I replied.</|quote|>“I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,”<|quote|>I replied.</|quote|>“I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One | My Brilliant Career |
“I suppose you know the winner of every race,” | Harold Beecham | “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied.<|quote|>“I suppose you know the winner of every race,”</|quote|>he remarked, quizzically watching Joe | asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied.<|quote|>“I suppose you know the winner of every race,”</|quote|>he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and | bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied.<|quote|>“I suppose you know the winner of every race,”</|quote|>he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied.<|quote|>“I suppose you know the winner of every race,”</|quote|>he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied.<|quote|>“I suppose you know the winner of every race,”</|quote|>he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied.<|quote|>“I suppose you know the winner of every race,”</|quote|>he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied.<|quote|>“I suppose you know the winner of every race,”</|quote|>he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied.<|quote|>“I suppose you know the winner of every race,”</|quote|>he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, | My Brilliant Career |
he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. | No speaker | the winner of every race,”<|quote|>he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter.</|quote|>“Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer | replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,”<|quote|>he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter.</|quote|>“Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so | they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,”<|quote|>he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter.</|quote|>“Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,”<|quote|>he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter.</|quote|>“Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,”<|quote|>he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter.</|quote|>“Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,”<|quote|>he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter.</|quote|>“Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,”<|quote|>he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter.</|quote|>“Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,”<|quote|>he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter.</|quote|>“Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause | My Brilliant Career |
“Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” | Sybylla Melvyn | enjoyment of an illicit love-letter.<|quote|>“Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,”</|quote|>I returned. “You’d better see | schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter.<|quote|>“Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,”</|quote|>I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He | distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter.<|quote|>“Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,”</|quote|>I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look | and it appears you are the only one who knows the run of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter.<|quote|>“Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,”</|quote|>I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter.<|quote|>“Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,”</|quote|>I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter.<|quote|>“Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,”</|quote|>I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter.<|quote|>“Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,”</|quote|>I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter.<|quote|>“Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,”</|quote|>I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham | My Brilliant Career |
I returned. | No speaker | as a race at all,”<|quote|>I returned.</|quote|>“You’d better see where old | there was such a thing as a race at all,”<|quote|>I returned.</|quote|>“You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick | remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,”<|quote|>I returned.</|quote|>“You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old | going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,”<|quote|>I returned.</|quote|>“You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,”<|quote|>I returned.</|quote|>“You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,”<|quote|>I returned.</|quote|>“You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,”<|quote|>I returned.</|quote|>“You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,”<|quote|>I returned.</|quote|>“You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me | My Brilliant Career |
“You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” | Harold Beecham | race at all,” I returned.<|quote|>“You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,”</|quote|>he said, turning to his | such a thing as a race at all,” I returned.<|quote|>“You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,”</|quote|>he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I | watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned.<|quote|>“You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,”</|quote|>he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg | have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned.<|quote|>“You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,”</|quote|>he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned.<|quote|>“You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,”</|quote|>he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned.<|quote|>“You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,”</|quote|>he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned.<|quote|>“You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,”</|quote|>he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned.<|quote|>“You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,”</|quote|>he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very | My Brilliant Career |
he said, turning to his jackeroo. | No speaker | don’t keep a sharp look-out,”<|quote|>he said, turning to his jackeroo.</|quote|>"Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. | the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,”<|quote|>he said, turning to his jackeroo.</|quote|>"Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to | Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,”<|quote|>he said, turning to his jackeroo.</|quote|>"Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to | “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,”<|quote|>he said, turning to his jackeroo.</|quote|>"Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,”<|quote|>he said, turning to his jackeroo.</|quote|>"Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,”<|quote|>he said, turning to his jackeroo.</|quote|>"Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,”<|quote|>he said, turning to his jackeroo.</|quote|>"Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,”<|quote|>he said, turning to his jackeroo.</|quote|>"Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying | My Brilliant Career |
"Ladies before gentlemen," | Sybylla Melvyn | said, turning to his jackeroo.<|quote|>"Ladies before gentlemen,"</|quote|>I interposed. “I want Mr | keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo.<|quote|>"Ladies before gentlemen,"</|quote|>I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to | have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo.<|quote|>"Ladies before gentlemen,"</|quote|>I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe | asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo.<|quote|>"Ladies before gentlemen,"</|quote|>I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo.<|quote|>"Ladies before gentlemen,"</|quote|>I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo.<|quote|>"Ladies before gentlemen,"</|quote|>I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo.<|quote|>"Ladies before gentlemen,"</|quote|>I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo.<|quote|>"Ladies before gentlemen,"</|quote|>I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and | My Brilliant Career |
I interposed. | No speaker | his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen,"<|quote|>I interposed.</|quote|>“I want Mr Archer to | look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen,"<|quote|>I interposed.</|quote|>“I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then | interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen,"<|quote|>I interposed.</|quote|>“I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as | at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen,"<|quote|>I interposed.</|quote|>“I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen,"<|quote|>I interposed.</|quote|>“I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen,"<|quote|>I interposed.</|quote|>“I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work | ’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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen,"<|quote|>I interposed.</|quote|>“I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen,"<|quote|>I interposed.</|quote|>“I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was | My Brilliant Career |
“I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” | Sybylla Melvyn | "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed.<|quote|>“I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.”</|quote|>“I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. | said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed.<|quote|>“I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.”</|quote|>“I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have | ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed.<|quote|>“I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.”</|quote|>“I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. | “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed.<|quote|>“I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.”</|quote|>“I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed.<|quote|>“I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.”</|quote|>“I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed.<|quote|>“I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.”</|quote|>“I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed.<|quote|>“I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.”</|quote|>“I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed.<|quote|>“I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.”</|quote|>“I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set | My Brilliant Career |
“I’ll escort you,” | Harold Beecham | and look after old Boxer.”<|quote|>“I’ll escort you,”</|quote|>said Beecham. “Thank you, but | grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.”<|quote|>“I’ll escort you,”</|quote|>said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer | better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.”<|quote|>“I’ll escort you,”</|quote|>said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m | Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.”<|quote|>“I’ll escort you,”</|quote|>said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.”<|quote|>“I’ll escort you,”</|quote|>said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.”<|quote|>“I’ll escort you,”</|quote|>said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.”<|quote|>“I’ll escort you,”</|quote|>said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.”<|quote|>“I’ll escort you,”</|quote|>said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s | My Brilliant Career |
said Beecham. | No speaker | old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,”<|quote|>said Beecham.</|quote|>“Thank you, but I have | can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,”<|quote|>said Beecham.</|quote|>“Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do | old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,”<|quote|>said Beecham.</|quote|>“Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for | was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,”<|quote|>said Beecham.</|quote|>“Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,”<|quote|>said Beecham.</|quote|>“Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,”<|quote|>said Beecham.</|quote|>“Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall | “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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,”<|quote|>said Beecham.</|quote|>“Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,”<|quote|>said Beecham.</|quote|>“Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and | My Brilliant Career |
“Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” | Sybylla Melvyn | “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham.<|quote|>“Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.”</|quote|>“In that case, I beg | and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham.<|quote|>“Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.”</|quote|>“In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend | is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham.<|quote|>“Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.”</|quote|>“In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on | and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham.<|quote|>“Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.”</|quote|>“In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham.<|quote|>“Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.”</|quote|>“In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham.<|quote|>“Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.”</|quote|>“In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham.<|quote|>“Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.”</|quote|>“In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham.<|quote|>“Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.”</|quote|>“In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set | My Brilliant Career |
“In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” | Harold Beecham | Mr Archer to do so.”<|quote|>“In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.”</|quote|>Raising his hat he walked | you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.”<|quote|>“In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.”</|quote|>Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious | don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.”<|quote|>“In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.”</|quote|>Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the | of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.”<|quote|>“In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.”</|quote|>Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up | want to have lunch, and it appears you are the only one who knows the run of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.”<|quote|>“In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.”</|quote|>Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.”<|quote|>“In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.”</|quote|>Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.”<|quote|>“In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.”</|quote|>Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.”<|quote|>“In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.”</|quote|>Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. | My Brilliant Career |
Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. | No speaker | Joe does as you request.”<|quote|>Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face.</|quote|>“By Jove, I’m in for | will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.”<|quote|>Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face.</|quote|>“By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The | Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.”<|quote|>Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face.</|quote|>“By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. | we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.”<|quote|>Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face.</|quote|>“By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the | of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.”<|quote|>Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face.</|quote|>“By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.”<|quote|>Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face.</|quote|>“By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.”<|quote|>Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face.</|quote|>“By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. | “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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.”<|quote|>Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face.</|quote|>“By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at | My Brilliant Career |
ejaculated my escort. | No speaker | Jove, I’m in for it!”<|quote|>ejaculated my escort.</|quote|>“The boss doesn’t get that | his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!”<|quote|>ejaculated my escort.</|quote|>“The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for | you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!”<|quote|>ejaculated my escort.</|quote|>“The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to | He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!”<|quote|>ejaculated my escort.</|quote|>“The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it | box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!”<|quote|>ejaculated my escort.</|quote|>“The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!”<|quote|>ejaculated my escort.</|quote|>“The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!”<|quote|>ejaculated my escort.</|quote|>“The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!”<|quote|>ejaculated my escort.</|quote|>“The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. | My Brilliant Career |
“Go on!” | Sybylla Melvyn | me from here to Yabtree.”<|quote|>“Go on!”</|quote|>“It’s a fact. He did | of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.”<|quote|>“Go on!”</|quote|>“It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not | on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.”<|quote|>“Go on!”</|quote|>“It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see | and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.”<|quote|>“Go on!”</|quote|>“It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot | race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.”<|quote|>“Go on!”</|quote|>“It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.”<|quote|>“Go on!”</|quote|>“It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.”<|quote|>“Go on!”</|quote|>“It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he | the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.”<|quote|>“Go on!”</|quote|>“It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the | My Brilliant Career |
“Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” | Sybylla Melvyn | trot off quick and lively.”<|quote|>“Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,”</|quote|>I replied. “That’s where it | take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.”<|quote|>“Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,”</|quote|>I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have | me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.”<|quote|>“Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,”</|quote|>I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But | away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.”<|quote|>“Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,”</|quote|>I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little | a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.”<|quote|>“Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,”</|quote|>I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.”<|quote|>“Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,”</|quote|>I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.”<|quote|>“Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,”</|quote|>I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.”<|quote|>“Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,”</|quote|>I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his | My Brilliant Career |
I replied. | No speaker | the cause of your disobedience,”<|quote|>I replied.</|quote|>“That’s where it is. He | sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,”<|quote|>I replied.</|quote|>“That’s where it is. He would not have cared had | in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,”<|quote|>I replied.</|quote|>“That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such | for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,”<|quote|>I replied.</|quote|>“That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. | Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,”<|quote|>I replied.</|quote|>“That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,”<|quote|>I replied.</|quote|>“That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,”<|quote|>I replied.</|quote|>“That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, | love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,”<|quote|>I replied.</|quote|>“That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in | My Brilliant Career |
“Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” | Sybylla Melvyn | a pretty hot member sometimes.”<|quote|>“Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?”</|quote|>“Bad-tempered is a tame name | to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.”<|quote|>“Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?”</|quote|>“Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have | the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.”<|quote|>“Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?”</|quote|>“Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly | fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.”<|quote|>“Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?”</|quote|>“Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth | Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.”<|quote|>“Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?”</|quote|>“Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.”<|quote|>“Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?”</|quote|>“Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.”<|quote|>“Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?”</|quote|>“Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.”<|quote|>“Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?”</|quote|>“Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty | My Brilliant Career |
I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, | No speaker | Benson. He just did perform.”<|quote|>I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with,</|quote|>“Sybylla, you are such a | the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.”<|quote|>I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with,</|quote|>“Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know | to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.”<|quote|>I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with,</|quote|>“Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went | lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.”<|quote|>I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with,</|quote|>“Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the | swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.”<|quote|>I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with,</|quote|>“Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour | do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.”<|quote|>I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with,</|quote|>“Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.”<|quote|>I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with,</|quote|>“Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content | to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.”<|quote|>I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with,</|quote|>“Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. | My Brilliant Career |
“Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” | Mrs. Bossier | up. Grannie greeted me with,<|quote|>“Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?”</|quote|>Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me | and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with,<|quote|>“Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?”</|quote|>Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and | I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with,<|quote|>“Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?”</|quote|>Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party | to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with,<|quote|>“Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?”</|quote|>Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized | kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with,<|quote|>“Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?”</|quote|>Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with | you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with,<|quote|>“Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?”</|quote|>Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with,<|quote|>“Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?”</|quote|>Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a | do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with,<|quote|>“Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?”</|quote|>Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell | My Brilliant Career |
Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. | No speaker | on earth have you been?”<|quote|>Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss.</|quote|>“Was she really very handsome?” | want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?”<|quote|>Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss.</|quote|>“Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” | most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?”<|quote|>Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss.</|quote|>“Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew | tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?”<|quote|>Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss.</|quote|>“Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an | derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?”<|quote|>Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss.</|quote|>“Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself | an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?”<|quote|>Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss.</|quote|>“Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?”<|quote|>Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss.</|quote|>“Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded to the drawing-room to | see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?”<|quote|>Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss.</|quote|>“Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to | My Brilliant Career |
“Was she really very handsome?” | Sybylla Melvyn | cap determinedly at his boss.<|quote|>“Was she really very handsome?”</|quote|>I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” | before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss.<|quote|>“Was she really very handsome?”</|quote|>I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of | a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss.<|quote|>“Was she really very handsome?”</|quote|>I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. | but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss.<|quote|>“Was she really very handsome?”</|quote|>I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, | had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss.<|quote|>“Was she really very handsome?”</|quote|>I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded | been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss.<|quote|>“Was she really very handsome?”</|quote|>I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss.<|quote|>“Was she really very handsome?”</|quote|>I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded to the drawing-room to await the arrival of the | and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss.<|quote|>“Was she really very handsome?”</|quote|>I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” | My Brilliant Career |
I inquired. | No speaker | “Was she really very handsome?”<|quote|>I inquired.</|quote|>“By Jove, yes!” he replied. | cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?”<|quote|>I inquired.</|quote|>“By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful | afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?”<|quote|>I inquired.</|quote|>“By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of | an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?”<|quote|>I inquired.</|quote|>“By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure | to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?”<|quote|>I inquired.</|quote|>“By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the | he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?”<|quote|>I inquired.</|quote|>“By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?”<|quote|>I inquired.</|quote|>“By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded to the drawing-room to await the arrival of the other visitors. | go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?”<|quote|>I inquired.</|quote|>“By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was | My Brilliant Career |
he replied. | No speaker | I inquired. “By Jove, yes!”<|quote|>he replied.</|quote|>“But one of your disdainful | “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!”<|quote|>he replied.</|quote|>“But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign | him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!”<|quote|>he replied.</|quote|>“But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he | In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!”<|quote|>he replied.</|quote|>“But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his | forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!”<|quote|>he replied.</|quote|>“But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to | one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!”<|quote|>he replied.</|quote|>“But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!”<|quote|>he replied.</|quote|>“But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded to the drawing-room to await the arrival of the other visitors. They soon made their appearance. | me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!”<|quote|>he replied.</|quote|>“But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” | My Brilliant Career |
I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. | No speaker | or seven thousand a year.”<|quote|>I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever.</|quote|>“Am I keeping grannie and | chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.”<|quote|>I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever.</|quote|>“Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. | Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.”<|quote|>I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever.</|quote|>“Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said | on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.”<|quote|>I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever.</|quote|>“Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. | tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.”<|quote|>I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever.</|quote|>“Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her | throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.”<|quote|>I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever.</|quote|>“Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the | 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 of some of the tucker bags.” “How do you do, Mr Beecham? Where are they going to have lunch?” “Over in that clump of box-trees,” he replied, pointing in the direction of a little rise at a good distance. “How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking straight at me. “Treminjous intoirely, sor,” I replied. “I suppose you know the winner of every race,” he remarked, quizzically watching Joe Archer, who was blushing and as uneasy as a schoolgirl when nabbed in the enjoyment of an illicit love-letter. “Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned. “You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo. "Ladies before gentlemen," I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.” “I’ll escort you,” said Beecham. “Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.”<|quote|>I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever.</|quote|>“Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded to the drawing-room to await the arrival of the other visitors. They soon made their appearance. First, two stout old squatters with big laughs and bigger corporations, then Miss Augusta Beecham, next Joe Archer the overseer, and the two other jackeroos. After these appeared a couple of governesses, Mr, Mrs, and Miss Benson, a clergyman, an auctioneer, a young friend of Harold’s from Cootamundra, a horse-buyer, a wool-classer, Miss Sarah Beecham, and then Miss Derrick brought herself and her dress in with great style and airs. She was garbed in a sea-green silk, and had jewellery on her neck, arms, and hair. Her self-confident mien was suggestive of the conquest of many masculine hearts. She was a big handsome woman. Beside her, I in my crushed white muslin dress was as overshadowed as a little white handkerchief would be in comparison to a gorgeous shawl heavily wrought in silks and velvet. She was given the best seat as though she were a princess. She sat down with great indifference, twirled a bracelet round her wrist, languidly opened her fan, and closed her eyes as she wafted it slowly to and fro. “By Jove, isn’t she a splendid creature?” enthusiastically whispered a gentleman sitting beside me. I looked at her critically. She was very big, and in a bony stiff way was much developed in figure. She had a nice big nose, and a long well-shaped face, a thin straight mouth, and empty light eyes. If my attention had not been called | Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.”<|quote|>I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever.</|quote|>“Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to | My Brilliant Career |
“Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” | Sybylla Melvyn | looking as pleasant as ever.<|quote|>“Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?”</|quote|>I inquired. “No. They have | Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever.<|quote|>“Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?”</|quote|>I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he | I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever.<|quote|>“Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?”</|quote|>I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself | physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever.<|quote|>“Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?”</|quote|>I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and | races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever.<|quote|>“Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?”</|quote|>I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay | hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever.<|quote|>“Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?”</|quote|>I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire | do so.” “In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever.<|quote|>“Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?”</|quote|>I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded to the drawing-room to await the arrival of the other visitors. They soon made their appearance. First, two stout old squatters with big laughs and bigger corporations, then Miss Augusta Beecham, next Joe Archer the overseer, and the two other jackeroos. After these appeared a couple of governesses, Mr, Mrs, and Miss Benson, a clergyman, an auctioneer, a young friend of Harold’s from Cootamundra, a horse-buyer, a wool-classer, Miss Sarah Beecham, and then Miss Derrick brought herself and her dress in with great style and airs. She was garbed in a sea-green silk, and had jewellery on her neck, arms, and hair. Her self-confident mien was suggestive of the conquest of many masculine hearts. She was a big handsome woman. Beside her, I in my crushed white muslin dress was as overshadowed as a little white handkerchief would be in comparison to a gorgeous shawl heavily wrought in silks and velvet. She was given the best seat as though she were a princess. She sat down with great indifference, twirled a bracelet round her wrist, languidly opened her fan, and closed her eyes as she wafted it slowly to and fro. “By Jove, isn’t she a splendid creature?” enthusiastically whispered a gentleman sitting beside me. I looked at her critically. She was very big, and in a bony stiff way was much developed in figure. She had a nice big nose, and a long well-shaped face, a thin straight mouth, and empty light eyes. If my attention had not been called to her I would not have noticed | beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever.<|quote|>“Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?”</|quote|>I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of | My Brilliant Career |
I inquired. | No speaker | keeping grannie and uncle waiting?”<|quote|>I inquired.</|quote|>“No. They have gone over | pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?”<|quote|>I inquired.</|quote|>“No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! | acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?”<|quote|>I inquired.</|quote|>“No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, | of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?”<|quote|>I inquired.</|quote|>“No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not | running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?”<|quote|>I inquired.</|quote|>“No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really | had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?”<|quote|>I inquired.</|quote|>“No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the | your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?”<|quote|>I inquired.</|quote|>“No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded to the drawing-room to await the arrival of the other visitors. They soon made their appearance. First, two stout old squatters with big laughs and bigger corporations, then Miss Augusta Beecham, next Joe Archer the overseer, and the two other jackeroos. After these appeared a couple of governesses, Mr, Mrs, and Miss Benson, a clergyman, an auctioneer, a young friend of Harold’s from Cootamundra, a horse-buyer, a wool-classer, Miss Sarah Beecham, and then Miss Derrick brought herself and her dress in with great style and airs. She was garbed in a sea-green silk, and had jewellery on her neck, arms, and hair. Her self-confident mien was suggestive of the conquest of many masculine hearts. She was a big handsome woman. Beside her, I in my crushed white muslin dress was as overshadowed as a little white handkerchief would be in comparison to a gorgeous shawl heavily wrought in silks and velvet. She was given the best seat as though she were a princess. She sat down with great indifference, twirled a bracelet round her wrist, languidly opened her fan, and closed her eyes as she wafted it slowly to and fro. “By Jove, isn’t she a splendid creature?” enthusiastically whispered a gentleman sitting beside me. I looked at her critically. She was very big, and in a bony stiff way was much developed in figure. She had a nice big nose, and a long well-shaped face, a thin straight mouth, and empty light eyes. If my attention had not been called to her I would not have noticed her one | that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?”<|quote|>I inquired.</|quote|>“No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited | My Brilliant Career |
“No. They have gone over an hour,” | Harold Beecham | and uncle waiting?” I inquired.<|quote|>“No. They have gone over an hour,”</|quote|>he replied. “Gone! How am | ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired.<|quote|>“No. They have gone over an hour,”</|quote|>he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She | the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired.<|quote|>“No. They have gone over an hour,”</|quote|>he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, | my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired.<|quote|>“No. They have gone over an hour,”</|quote|>he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have | of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired.<|quote|>“No. They have gone over an hour,”</|quote|>he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded | sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired.<|quote|>“No. They have gone over an hour,”</|quote|>he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had | and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired.<|quote|>“No. They have gone over an hour,”</|quote|>he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded to the drawing-room to await the arrival of the other visitors. They soon made their appearance. First, two stout old squatters with big laughs and bigger corporations, then Miss Augusta Beecham, next Joe Archer the overseer, and the two other jackeroos. After these appeared a couple of governesses, Mr, Mrs, and Miss Benson, a clergyman, an auctioneer, a young friend of Harold’s from Cootamundra, a horse-buyer, a wool-classer, Miss Sarah Beecham, and then Miss Derrick brought herself and her dress in with great style and airs. She was garbed in a sea-green silk, and had jewellery on her neck, arms, and hair. Her self-confident mien was suggestive of the conquest of many masculine hearts. She was a big handsome woman. Beside her, I in my crushed white muslin dress was as overshadowed as a little white handkerchief would be in comparison to a gorgeous shawl heavily wrought in silks and velvet. She was given the best seat as though she were a princess. She sat down with great indifference, twirled a bracelet round her wrist, languidly opened her fan, and closed her eyes as she wafted it slowly to and fro. “By Jove, isn’t she a splendid creature?” enthusiastically whispered a gentleman sitting beside me. I looked at her critically. She was very big, and in a bony stiff way was much developed in figure. She had a nice big nose, and a long well-shaped face, a thin straight mouth, and empty light eyes. If my attention had not been called to her I would not have noticed her one way or the other, but being pointed | she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired.<|quote|>“No. They have gone over an hour,”</|quote|>he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them | My Brilliant Career |
he replied. | No speaker | have gone over an hour,”<|quote|>he replied.</|quote|>“Gone! How am I to | waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,”<|quote|>he replied.</|quote|>“Gone! How am I to get home? She must have | on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,”<|quote|>he replied.</|quote|>“Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left | at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,”<|quote|>he replied.</|quote|>“Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner | raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,”<|quote|>he replied.</|quote|>“Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to | drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,”<|quote|>he replied.</|quote|>“Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked | does as you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,”<|quote|>he replied.</|quote|>“Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded to the drawing-room to await the arrival of the other visitors. They soon made their appearance. First, two stout old squatters with big laughs and bigger corporations, then Miss Augusta Beecham, next Joe Archer the overseer, and the two other jackeroos. After these appeared a couple of governesses, Mr, Mrs, and Miss Benson, a clergyman, an auctioneer, a young friend of Harold’s from Cootamundra, a horse-buyer, a wool-classer, Miss Sarah Beecham, and then Miss Derrick brought herself and her dress in with great style and airs. She was garbed in a sea-green silk, and had jewellery on her neck, arms, and hair. Her self-confident mien was suggestive of the conquest of many masculine hearts. She was a big handsome woman. Beside her, I in my crushed white muslin dress was as overshadowed as a little white handkerchief would be in comparison to a gorgeous shawl heavily wrought in silks and velvet. She was given the best seat as though she were a princess. She sat down with great indifference, twirled a bracelet round her wrist, languidly opened her fan, and closed her eyes as she wafted it slowly to and fro. “By Jove, isn’t she a splendid creature?” enthusiastically whispered a gentleman sitting beside me. I looked at her critically. She was very big, and in a bony stiff way was much developed in figure. She had a nice big nose, and a long well-shaped face, a thin straight mouth, and empty light eyes. If my attention had not been called to her I would not have noticed her one way or the other, but being pointed to as | theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,”<|quote|>he replied.</|quote|>“Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as | My Brilliant Career |
“Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” | Sybylla Melvyn | over an hour,” he replied.<|quote|>“Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?”</|quote|>“On the contrary, she was | inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied.<|quote|>“Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?”</|quote|>“On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said | flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied.<|quote|>“Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?”</|quote|>“On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” | man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied.<|quote|>“Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?”</|quote|>“On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such | himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied.<|quote|>“Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?”</|quote|>“On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on | morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied.<|quote|>“Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?”</|quote|>“On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had | you request.” Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face. “By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied.<|quote|>“Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?”</|quote|>“On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded to the drawing-room to await the arrival of the other visitors. They soon made their appearance. First, two stout old squatters with big laughs and bigger corporations, then Miss Augusta Beecham, next Joe Archer the overseer, and the two other jackeroos. After these appeared a couple of governesses, Mr, Mrs, and Miss Benson, a clergyman, an auctioneer, a young friend of Harold’s from Cootamundra, a horse-buyer, a wool-classer, Miss Sarah Beecham, and then Miss Derrick brought herself and her dress in with great style and airs. She was garbed in a sea-green silk, and had jewellery on her neck, arms, and hair. Her self-confident mien was suggestive of the conquest of many masculine hearts. She was a big handsome woman. Beside her, I in my crushed white muslin dress was as overshadowed as a little white handkerchief would be in comparison to a gorgeous shawl heavily wrought in silks and velvet. She was given the best seat as though she were a princess. She sat down with great indifference, twirled a bracelet round her wrist, languidly opened her fan, and closed her eyes as she wafted it slowly to and fro. “By Jove, isn’t she a splendid creature?” enthusiastically whispered a gentleman sitting beside me. I looked at her critically. She was very big, and in a bony stiff way was much developed in figure. She had a nice big nose, and a long well-shaped face, a thin straight mouth, and empty light eyes. If my attention had not been called to her I would not have noticed her one way or the other, but being pointed to as a beauty, I weighed her according to my idea of facial charm, and pronounced her one of the most insipid-looking people I | never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied.<|quote|>“Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?”</|quote|>“On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap | My Brilliant Career |
“On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” | Harold Beecham | me. What did she say?”<|quote|>“On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,”</|quote|>he said mischievously. “Where am | angry to go and leave me. What did she say?”<|quote|>“On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,”</|quote|>he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob | Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?”<|quote|>“On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,”</|quote|>he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. | struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?”<|quote|>“On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,”</|quote|>he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s | races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?”<|quote|>“On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,”</|quote|>he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the | greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?”<|quote|>“On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,”</|quote|>he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream | for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.” “Go on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?”<|quote|>“On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,”</|quote|>he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded to the drawing-room to await the arrival of the other visitors. They soon made their appearance. First, two stout old squatters with big laughs and bigger corporations, then Miss Augusta Beecham, next Joe Archer the overseer, and the two other jackeroos. After these appeared a couple of governesses, Mr, Mrs, and Miss Benson, a clergyman, an auctioneer, a young friend of Harold’s from Cootamundra, a horse-buyer, a wool-classer, Miss Sarah Beecham, and then Miss Derrick brought herself and her dress in with great style and airs. She was garbed in a sea-green silk, and had jewellery on her neck, arms, and hair. Her self-confident mien was suggestive of the conquest of many masculine hearts. She was a big handsome woman. Beside her, I in my crushed white muslin dress was as overshadowed as a little white handkerchief would be in comparison to a gorgeous shawl heavily wrought in silks and velvet. She was given the best seat as though she were a princess. She sat down with great indifference, twirled a bracelet round her wrist, languidly opened her fan, and closed her eyes as she wafted it slowly to and fro. “By Jove, isn’t she a splendid creature?” enthusiastically whispered a gentleman sitting beside me. I looked at her critically. She was very big, and in a bony stiff way was much developed in figure. She had a nice big nose, and a long well-shaped face, a thin straight mouth, and empty light eyes. If my attention had not been called to her I would not have noticed her one way or the other, but being pointed to as a beauty, I weighed her according to my idea of facial charm, and pronounced her one of the most insipid-looking people I had set eyes upon. She was the kind of woman with whom men become much infatuated. She would never make a fool of herself by letting her emotions run away with her, because she had no emotions, but lived in a sea | under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?”<|quote|>“On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,”</|quote|>he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson | My Brilliant Career |
he said mischievously. | No speaker | you when performing that ceremony,”<|quote|>he said mischievously.</|quote|>“Where am I going tonight?” | night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,”<|quote|>he said mischievously.</|quote|>“Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp | go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,”<|quote|>he said mischievously.</|quote|>“Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” | ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,”<|quote|>he said mischievously.</|quote|>“Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said | whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,”<|quote|>he said mischievously.</|quote|>“Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one | at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,”<|quote|>he said mischievously.</|quote|>“Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the | on!” “It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,”<|quote|>he said mischievously.</|quote|>“Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded to the drawing-room to await the arrival of the other visitors. They soon made their appearance. First, two stout old squatters with big laughs and bigger corporations, then Miss Augusta Beecham, next Joe Archer the overseer, and the two other jackeroos. After these appeared a couple of governesses, Mr, Mrs, and Miss Benson, a clergyman, an auctioneer, a young friend of Harold’s from Cootamundra, a horse-buyer, a wool-classer, Miss Sarah Beecham, and then Miss Derrick brought herself and her dress in with great style and airs. She was garbed in a sea-green silk, and had jewellery on her neck, arms, and hair. Her self-confident mien was suggestive of the conquest of many masculine hearts. She was a big handsome woman. Beside her, I in my crushed white muslin dress was as overshadowed as a little white handkerchief would be in comparison to a gorgeous shawl heavily wrought in silks and velvet. She was given the best seat as though she were a princess. She sat down with great indifference, twirled a bracelet round her wrist, languidly opened her fan, and closed her eyes as she wafted it slowly to and fro. “By Jove, isn’t she a splendid creature?” enthusiastically whispered a gentleman sitting beside me. I looked at her critically. She was very big, and in a bony stiff way was much developed in figure. She had a nice big nose, and a long well-shaped face, a thin straight mouth, and empty light eyes. If my attention had not been called to her I would not have noticed her one way or the other, but being pointed to as a beauty, I weighed her according to my idea of facial charm, and pronounced her one of the most insipid-looking people I had set eyes upon. She was the kind of woman with whom men become much infatuated. She would never make a fool of herself by letting her emotions run away with her, because she had no emotions, but lived in a sea of unruffled self-consciousness | did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,”<|quote|>he said mischievously.</|quote|>“Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded to the drawing-room to await the arrival of the other visitors. They soon made their appearance. First, two stout old squatters with big laughs and bigger corporations, then Miss Augusta Beecham, next Joe Archer the overseer, and the two other jackeroos. After these appeared a couple of governesses, Mr, Mrs, and Miss Benson, a clergyman, an auctioneer, a | My Brilliant Career |
“Where am I going tonight?” | Sybylla Melvyn | that ceremony,” he said mischievously.<|quote|>“Where am I going tonight?”</|quote|>“To Five-Bob Downs, the camp | she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously.<|quote|>“Where am I going tonight?”</|quote|>“To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. | me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously.<|quote|>“Where am I going tonight?”</|quote|>“To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such | and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously.<|quote|>“Where am I going tonight?”</|quote|>“To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse | style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously.<|quote|>“Where am I going tonight?”</|quote|>“To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were | was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously.<|quote|>“Where am I going tonight?”</|quote|>“To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the | fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously.<|quote|>“Where am I going tonight?”</|quote|>“To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded to the drawing-room to await the arrival of the other visitors. They soon made their appearance. First, two stout old squatters with big laughs and bigger corporations, then Miss Augusta Beecham, next Joe Archer the overseer, and the two other jackeroos. After these appeared a couple of governesses, Mr, Mrs, and Miss Benson, a clergyman, an auctioneer, a young friend of Harold’s from Cootamundra, a horse-buyer, a wool-classer, Miss Sarah Beecham, and then Miss Derrick brought herself and her dress in with great style and airs. She was garbed in a sea-green silk, and had jewellery on her neck, arms, and hair. Her self-confident mien was suggestive of the conquest of many masculine hearts. She was a big handsome woman. Beside her, I in my crushed white muslin dress was as overshadowed as a little white handkerchief would be in comparison to a gorgeous shawl heavily wrought in silks and velvet. She was given the best seat as though she were a princess. She sat down with great indifference, twirled a bracelet round her wrist, languidly opened her fan, and closed her eyes as she wafted it slowly to and fro. “By Jove, isn’t she a splendid creature?” enthusiastically whispered a gentleman sitting beside me. I looked at her critically. She was very big, and in a bony stiff way was much developed in figure. She had a nice big nose, and a long well-shaped face, a thin straight mouth, and empty light eyes. If my attention had not been called to her I would not have noticed her one way or the other, but being pointed to as a beauty, I weighed her according to my idea of facial charm, and pronounced her one of the most insipid-looking people I had set eyes upon. She was the kind of woman with whom men become much infatuated. She would never make a fool of herself by letting her emotions run away with her, because she had no emotions, but lived in a sea of unruffled self-consciousness and self-confidence. Any man would | broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously.<|quote|>“Where am I going tonight?”</|quote|>“To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and | My Brilliant Career |
“To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” | Harold Beecham | “Where am I going tonight?”<|quote|>“To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,”</|quote|>he replied. “I haven’t got | that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?”<|quote|>“To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,”</|quote|>he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am | “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?”<|quote|>“To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,”</|quote|>he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or | Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?”<|quote|>“To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,”</|quote|>he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. | to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?”<|quote|>“To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,”</|quote|>he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going | on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?”<|quote|>“To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,”</|quote|>he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which | in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?”<|quote|>“To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,”</|quote|>he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded to the drawing-room to await the arrival of the other visitors. They soon made their appearance. First, two stout old squatters with big laughs and bigger corporations, then Miss Augusta Beecham, next Joe Archer the overseer, and the two other jackeroos. After these appeared a couple of governesses, Mr, Mrs, and Miss Benson, a clergyman, an auctioneer, a young friend of Harold’s from Cootamundra, a horse-buyer, a wool-classer, Miss Sarah Beecham, and then Miss Derrick brought herself and her dress in with great style and airs. She was garbed in a sea-green silk, and had jewellery on her neck, arms, and hair. Her self-confident mien was suggestive of the conquest of many masculine hearts. She was a big handsome woman. Beside her, I in my crushed white muslin dress was as overshadowed as a little white handkerchief would be in comparison to a gorgeous shawl heavily wrought in silks and velvet. She was given the best seat as though she were a princess. She sat down with great indifference, twirled a bracelet round her wrist, languidly opened her fan, and closed her eyes as she wafted it slowly to and fro. “By Jove, isn’t she a splendid creature?” enthusiastically whispered a gentleman sitting beside me. I looked at her critically. She was very big, and in a bony stiff way was much developed in figure. She had a nice big nose, and a long well-shaped face, a thin straight mouth, and empty light eyes. If my attention had not been called to her I would not have noticed her one way or the other, but being pointed to as a beauty, I weighed her according to my idea of facial charm, and pronounced her one of the most insipid-looking people I had set eyes upon. She was the kind of woman with whom men become much infatuated. She would never make a fool of herself by letting her emotions run away with her, because she had no emotions, but lived in a sea of unruffled self-consciousness and self-confidence. Any man would be proud to introduce her as his wife | with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?”<|quote|>“To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,”</|quote|>he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands for a cold meal | My Brilliant Career |
he replied. | No speaker | the camp of yours truly,”<|quote|>he replied.</|quote|>“I haven’t got a dinner | going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,”<|quote|>he replied.</|quote|>“I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. | She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,”<|quote|>he replied.</|quote|>“I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They | as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,”<|quote|>he replied.</|quote|>“I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her | splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,”<|quote|>he replied.</|quote|>“I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt | a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,”<|quote|>he replied.</|quote|>“I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put | immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,”<|quote|>he replied.</|quote|>“I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded to the drawing-room to await the arrival of the other visitors. They soon made their appearance. First, two stout old squatters with big laughs and bigger corporations, then Miss Augusta Beecham, next Joe Archer the overseer, and the two other jackeroos. After these appeared a couple of governesses, Mr, Mrs, and Miss Benson, a clergyman, an auctioneer, a young friend of Harold’s from Cootamundra, a horse-buyer, a wool-classer, Miss Sarah Beecham, and then Miss Derrick brought herself and her dress in with great style and airs. She was garbed in a sea-green silk, and had jewellery on her neck, arms, and hair. Her self-confident mien was suggestive of the conquest of many masculine hearts. She was a big handsome woman. Beside her, I in my crushed white muslin dress was as overshadowed as a little white handkerchief would be in comparison to a gorgeous shawl heavily wrought in silks and velvet. She was given the best seat as though she were a princess. She sat down with great indifference, twirled a bracelet round her wrist, languidly opened her fan, and closed her eyes as she wafted it slowly to and fro. “By Jove, isn’t she a splendid creature?” enthusiastically whispered a gentleman sitting beside me. I looked at her critically. She was very big, and in a bony stiff way was much developed in figure. She had a nice big nose, and a long well-shaped face, a thin straight mouth, and empty light eyes. If my attention had not been called to her I would not have noticed her one way or the other, but being pointed to as a beauty, I weighed her according to my idea of facial charm, and pronounced her one of the most insipid-looking people I had set eyes upon. She was the kind of woman with whom men become much infatuated. She would never make a fool of herself by letting her emotions run away with her, because she had no emotions, but lived in a sea of unruffled self-consciousness and self-confidence. Any man would be proud to introduce her as his wife to his | of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,”<|quote|>he replied.</|quote|>“I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and | My Brilliant Career |
“I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” | Sybylla Melvyn | of yours truly,” he replied.<|quote|>“I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.”</|quote|>“We have plenty dinner dresses | “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied.<|quote|>“I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.”</|quote|>“We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. | to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied.<|quote|>“I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.”</|quote|>“We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they | “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied.<|quote|>“I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.”</|quote|>“We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham | physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied.<|quote|>“I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.”</|quote|>“We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed | religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied.<|quote|>“I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.”</|quote|>“We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we | has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied.<|quote|>“I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.”</|quote|>“We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded to the drawing-room to await the arrival of the other visitors. They soon made their appearance. First, two stout old squatters with big laughs and bigger corporations, then Miss Augusta Beecham, next Joe Archer the overseer, and the two other jackeroos. After these appeared a couple of governesses, Mr, Mrs, and Miss Benson, a clergyman, an auctioneer, a young friend of Harold’s from Cootamundra, a horse-buyer, a wool-classer, Miss Sarah Beecham, and then Miss Derrick brought herself and her dress in with great style and airs. She was garbed in a sea-green silk, and had jewellery on her neck, arms, and hair. Her self-confident mien was suggestive of the conquest of many masculine hearts. She was a big handsome woman. Beside her, I in my crushed white muslin dress was as overshadowed as a little white handkerchief would be in comparison to a gorgeous shawl heavily wrought in silks and velvet. She was given the best seat as though she were a princess. She sat down with great indifference, twirled a bracelet round her wrist, languidly opened her fan, and closed her eyes as she wafted it slowly to and fro. “By Jove, isn’t she a splendid creature?” enthusiastically whispered a gentleman sitting beside me. I looked at her critically. She was very big, and in a bony stiff way was much developed in figure. She had a nice big nose, and a long well-shaped face, a thin straight mouth, and empty light eyes. If my attention had not been called to her I would not have noticed her one way or the other, but being pointed to as a beauty, I weighed her according to my idea of facial charm, and pronounced her one of the most insipid-looking people I had set eyes upon. She was the kind of woman with whom men become much infatuated. She would never make a fool of herself by letting her emotions run away with her, because she had no emotions, but lived in a sea of unruffled self-consciousness and self-confidence. Any man would be proud to introduce her as his wife to his friends whom he had brought home to dinner. She would adorn the head of | the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied.<|quote|>“I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.”</|quote|>“We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded to the drawing-room to await the arrival of the other visitors. They soon made their appearance. First, two stout old squatters with big laughs and bigger corporations, then Miss Augusta Beecham, next Joe Archer the overseer, and the two other jackeroos. After these appeared a couple of governesses, Mr, Mrs, and Miss Benson, a clergyman, an auctioneer, a young friend of Harold’s from Cootamundra, a horse-buyer, a wool-classer, Miss Sarah Beecham, and then Miss Derrick brought herself and her dress in with great style and airs. She was garbed in a sea-green silk, and had jewellery on her neck, arms, and hair. Her self-confident mien was suggestive of the conquest of many masculine hearts. She was a big handsome woman. Beside her, I in my crushed white muslin dress was as overshadowed as a little white handkerchief would be in comparison to a gorgeous shawl heavily wrought in silks and velvet. She was given the best seat as though she were a princess. | My Brilliant Career |
“We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” | Harold Beecham | prepared. I will go home.”<|quote|>“We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,”</|quote|>he said. “Oh, bother you!” | dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.”<|quote|>“We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,”</|quote|>he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such | going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.”<|quote|>“We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,”</|quote|>he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter | an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.”<|quote|>“We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,”</|quote|>he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, | I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.”<|quote|>“We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,”</|quote|>he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted | and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.”<|quote|>“We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,”</|quote|>he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had | they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.” “Mr Beecham has sufficient sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.”<|quote|>“We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,”</|quote|>he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded to the drawing-room to await the arrival of the other visitors. They soon made their appearance. First, two stout old squatters with big laughs and bigger corporations, then Miss Augusta Beecham, next Joe Archer the overseer, and the two other jackeroos. After these appeared a couple of governesses, Mr, Mrs, and Miss Benson, a clergyman, an auctioneer, a young friend of Harold’s from Cootamundra, a horse-buyer, a wool-classer, Miss Sarah Beecham, and then Miss Derrick brought herself and her dress in with great style and airs. She was garbed in a sea-green silk, and had jewellery on her neck, arms, and hair. Her self-confident mien was suggestive of the conquest of many masculine hearts. She was a big handsome woman. Beside her, I in my crushed white muslin dress was as overshadowed as a little white handkerchief would be in comparison to a gorgeous shawl heavily wrought in silks and velvet. She was given the best seat as though she were a princess. She sat down with great indifference, twirled a bracelet round her wrist, languidly opened her fan, and closed her eyes as she wafted it slowly to and fro. “By Jove, isn’t she a splendid creature?” enthusiastically whispered a gentleman sitting beside me. I looked at her critically. She was very big, and in a bony stiff way was much developed in figure. She had a nice big nose, and a long well-shaped face, a thin straight mouth, and empty light eyes. If my attention had not been called to her I would not have noticed her one way or the other, but being pointed to as a beauty, I weighed her according to my idea of facial charm, and pronounced her one of the most insipid-looking people I had set eyes upon. She was the kind of woman with whom men become much infatuated. She would never make a fool of herself by letting her emotions run away with her, because she had no emotions, but lived in a sea of unruffled self-consciousness and self-confidence. Any man would be proud to introduce her as his wife to his friends whom he had brought home to dinner. She would adorn the head of his table. She would never worry him with silly ideas. She would never act with impropriety. | stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.”<|quote|>“We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,”</|quote|>he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded to the drawing-room to await the arrival of the other visitors. They soon made their appearance. First, two stout old squatters with big laughs and bigger corporations, then Miss Augusta Beecham, next Joe Archer the overseer, and the two other jackeroos. After these appeared a couple of governesses, Mr, Mrs, and Miss Benson, a clergyman, an auctioneer, a young friend of Harold’s from Cootamundra, a horse-buyer, a wool-classer, Miss Sarah Beecham, and then Miss Derrick brought herself and her dress in with great style and airs. She was garbed in a sea-green silk, and had jewellery on her neck, arms, and hair. Her self-confident mien was suggestive of the conquest of many masculine hearts. She was a big handsome woman. Beside her, I in my crushed white muslin dress was as overshadowed as a little white handkerchief would be in comparison to a gorgeous shawl heavily wrought in silks and velvet. She was given the best seat as though she were | My Brilliant Career |
he said. | No speaker | is Miss Melvyn we want,”<|quote|>he said.</|quote|>“Oh, bother you!” I retorted. | Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,”<|quote|>he said.</|quote|>“Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, | that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,”<|quote|>he said.</|quote|>“Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s | angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,”<|quote|>he said.</|quote|>“Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host | of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,”<|quote|>he said.</|quote|>“Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see | tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,”<|quote|>he said.</|quote|>“Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the | sense to see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,”<|quote|>he said.</|quote|>“Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded to the drawing-room to await the arrival of the other visitors. They soon made their appearance. First, two stout old squatters with big laughs and bigger corporations, then Miss Augusta Beecham, next Joe Archer the overseer, and the two other jackeroos. After these appeared a couple of governesses, Mr, Mrs, and Miss Benson, a clergyman, an auctioneer, a young friend of Harold’s from Cootamundra, a horse-buyer, a wool-classer, Miss Sarah Beecham, and then Miss Derrick brought herself and her dress in with great style and airs. She was garbed in a sea-green silk, and had jewellery on her neck, arms, and hair. Her self-confident mien was suggestive of the conquest of many masculine hearts. She was a big handsome woman. Beside her, I in my crushed white muslin dress was as overshadowed as a little white handkerchief would be in comparison to a gorgeous shawl heavily wrought in silks and velvet. She was given the best seat as though she were a princess. She sat down with great indifference, twirled a bracelet round her wrist, languidly opened her fan, and closed her eyes as she wafted it slowly to and fro. “By Jove, isn’t she a splendid creature?” enthusiastically whispered a gentleman sitting beside me. I looked at her critically. She was very big, and in a bony stiff way was much developed in figure. She had a nice big nose, and a long well-shaped face, a thin straight mouth, and empty light eyes. If my attention had not been called to her I would not have noticed her one way or the other, but being pointed to as a beauty, I weighed her according to my idea of facial charm, and pronounced her one of the most insipid-looking people I had set eyes upon. She was the kind of woman with whom men become much infatuated. She would never make a fool of herself by letting her emotions run away with her, because she had no emotions, but lived in a sea of unruffled self-consciousness and self-confidence. Any man would be proud to introduce her as his wife to his friends whom he had brought home to dinner. She would adorn the head of his table. She would never worry him with silly ideas. She would never act with impropriety. She would | that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,”<|quote|>he said.</|quote|>“Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded to the drawing-room to await the arrival of the other visitors. They soon made their appearance. First, two stout old squatters with big laughs and bigger corporations, then Miss Augusta Beecham, next Joe Archer the overseer, and the two other jackeroos. After these appeared a couple of governesses, Mr, Mrs, and Miss Benson, a clergyman, an auctioneer, a young friend of Harold’s from Cootamundra, a horse-buyer, a wool-classer, Miss Sarah Beecham, and then Miss Derrick brought herself and her dress in with great style and airs. She was garbed in a sea-green silk, and had jewellery on her neck, arms, and hair. Her self-confident mien was suggestive of the conquest of many masculine hearts. She was a big handsome woman. Beside her, I in my crushed white muslin dress was as overshadowed as a little white handkerchief would be in comparison to a gorgeous shawl heavily wrought in silks and velvet. She was given the best seat as though she were a princess. She sat down with great | My Brilliant Career |
“Oh, bother you!” | Sybylla Melvyn | Melvyn we want,” he said.<|quote|>“Oh, bother you!”</|quote|>I retorted. “Men are such | any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said.<|quote|>“Oh, bother you!”</|quote|>I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand | he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said.<|quote|>“Oh, bother you!”</|quote|>I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said | go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said.<|quote|>“Oh, bother you!”</|quote|>I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send | The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said.<|quote|>“Oh, bother you!”</|quote|>I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great | informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said.<|quote|>“Oh, bother you!”</|quote|>I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared | see I was the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said.<|quote|>“Oh, bother you!”</|quote|>I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded to the drawing-room to await the arrival of the other visitors. They soon made their appearance. First, two stout old squatters with big laughs and bigger corporations, then Miss Augusta Beecham, next Joe Archer the overseer, and the two other jackeroos. After these appeared a couple of governesses, Mr, Mrs, and Miss Benson, a clergyman, an auctioneer, a young friend of Harold’s from Cootamundra, a horse-buyer, a wool-classer, Miss Sarah Beecham, and then Miss Derrick brought herself and her dress in with great style and airs. She was garbed in a sea-green silk, and had jewellery on her neck, arms, and hair. Her self-confident mien was suggestive of the conquest of many masculine hearts. She was a big handsome woman. Beside her, I in my crushed white muslin dress was as overshadowed as a little white handkerchief would be in comparison to a gorgeous shawl heavily wrought in silks and velvet. She was given the best seat as though she were a princess. She sat down with great indifference, twirled a bracelet round her wrist, languidly opened her fan, and closed her eyes as she wafted it slowly to and fro. “By Jove, isn’t she a splendid creature?” enthusiastically whispered a gentleman sitting beside me. I looked at her critically. She was very big, and in a bony stiff way was much developed in figure. She had a nice big nose, and a long well-shaped face, a thin straight mouth, and empty light eyes. If my attention had not been called to her I would not have noticed her one way or the other, but being pointed to as a beauty, I weighed her according to my idea of facial charm, and pronounced her one of the most insipid-looking people I had set eyes upon. She was the kind of woman with whom men become much infatuated. She would never make a fool of herself by letting her emotions run away with her, because she had no emotions, but lived in a sea of unruffled self-consciousness and self-confidence. Any man would be proud to introduce her as his wife to his friends whom he had brought home to dinner. She would adorn the head of his table. She would never worry him with silly ideas. She would never act with impropriety. She would never become a | equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said.<|quote|>“Oh, bother you!”</|quote|>I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded to the drawing-room to await the arrival of the other visitors. They soon made their appearance. First, two stout old squatters with big laughs and bigger corporations, then Miss Augusta Beecham, next Joe Archer the overseer, and the two other jackeroos. After these appeared a couple of governesses, Mr, Mrs, and Miss Benson, a clergyman, an auctioneer, a young friend of Harold’s from Cootamundra, a horse-buyer, a wool-classer, Miss Sarah Beecham, and then Miss Derrick brought herself and her dress in with great style and airs. She was garbed in a sea-green silk, and had jewellery on her neck, arms, and hair. Her self-confident mien was suggestive of the conquest of many masculine hearts. She was a big handsome woman. Beside her, I in my crushed white muslin dress was as overshadowed as a little white handkerchief would be in comparison to a gorgeous shawl heavily wrought in silks | My Brilliant Career |
I retorted. | No speaker | he said. “Oh, bother you!”<|quote|>I retorted.</|quote|>“Men are such stupid creatures, | is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!”<|quote|>I retorted.</|quote|>“Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress | “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!”<|quote|>I retorted.</|quote|>“Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On | me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!”<|quote|>I retorted.</|quote|>“Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take | presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!”<|quote|>I retorted.</|quote|>“Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of | Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!”<|quote|>I retorted.</|quote|>“Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands | the cause of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!”<|quote|>I retorted.</|quote|>“Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded to the drawing-room to await the arrival of the other visitors. They soon made their appearance. First, two stout old squatters with big laughs and bigger corporations, then Miss Augusta Beecham, next Joe Archer the overseer, and the two other jackeroos. After these appeared a couple of governesses, Mr, Mrs, and Miss Benson, a clergyman, an auctioneer, a young friend of Harold’s from Cootamundra, a horse-buyer, a wool-classer, Miss Sarah Beecham, and then Miss Derrick brought herself and her dress in with great style and airs. She was garbed in a sea-green silk, and had jewellery on her neck, arms, and hair. Her self-confident mien was suggestive of the conquest of many masculine hearts. She was a big handsome woman. Beside her, I in my crushed white muslin dress was as overshadowed as a little white handkerchief would be in comparison to a gorgeous shawl heavily wrought in silks and velvet. She was given the best seat as though she were a princess. She sat down with great indifference, twirled a bracelet round her wrist, languidly opened her fan, and closed her eyes as she wafted it slowly to and fro. “By Jove, isn’t she a splendid creature?” enthusiastically whispered a gentleman sitting beside me. I looked at her critically. She was very big, and in a bony stiff way was much developed in figure. She had a nice big nose, and a long well-shaped face, a thin straight mouth, and empty light eyes. If my attention had not been called to her I would not have noticed her one way or the other, but being pointed to as a beauty, I weighed her according to my idea of facial charm, and pronounced her one of the most insipid-looking people I had set eyes upon. She was the kind of woman with whom men become much infatuated. She would never make a fool of herself by letting her emotions run away with her, because she had no emotions, but lived in a sea of unruffled self-consciousness and self-confidence. Any man would be proud to introduce her as his wife to his friends whom he had brought home to dinner. She would adorn the head of his table. She would never worry him with silly ideas. She would never act with impropriety. She would never become a companion to | handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!”<|quote|>I retorted.</|quote|>“Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while | My Brilliant Career |
“Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” | Sybylla Melvyn | “Oh, bother you!” I retorted.<|quote|>“Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.”</|quote|>“At all events, they are | Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted.<|quote|>“Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.”</|quote|>“At all events, they are cute enough to know when | I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted.<|quote|>“Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.”</|quote|>“At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone | did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted.<|quote|>“Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.”</|quote|>“At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I | the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted.<|quote|>“Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.”</|quote|>“At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap | had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted.<|quote|>“Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.”</|quote|>“At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded to the drawing-room to await the arrival of the other visitors. | of your disobedience,” I replied. “That’s where it is. He would not have cared had it been some other lady, but he gets mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted.<|quote|>“Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.”</|quote|>“At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded to the drawing-room to await the arrival of the other visitors. They soon made their appearance. First, two stout old squatters with big laughs and bigger corporations, then Miss Augusta Beecham, next Joe Archer the overseer, and the two other jackeroos. After these appeared a couple of governesses, Mr, Mrs, and Miss Benson, a clergyman, an auctioneer, a young friend of Harold’s from Cootamundra, a horse-buyer, a wool-classer, Miss Sarah Beecham, and then Miss Derrick brought herself and her dress in with great style and airs. She was garbed in a sea-green silk, and had jewellery on her neck, arms, and hair. Her self-confident mien was suggestive of the conquest of many masculine hearts. She was a big handsome woman. Beside her, I in my crushed white muslin dress was as overshadowed as a little white handkerchief would be in comparison to a gorgeous shawl heavily wrought in silks and velvet. She was given the best seat as though she were a princess. She sat down with great indifference, twirled a bracelet round her wrist, languidly opened her fan, and closed her eyes as she wafted it slowly to and fro. “By Jove, isn’t she a splendid creature?” enthusiastically whispered a gentleman sitting beside me. I looked at her critically. She was very big, and in a bony stiff way was much developed in figure. She had a nice big nose, and a long well-shaped face, a thin straight mouth, and empty light eyes. If my attention had not been called to her I would not have noticed her one way or the other, but being pointed to as a beauty, I weighed her according to my idea of facial charm, and pronounced her one of the most insipid-looking people I had set eyes upon. She was the kind of woman with whom men become much infatuated. She would never make a fool of herself by letting her emotions run away with her, because she had no emotions, but lived in a sea of unruffled self-consciousness and self-confidence. Any man would be proud to introduce her as his wife to his friends whom he had brought home to dinner. She would adorn the head of his table. She would never worry him with silly ideas. She would never act with impropriety. She would never become a companion to her husband. Bah, a man does not want his wife to be a companion! There were myths and fables in the old day; | was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted.<|quote|>“Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.”</|quote|>“At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and | My Brilliant Career |
“At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” | Harold Beecham | a ball in a wrapper.”<|quote|>“At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,”</|quote|>he said good-humouredly. On reaching | think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.”<|quote|>“At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,”</|quote|>he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised | I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.”<|quote|>“At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,”</|quote|>he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising | as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.”<|quote|>“At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,”</|quote|>he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, | request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.”<|quote|>“At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,”</|quote|>he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and | “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.”<|quote|>“At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,”</|quote|>he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded to the drawing-room to await the arrival of the other visitors. They soon made their appearance. First, two stout old squatters with big laughs and bigger corporations, then Miss Augusta Beecham, next Joe Archer | mad if any one dares to monopolize you. I don’t know how you are going to manage him. He is a pretty hot member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.”<|quote|>“At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,”</|quote|>he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded to the drawing-room to await the arrival of the other visitors. They soon made their appearance. First, two stout old squatters with big laughs and bigger corporations, then Miss Augusta Beecham, next Joe Archer the overseer, and the two other jackeroos. After these appeared a couple of governesses, Mr, Mrs, and Miss Benson, a clergyman, an auctioneer, a young friend of Harold’s from Cootamundra, a horse-buyer, a wool-classer, Miss Sarah Beecham, and then Miss Derrick brought herself and her dress in with great style and airs. She was garbed in a sea-green silk, and had jewellery on her neck, arms, and hair. Her self-confident mien was suggestive of the conquest of many masculine hearts. She was a big handsome woman. Beside her, I in my crushed white muslin dress was as overshadowed as a little white handkerchief would be in comparison to a gorgeous shawl heavily wrought in silks and velvet. She was given the best seat as though she were a princess. She sat down with great indifference, twirled a bracelet round her wrist, languidly opened her fan, and closed her eyes as she wafted it slowly to and fro. “By Jove, isn’t she a splendid creature?” enthusiastically whispered a gentleman sitting beside me. I looked at her critically. She was very big, and in a bony stiff way was much developed in figure. She had a nice big nose, and a long well-shaped face, a thin straight mouth, and empty light eyes. If my attention had not been called to her I would not have noticed her one way or the other, but being pointed to as a beauty, I weighed her according to my idea of facial charm, and pronounced her one of the most insipid-looking people I had set eyes upon. She was the kind of woman with whom men become much infatuated. She would never make a fool of herself by letting her emotions run away with her, because she had no emotions, but lived in a sea of unruffled self-consciousness and self-confidence. Any man would be proud to introduce her as his wife to his friends whom he had brought home to dinner. She would adorn the head of his table. She would never worry him with silly ideas. She would never act with impropriety. She would never become a companion to her husband. Bah, a man does not want his wife to be a companion! There were myths and fables in the old day; so there are now. The story that men like a companion as well as a wife is an up-to-date one. This train of | I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.”<|quote|>“At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,”</|quote|>he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair | My Brilliant Career |
he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded to the drawing-room to await the arrival of the other visitors. They soon made their appearance. First, two stout old squatters with big laughs and bigger corporations, then Miss Augusta Beecham, next Joe Archer the overseer, and the two other jackeroos. After these appeared a couple of governesses, Mr, Mrs, and Miss Benson, a clergyman, an auctioneer, a young friend of Harold’s from Cootamundra, a horse-buyer, a wool-classer, Miss Sarah Beecham, and then Miss Derrick brought herself and her dress in with great style and airs. She was garbed in a sea-green silk, and had jewellery on her neck, arms, and hair. Her self-confident mien was suggestive of the conquest of many masculine hearts. She was a big handsome woman. Beside her, I in my crushed white muslin dress was as overshadowed as a little white handkerchief would be in comparison to a gorgeous shawl heavily wrought in silks and velvet. She was given the best seat as though she were a princess. She sat down with great indifference, twirled a bracelet round her wrist, languidly opened her fan, and closed her eyes as she wafted it slowly to and fro. | No speaker | no matter how she’s dressed,”<|quote|>he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded to the drawing-room to await the arrival of the other visitors. They soon made their appearance. First, two stout old squatters with big laughs and bigger corporations, then Miss Augusta Beecham, next Joe Archer the overseer, and the two other jackeroos. After these appeared a couple of governesses, Mr, Mrs, and Miss Benson, a clergyman, an auctioneer, a young friend of Harold’s from Cootamundra, a horse-buyer, a wool-classer, Miss Sarah Beecham, and then Miss Derrick brought herself and her dress in with great style and airs. She was garbed in a sea-green silk, and had jewellery on her neck, arms, and hair. Her self-confident mien was suggestive of the conquest of many masculine hearts. She was a big handsome woman. Beside her, I in my crushed white muslin dress was as overshadowed as a little white handkerchief would be in comparison to a gorgeous shawl heavily wrought in silks and velvet. She was given the best seat as though she were a princess. She sat down with great indifference, twirled a bracelet round her wrist, languidly opened her fan, and closed her eyes as she wafted it slowly to and fro.</|quote|>“By Jove, isn’t she a | young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,”<|quote|>he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded to the drawing-room to await the arrival of the other visitors. They soon made their appearance. First, two stout old squatters with big laughs and bigger corporations, then Miss Augusta Beecham, next Joe Archer the overseer, and the two other jackeroos. After these appeared a couple of governesses, Mr, Mrs, and Miss Benson, a clergyman, an auctioneer, a young friend of Harold’s from Cootamundra, a horse-buyer, a wool-classer, Miss Sarah Beecham, and then Miss Derrick brought herself and her dress in with great style and airs. She was garbed in a sea-green silk, and had jewellery on her neck, arms, and hair. Her self-confident mien was suggestive of the conquest of many masculine hearts. She was a big handsome woman. Beside her, I in my crushed white muslin dress was as overshadowed as a little white handkerchief would be in comparison to a gorgeous shawl heavily wrought in silks and velvet. She was given the best seat as though she were a princess. She sat down with great indifference, twirled a bracelet round her wrist, languidly opened her fan, and closed her eyes as she wafted it slowly to and fro.</|quote|>“By Jove, isn’t she a splendid creature?” enthusiastically whispered a | bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,”<|quote|>he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded to the drawing-room to await the arrival of the other visitors. They soon made their appearance. First, two stout old squatters with big laughs and bigger corporations, then Miss Augusta Beecham, next Joe Archer the overseer, and the two other jackeroos. After these appeared a couple of governesses, Mr, Mrs, and Miss Benson, a clergyman, an auctioneer, a young friend of Harold’s from Cootamundra, a horse-buyer, a wool-classer, Miss Sarah Beecham, and then Miss Derrick brought herself and her dress in with great style and airs. She was garbed in a sea-green silk, and had jewellery on her neck, arms, and hair. Her self-confident mien was suggestive of the conquest of many masculine hearts. She was a big handsome woman. Beside her, I in my crushed white muslin dress was as overshadowed as a little white handkerchief would be in comparison to a gorgeous shawl heavily wrought in silks and velvet. She was given the best seat as though she were a princess. She sat down with great indifference, twirled a bracelet round her wrist, languidly opened her fan, and closed her eyes as she wafted it slowly to and fro.</|quote|>“By Jove, isn’t she a splendid creature?” enthusiastically whispered a gentleman sitting beside me. I looked at her critically. She was very big, and in a bony stiff way was much developed in figure. She had a nice big nose, and a long well-shaped face, a thin straight mouth, and | said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,”<|quote|>he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded to the drawing-room to await the arrival of the other visitors. They soon made their appearance. First, two stout old squatters with big laughs and bigger corporations, then Miss Augusta Beecham, next Joe Archer the overseer, and the two other jackeroos. After these appeared a couple of governesses, Mr, Mrs, and Miss Benson, a clergyman, an auctioneer, a young friend of Harold’s from Cootamundra, a horse-buyer, a wool-classer, Miss Sarah Beecham, and then Miss Derrick brought herself and her dress in with great style and airs. She was garbed in a sea-green silk, and had jewellery on her neck, arms, and hair. Her self-confident mien was suggestive of the conquest of many masculine hearts. She was a big handsome woman. Beside her, I in my crushed white muslin dress was as overshadowed as a little white handkerchief would be in comparison to a gorgeous shawl heavily wrought in silks and velvet. She was given the best seat as though she were a princess. She sat down with great indifference, twirled a bracelet round her wrist, languidly opened her fan, and closed her eyes as she wafted it slowly to and fro.</|quote|>“By Jove, isn’t she a splendid creature?” enthusiastically whispered a gentleman sitting beside me. I looked at her critically. She was very big, and in a bony stiff way was much developed in figure. She had a nice big nose, and a long well-shaped face, a thin straight mouth, and empty light eyes. If my attention had not been called to her I would not have noticed her one way or the other, but being pointed to as a beauty, I weighed her according to my idea of facial charm, and pronounced her one of the most insipid-looking people I | scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,”<|quote|>he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded to the drawing-room to await the arrival of the other visitors. They soon made their appearance. First, two stout old squatters with big laughs and bigger corporations, then Miss Augusta Beecham, next Joe Archer the overseer, and the two other jackeroos. After these appeared a couple of governesses, Mr, Mrs, and Miss Benson, a clergyman, an auctioneer, a young friend of Harold’s from Cootamundra, a horse-buyer, a wool-classer, Miss Sarah Beecham, and then Miss Derrick brought herself and her dress in with great style and airs. She was garbed in a sea-green silk, and had jewellery on her neck, arms, and hair. Her self-confident mien was suggestive of the conquest of many masculine hearts. She was a big handsome woman. Beside her, I in my crushed white muslin dress was as overshadowed as a little white handkerchief would be in comparison to a gorgeous shawl heavily wrought in silks and velvet. She was given the best seat as though she were a princess. She sat down with great indifference, twirled a bracelet round her wrist, languidly opened her fan, and closed her eyes as she wafted it slowly to and fro.</|quote|>“By Jove, isn’t she a splendid creature?” enthusiastically whispered a gentleman sitting beside me. I looked at her critically. She was very big, and in a bony stiff way was much developed in figure. She had a nice big nose, and a long well-shaped face, a thin straight mouth, and empty light eyes. If my attention had not been called to her I would not have noticed her one way or the other, but being pointed to as a beauty, I weighed her according to my idea of facial charm, and pronounced her one of the most insipid-looking people I had set eyes upon. She was the kind of woman with whom men become much infatuated. She would never make a fool of herself by letting her emotions run away with her, because she had no emotions, but lived in a sea of unruffled self-consciousness and self-confidence. Any man would be proud to introduce her as his wife to his friends whom he had brought home to dinner. She would adorn the head of his table. She would never worry him with silly ideas. She would never act with impropriety. She would never become a companion to her husband. Bah, | than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,”<|quote|>he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded to the drawing-room to await the arrival of the other visitors. They soon made their appearance. First, two stout old squatters with big laughs and bigger corporations, then Miss Augusta Beecham, next Joe Archer the overseer, and the two other jackeroos. After these appeared a couple of governesses, Mr, Mrs, and Miss Benson, a clergyman, an auctioneer, a young friend of Harold’s from Cootamundra, a horse-buyer, a wool-classer, Miss Sarah Beecham, and then Miss Derrick brought herself and her dress in with great style and airs. She was garbed in a sea-green silk, and had jewellery on her neck, arms, and hair. Her self-confident mien was suggestive of the conquest of many masculine hearts. She was a big handsome woman. Beside her, I in my crushed white muslin dress was as overshadowed as a little white handkerchief would be in comparison to a gorgeous shawl heavily wrought in silks and velvet. She was given the best seat as though she were a princess. She sat down with great indifference, twirled a bracelet round her wrist, languidly opened her fan, and closed her eyes as she wafted it slowly to and fro.</|quote|>“By Jove, isn’t she a splendid creature?” enthusiastically whispered a gentleman sitting beside me. I looked at her critically. She was very big, and in a bony stiff way was much developed in figure. She had a nice big nose, and a long well-shaped face, a thin straight mouth, and empty light eyes. If my attention had not been called to her I would not have noticed her one way or the other, but being pointed to as a beauty, I weighed her according to my idea of facial charm, and pronounced her one of the most insipid-looking people I had set eyes upon. She was the kind of woman with whom men become much infatuated. She would never make a fool of herself by letting her emotions run away with her, because she had no emotions, but lived in a sea of unruffled self-consciousness and self-confidence. Any man would be proud to introduce her as his wife to his friends whom he had brought home to dinner. She would adorn the head of his table. She would never worry him with silly ideas. She would never act with impropriety. She would never become a companion to her husband. Bah, a man does not want his wife to be a companion! There were myths and fables in the old day; so there are now. The story that men like a companion as well as a wife is an up-to-date one. This train of thought was interrupted by our host, who appeared in the doorway, clad from sole to neck in white. We steered for the dining-room—twenty-two all told—thirteen men and nine representatives of the other sex. Aunt Helen got one seat of honour near the head of the table and Miss Derrick another. I drifted to the foot among the unimportant younger fry, where we had no end of fun and idle chatter. We had to wait on ourselves, and as all formality was dispensed with, it was something like a picnic. The heat was excessive. Every window and door were open, and the balmy, almost imperceptible, zephyrs which faintly rustled the curtains and kissed our perspiration-beaded brows were rich with many scents from the wide old flower-garden, which, despite the drought, brought forth a wealth of blossom. When done eating we had to wash the dishes. Such a scamper ensued back and forwards to the kitchen, which rang with | member sometimes.” “Mr Archer, you presume! But throwing such empty banter aside, is Mr Beecham really bad-tempered?” “Bad-tempered is a tame name for it. You should have seen the dust he raised the other day with old Benson. He just did perform.” I was always hearing of Harold Beecham’s temper, and wished I could see a little of it. He was always so imperturbably calm, and unfailingly good-tempered under the most trying circumstances, that I feared he had no emotions in him, and longed to stir him up. Grannie greeted me with, “Sybylla, you are such a tiresome girl. I don’t know how you have packed these hampers, and we want to have lunch. Where on earth have you been?” Miss Augusta Beecham saluted me warmly with a kiss, and presented me to her sister Sarah, who also embraced me. I went through an introduction to several ladies and gentlemen, greeted my acquaintances, and then set to work in dead earnest to get our provisions laid out—the Five-Bob Downs party had theirs in readiness. Needless to say, we were combining forces. I had my work completed when Mr Beecham appeared upon the scene with two young ladies. One was a bright-faced little brunette, and the other a tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized as the lady who had been sitting on the box-seat of the Beecham drag that morning. Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that city. This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss. “Was she really very handsome?” I inquired. “By Jove, yes!” he replied. “But one of your disdainful haughty beauties, who wouldn’t deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven thousand a year.” I don’t know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the horses running. Some of them were uncle’s; though he never raced horses himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the occasion. Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a distance. They were fit for an artist’s models. The tall, broad, independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose—indeed, a splendid pair physically! Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered, and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,”<|quote|>he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded to the drawing-room to await the arrival of the other visitors. They soon made their appearance. First, two stout old squatters with big laughs and bigger corporations, then Miss Augusta Beecham, next Joe Archer the overseer, and the two other jackeroos. After these appeared a couple of governesses, Mr, Mrs, and Miss Benson, a clergyman, an auctioneer, a young friend of Harold’s from Cootamundra, a horse-buyer, a wool-classer, Miss Sarah Beecham, and then Miss Derrick brought herself and her dress in with great style and airs. She was garbed in a sea-green silk, and had jewellery on her neck, arms, and hair. Her self-confident mien was suggestive of the conquest of many masculine hearts. She was a big handsome woman. Beside her, I in my crushed white muslin dress was as overshadowed as a little white handkerchief would be in comparison to a gorgeous shawl heavily wrought in silks and velvet. She was given the best seat as though she were a princess. She sat down with great indifference, twirled a bracelet round her wrist, languidly opened her fan, and closed her eyes as she wafted it slowly to and fro.</|quote|>“By Jove, isn’t she a splendid creature?” enthusiastically whispered a gentleman sitting beside me. I looked at her critically. She was very big, and in a bony stiff way was much developed in figure. She had a nice big nose, and a long well-shaped face, a thin straight mouth, and empty light eyes. If my attention had not been called to her I would not have noticed her one way or the other, but being pointed to as a beauty, I weighed her according to my idea of facial charm, and pronounced her one of the most insipid-looking people I had set eyes upon. She was the kind of woman with whom men become much infatuated. She would never make a fool of herself by letting her emotions run away with her, because she had no emotions, but lived in a sea of unruffled self-consciousness and self-confidence. Any man would be proud to introduce her as his wife to his friends whom he had brought home to dinner. She would adorn the head of his table. She would never worry him with silly ideas. She would never act with impropriety. She would never become a companion to her husband. Bah, a man does not want his wife to be a companion! There were myths and fables in the old day; so there are now. The story that men like a companion as well as a wife is an up-to-date one. This train of thought was interrupted by our host, who appeared in the doorway, clad from sole to neck in white. We steered for the dining-room—twenty-two all told—thirteen men and nine representatives of the other sex. Aunt Helen got one seat of honour near the head of the table and Miss Derrick another. I drifted to the foot among the unimportant younger fry, where we had no end of fun and idle chatter. We had to wait on ourselves, and as all formality was dispensed with, it was something like a picnic. The heat was excessive. Every window and door were open, and the balmy, almost imperceptible, zephyrs which faintly rustled the curtains and kissed our perspiration-beaded brows were rich with many scents from the wide old flower-garden, which, despite the drought, brought forth a wealth of blossom. When done eating we had to wash the dishes. Such a scamper ensued back and forwards to the kitchen, which rang with noise, and merriment. Everyone was helping, hindering, laughing, joking, teasing, and brimming over with fun and enjoyment. When we had completed this task, dancing was proposed. Some of the elderly and more sensible people said it was too hot, but all the young folks did not care a rap for the temperature. Harold had no objections, Miss Derrick was agreeable, Miss Benson announced herself ready and willing, and Joe Archer said he was “leppin’” to begin, so we adjourned to the dancing-room and commenced operations. I played the piano for the first quadrille, and aunt Helen for the second dance. It was most enjoyable. There was a table at one end of the room on which was any amount of cherries, lollies, cake, dainties, beers, syrups, and glasses, where all could regale themselves without ceremony or bother every time the inclination seized them. Several doors and windows of the long room opened into the garden, and, provided one had no fear of snakes, it was delightful to walk amid the flowers and cool oneself between dances. A little exertion on such a night made us very hot. After the third dance the two old squatters, the horse-buyer, the clergyman, and Mr Benson disappeared. Judging from the hilarity of their demeanour and the killing odour of their breaths when they returned an hour or so later, during their absence they must have conscientiously sampled the contents of every whisky decanter on the dining-room sideboard. I could not dance, but had no lack of partners, as, ladies being in the minority, the gentlemen had to occasionally put up with their own sex in a dance. “Let’s take a breeze now and have a song or two, but no more dancing for a while,” said some of them; but Harold Beecham said, “One more turn, and then we will have a long spell and a change of programme.” He ordered Joe Archer to play a waltz, and the floor soon held several whirling couples. Harold “requested the pleasure” of me—the first time that night. I demurred. He would not take a refusal. “Believe me, if I felt competent, Mr Beecham, I would not refuse. I cannot dance. It will be no pleasure to you.” “Allow me to be the best judge of what is a pleasure to me,” he said, quietly placing me in position. He swung me once round the room, and | bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,”<|quote|>he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded to the drawing-room to await the arrival of the other visitors. They soon made their appearance. First, two stout old squatters with big laughs and bigger corporations, then Miss Augusta Beecham, next Joe Archer the overseer, and the two other jackeroos. After these appeared a couple of governesses, Mr, Mrs, and Miss Benson, a clergyman, an auctioneer, a young friend of Harold’s from Cootamundra, a horse-buyer, a wool-classer, Miss Sarah Beecham, and then Miss Derrick brought herself and her dress in with great style and airs. She was garbed in a sea-green silk, and had jewellery on her neck, arms, and hair. Her self-confident mien was suggestive of the conquest of many masculine hearts. She was a big handsome woman. Beside her, I in my crushed white muslin dress was as overshadowed as a little white handkerchief would be in comparison to a gorgeous shawl heavily wrought in silks and velvet. She was given the best seat as though she were a princess. She sat down with great indifference, twirled a bracelet round her wrist, languidly opened her fan, and closed her eyes as she wafted it slowly to and fro.</|quote|>“By Jove, isn’t she a splendid creature?” enthusiastically whispered a gentleman sitting beside me. I looked at her critically. She was very big, and in a bony stiff way was much developed in figure. She had a nice big nose, and a long well-shaped face, a thin straight mouth, and empty light eyes. If my attention had not been called to her I would not have noticed her one way or the other, but being pointed to as a beauty, I weighed her according to my idea of facial charm, and pronounced her one of the most insipid-looking people I had set eyes upon. She was the kind of woman with whom men become much infatuated. She would never make a fool of herself by letting her emotions run away with her, because she had no emotions, but lived in a sea of unruffled self-consciousness and self-confidence. Any man would be proud to introduce her as his wife to his friends whom he had brought home to dinner. She would adorn the head of his table. She would never worry him with silly ideas. She would never act with impropriety. She would never become a companion to her husband. Bah, a man does not want his wife to be a companion! There were myths and fables in the old day; so there are now. The story that men like a companion as well as a wife is an up-to-date one. This train of thought was interrupted by our host, who appeared in the doorway, clad from sole to neck in white. We steered for the dining-room—twenty-two all told—thirteen men and nine representatives of the other sex. Aunt Helen got one seat of honour near the head of the table and Miss Derrick another. I drifted to the foot among the unimportant younger fry, where we had no end of fun and idle chatter. We had to wait on ourselves, and as all formality was dispensed with, it was something like a picnic. The heat was excessive. Every window and door were open, and the balmy, almost imperceptible, zephyrs which faintly rustled the curtains and kissed our perspiration-beaded brows were rich with many scents from the wide old flower-garden, which, despite the drought, brought forth a wealth of blossom. When done eating we had to wash the dishes. Such a scamper ensued back and forwards to the kitchen, which rang with noise, and merriment. Everyone was helping, hindering, laughing, joking, teasing, and brimming over with fun and enjoyment. When we had completed this task, dancing was proposed. Some of the elderly and more sensible people said it was too hot, but all the young folks did not care a rap | My Brilliant Career |
enthusiastically whispered a gentleman sitting beside me. I looked at her critically. She was very big, and in a bony stiff way was much developed in figure. She had a nice big nose, and a long well-shaped face, a thin straight mouth, and empty light eyes. If my attention had not been called to her I would not have noticed her one way or the other, but being pointed to as a beauty, I weighed her according to my idea of facial charm, and pronounced her one of the most insipid-looking people I had set eyes upon. She was the kind of woman with whom men become much infatuated. She would never make a fool of herself by letting her emotions run away with her, because she had no emotions, but lived in a sea of unruffled self-consciousness and self-confidence. Any man would be proud to introduce her as his wife to his friends whom he had brought home to dinner. She would adorn the head of his table. She would never worry him with silly ideas. She would never act with impropriety. She would never become a companion to her husband. Bah, a man does not want his wife to be a companion! There were myths and fables in the old day; so there are now. The story that men like a companion as well as a wife is an up-to-date one. This train of thought was interrupted by our host, who appeared in the doorway, clad from sole to neck in white. We steered for the dining-room—twenty-two all told—thirteen men and nine representatives of the other sex. Aunt Helen got one seat of honour near the head of the table and Miss Derrick another. I drifted to the foot among the unimportant younger fry, where we had no end of fun and idle chatter. We had to wait on ourselves, and as all formality was dispensed with, it was something like a picnic. The heat was excessive. Every window and door were open, and the balmy, almost imperceptible, zephyrs which faintly rustled the curtains and kissed our perspiration-beaded brows were rich with many scents from the wide old flower-garden, which, despite the drought, brought forth a wealth of blossom. When done eating we had to wash the dishes. Such a scamper ensued back and forwards to the kitchen, which rang with noise, and merriment. Everyone was helping, hindering, laughing, joking, teasing, and brimming over with fun and enjoyment. When we had completed this task, dancing was proposed. Some of the elderly and more sensible people said it was too hot, but all the young folks did not care a rap for the temperature. Harold had no objections, Miss Derrick was agreeable, Miss Benson announced herself ready and willing, and Joe Archer said he was | No speaker | isn’t she a splendid creature?”<|quote|>enthusiastically whispered a gentleman sitting beside me. I looked at her critically. She was very big, and in a bony stiff way was much developed in figure. She had a nice big nose, and a long well-shaped face, a thin straight mouth, and empty light eyes. If my attention had not been called to her I would not have noticed her one way or the other, but being pointed to as a beauty, I weighed her according to my idea of facial charm, and pronounced her one of the most insipid-looking people I had set eyes upon. She was the kind of woman with whom men become much infatuated. She would never make a fool of herself by letting her emotions run away with her, because she had no emotions, but lived in a sea of unruffled self-consciousness and self-confidence. Any man would be proud to introduce her as his wife to his friends whom he had brought home to dinner. She would adorn the head of his table. She would never worry him with silly ideas. She would never act with impropriety. She would never become a companion to her husband. Bah, a man does not want his wife to be a companion! There were myths and fables in the old day; so there are now. The story that men like a companion as well as a wife is an up-to-date one. This train of thought was interrupted by our host, who appeared in the doorway, clad from sole to neck in white. We steered for the dining-room—twenty-two all told—thirteen men and nine representatives of the other sex. Aunt Helen got one seat of honour near the head of the table and Miss Derrick another. I drifted to the foot among the unimportant younger fry, where we had no end of fun and idle chatter. We had to wait on ourselves, and as all formality was dispensed with, it was something like a picnic. The heat was excessive. Every window and door were open, and the balmy, almost imperceptible, zephyrs which faintly rustled the curtains and kissed our perspiration-beaded brows were rich with many scents from the wide old flower-garden, which, despite the drought, brought forth a wealth of blossom. When done eating we had to wash the dishes. Such a scamper ensued back and forwards to the kitchen, which rang with noise, and merriment. Everyone was helping, hindering, laughing, joking, teasing, and brimming over with fun and enjoyment. When we had completed this task, dancing was proposed. Some of the elderly and more sensible people said it was too hot, but all the young folks did not care a rap for the temperature. Harold had no objections, Miss Derrick was agreeable, Miss Benson announced herself ready and willing, and Joe Archer said he was</|quote|>“leppin’” to begin, so we | to and fro. “By Jove, isn’t she a splendid creature?”<|quote|>enthusiastically whispered a gentleman sitting beside me. I looked at her critically. She was very big, and in a bony stiff way was much developed in figure. She had a nice big nose, and a long well-shaped face, a thin straight mouth, and empty light eyes. If my attention had not been called to her I would not have noticed her one way or the other, but being pointed to as a beauty, I weighed her according to my idea of facial charm, and pronounced her one of the most insipid-looking people I had set eyes upon. She was the kind of woman with whom men become much infatuated. She would never make a fool of herself by letting her emotions run away with her, because she had no emotions, but lived in a sea of unruffled self-consciousness and self-confidence. Any man would be proud to introduce her as his wife to his friends whom he had brought home to dinner. She would adorn the head of his table. She would never worry him with silly ideas. She would never act with impropriety. She would never become a companion to her husband. Bah, a man does not want his wife to be a companion! There were myths and fables in the old day; so there are now. The story that men like a companion as well as a wife is an up-to-date one. This train of thought was interrupted by our host, who appeared in the doorway, clad from sole to neck in white. We steered for the dining-room—twenty-two all told—thirteen men and nine representatives of the other sex. Aunt Helen got one seat of honour near the head of the table and Miss Derrick another. I drifted to the foot among the unimportant younger fry, where we had no end of fun and idle chatter. We had to wait on ourselves, and as all formality was dispensed with, it was something like a picnic. The heat was excessive. Every window and door were open, and the balmy, almost imperceptible, zephyrs which faintly rustled the curtains and kissed our perspiration-beaded brows were rich with many scents from the wide old flower-garden, which, despite the drought, brought forth a wealth of blossom. When done eating we had to wash the dishes. Such a scamper ensued back and forwards to the kitchen, which rang with noise, and merriment. Everyone was helping, hindering, laughing, joking, teasing, and brimming over with fun and enjoyment. When we had completed this task, dancing was proposed. Some of the elderly and more sensible people said it was too hot, but all the young folks did not care a rap for the temperature. Harold had no objections, Miss Derrick was agreeable, Miss Benson announced herself ready and willing, and Joe Archer said he was</|quote|>“leppin’” to begin, so we adjourned to the dancing-room and | silks and velvet. She was given the best seat as though she were a princess. She sat down with great indifference, twirled a bracelet round her wrist, languidly opened her fan, and closed her eyes as she wafted it slowly to and fro. “By Jove, isn’t she a splendid creature?”<|quote|>enthusiastically whispered a gentleman sitting beside me. I looked at her critically. She was very big, and in a bony stiff way was much developed in figure. She had a nice big nose, and a long well-shaped face, a thin straight mouth, and empty light eyes. If my attention had not been called to her I would not have noticed her one way or the other, but being pointed to as a beauty, I weighed her according to my idea of facial charm, and pronounced her one of the most insipid-looking people I had set eyes upon. She was the kind of woman with whom men become much infatuated. She would never make a fool of herself by letting her emotions run away with her, because she had no emotions, but lived in a sea of unruffled self-consciousness and self-confidence. Any man would be proud to introduce her as his wife to his friends whom he had brought home to dinner. She would adorn the head of his table. She would never worry him with silly ideas. She would never act with impropriety. She would never become a companion to her husband. Bah, a man does not want his wife to be a companion! There were myths and fables in the old day; so there are now. The story that men like a companion as well as a wife is an up-to-date one. This train of thought was interrupted by our host, who appeared in the doorway, clad from sole to neck in white. We steered for the dining-room—twenty-two all told—thirteen men and nine representatives of the other sex. Aunt Helen got one seat of honour near the head of the table and Miss Derrick another. I drifted to the foot among the unimportant younger fry, where we had no end of fun and idle chatter. We had to wait on ourselves, and as all formality was dispensed with, it was something like a picnic. The heat was excessive. Every window and door were open, and the balmy, almost imperceptible, zephyrs which faintly rustled the curtains and kissed our perspiration-beaded brows were rich with many scents from the wide old flower-garden, which, despite the drought, brought forth a wealth of blossom. When done eating we had to wash the dishes. Such a scamper ensued back and forwards to the kitchen, which rang with noise, and merriment. Everyone was helping, hindering, laughing, joking, teasing, and brimming over with fun and enjoyment. When we had completed this task, dancing was proposed. Some of the elderly and more sensible people said it was too hot, but all the young folks did not care a rap for the temperature. Harold had no objections, Miss Derrick was agreeable, Miss Benson announced herself ready and willing, and Joe Archer said he was</|quote|>“leppin’” to begin, so we adjourned to the dancing-room and commenced operations. I played the piano for the first quadrille, and aunt Helen for the second dance. It was most enjoyable. There was a table at one end of the room on which was any amount of cherries, lollies, cake, | neck, arms, and hair. Her self-confident mien was suggestive of the conquest of many masculine hearts. She was a big handsome woman. Beside her, I in my crushed white muslin dress was as overshadowed as a little white handkerchief would be in comparison to a gorgeous shawl heavily wrought in silks and velvet. She was given the best seat as though she were a princess. She sat down with great indifference, twirled a bracelet round her wrist, languidly opened her fan, and closed her eyes as she wafted it slowly to and fro. “By Jove, isn’t she a splendid creature?”<|quote|>enthusiastically whispered a gentleman sitting beside me. I looked at her critically. She was very big, and in a bony stiff way was much developed in figure. She had a nice big nose, and a long well-shaped face, a thin straight mouth, and empty light eyes. If my attention had not been called to her I would not have noticed her one way or the other, but being pointed to as a beauty, I weighed her according to my idea of facial charm, and pronounced her one of the most insipid-looking people I had set eyes upon. She was the kind of woman with whom men become much infatuated. She would never make a fool of herself by letting her emotions run away with her, because she had no emotions, but lived in a sea of unruffled self-consciousness and self-confidence. Any man would be proud to introduce her as his wife to his friends whom he had brought home to dinner. She would adorn the head of his table. She would never worry him with silly ideas. She would never act with impropriety. She would never become a companion to her husband. Bah, a man does not want his wife to be a companion! There were myths and fables in the old day; so there are now. The story that men like a companion as well as a wife is an up-to-date one. This train of thought was interrupted by our host, who appeared in the doorway, clad from sole to neck in white. We steered for the dining-room—twenty-two all told—thirteen men and nine representatives of the other sex. Aunt Helen got one seat of honour near the head of the table and Miss Derrick another. I drifted to the foot among the unimportant younger fry, where we had no end of fun and idle chatter. We had to wait on ourselves, and as all formality was dispensed with, it was something like a picnic. The heat was excessive. Every window and door were open, and the balmy, almost imperceptible, zephyrs which faintly rustled the curtains and kissed our perspiration-beaded brows were rich with many scents from the wide old flower-garden, which, despite the drought, brought forth a wealth of blossom. When done eating we had to wash the dishes. Such a scamper ensued back and forwards to the kitchen, which rang with noise, and merriment. Everyone was helping, hindering, laughing, joking, teasing, and brimming over with fun and enjoyment. When we had completed this task, dancing was proposed. Some of the elderly and more sensible people said it was too hot, but all the young folks did not care a rap for the temperature. Harold had no objections, Miss Derrick was agreeable, Miss Benson announced herself ready and willing, and Joe Archer said he was</|quote|>“leppin’” to begin, so we adjourned to the dancing-room and commenced operations. I played the piano for the first quadrille, and aunt Helen for the second dance. It was most enjoyable. There was a table at one end of the room on which was any amount of cherries, lollies, cake, dainties, beers, syrups, and glasses, where all could regale themselves without ceremony or bother every time the inclination seized them. Several doors and windows of the long room opened into the garden, and, provided one had no fear of snakes, it was delightful to walk amid the flowers and cool | we proceeded to the drawing-room to await the arrival of the other visitors. They soon made their appearance. First, two stout old squatters with big laughs and bigger corporations, then Miss Augusta Beecham, next Joe Archer the overseer, and the two other jackeroos. After these appeared a couple of governesses, Mr, Mrs, and Miss Benson, a clergyman, an auctioneer, a young friend of Harold’s from Cootamundra, a horse-buyer, a wool-classer, Miss Sarah Beecham, and then Miss Derrick brought herself and her dress in with great style and airs. She was garbed in a sea-green silk, and had jewellery on her neck, arms, and hair. Her self-confident mien was suggestive of the conquest of many masculine hearts. She was a big handsome woman. Beside her, I in my crushed white muslin dress was as overshadowed as a little white handkerchief would be in comparison to a gorgeous shawl heavily wrought in silks and velvet. She was given the best seat as though she were a princess. She sat down with great indifference, twirled a bracelet round her wrist, languidly opened her fan, and closed her eyes as she wafted it slowly to and fro. “By Jove, isn’t she a splendid creature?”<|quote|>enthusiastically whispered a gentleman sitting beside me. I looked at her critically. She was very big, and in a bony stiff way was much developed in figure. She had a nice big nose, and a long well-shaped face, a thin straight mouth, and empty light eyes. If my attention had not been called to her I would not have noticed her one way or the other, but being pointed to as a beauty, I weighed her according to my idea of facial charm, and pronounced her one of the most insipid-looking people I had set eyes upon. She was the kind of woman with whom men become much infatuated. She would never make a fool of herself by letting her emotions run away with her, because she had no emotions, but lived in a sea of unruffled self-consciousness and self-confidence. Any man would be proud to introduce her as his wife to his friends whom he had brought home to dinner. She would adorn the head of his table. She would never worry him with silly ideas. She would never act with impropriety. She would never become a companion to her husband. Bah, a man does not want his wife to be a companion! There were myths and fables in the old day; so there are now. The story that men like a companion as well as a wife is an up-to-date one. This train of thought was interrupted by our host, who appeared in the doorway, clad from sole to neck in white. We steered for the dining-room—twenty-two all told—thirteen men and nine representatives of the other sex. Aunt Helen got one seat of honour near the head of the table and Miss Derrick another. I drifted to the foot among the unimportant younger fry, where we had no end of fun and idle chatter. We had to wait on ourselves, and as all formality was dispensed with, it was something like a picnic. The heat was excessive. Every window and door were open, and the balmy, almost imperceptible, zephyrs which faintly rustled the curtains and kissed our perspiration-beaded brows were rich with many scents from the wide old flower-garden, which, despite the drought, brought forth a wealth of blossom. When done eating we had to wash the dishes. Such a scamper ensued back and forwards to the kitchen, which rang with noise, and merriment. Everyone was helping, hindering, laughing, joking, teasing, and brimming over with fun and enjoyment. When we had completed this task, dancing was proposed. Some of the elderly and more sensible people said it was too hot, but all the young folks did not care a rap for the temperature. Harold had no objections, Miss Derrick was agreeable, Miss Benson announced herself ready and willing, and Joe Archer said he was</|quote|>“leppin’” to begin, so we adjourned to the dancing-room and commenced operations. I played the piano for the first quadrille, and aunt Helen for the second dance. It was most enjoyable. There was a table at one end of the room on which was any amount of cherries, lollies, cake, dainties, beers, syrups, and glasses, where all could regale themselves without ceremony or bother every time the inclination seized them. Several doors and windows of the long room opened into the garden, and, provided one had no fear of snakes, it was delightful to walk amid the flowers and cool oneself between dances. A little exertion on such a night made us very hot. After the third dance the two old squatters, the horse-buyer, the clergyman, and Mr Benson disappeared. Judging from the hilarity of their demeanour and the killing odour of their breaths when they returned an hour or so later, during their absence they must have conscientiously sampled the contents of every whisky decanter on the dining-room sideboard. I could not dance, but had no lack of partners, as, ladies being in the minority, the gentlemen had to occasionally put up with their own sex in a dance. | in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded to the drawing-room to await the arrival of the other visitors. They soon made their appearance. First, two stout old squatters with big laughs and bigger corporations, then Miss Augusta Beecham, next Joe Archer the overseer, and the two other jackeroos. After these appeared a couple of governesses, Mr, Mrs, and Miss Benson, a clergyman, an auctioneer, a young friend of Harold’s from Cootamundra, a horse-buyer, a wool-classer, Miss Sarah Beecham, and then Miss Derrick brought herself and her dress in with great style and airs. She was garbed in a sea-green silk, and had jewellery on her neck, arms, and hair. Her self-confident mien was suggestive of the conquest of many masculine hearts. She was a big handsome woman. Beside her, I in my crushed white muslin dress was as overshadowed as a little white handkerchief would be in comparison to a gorgeous shawl heavily wrought in silks and velvet. She was given the best seat as though she were a princess. She sat down with great indifference, twirled a bracelet round her wrist, languidly opened her fan, and closed her eyes as she wafted it slowly to and fro. “By Jove, isn’t she a splendid creature?”<|quote|>enthusiastically whispered a gentleman sitting beside me. I looked at her critically. She was very big, and in a bony stiff way was much developed in figure. She had a nice big nose, and a long well-shaped face, a thin straight mouth, and empty light eyes. If my attention had not been called to her I would not have noticed her one way or the other, but being pointed to as a beauty, I weighed her according to my idea of facial charm, and pronounced her one of the most insipid-looking people I had set eyes upon. She was the kind of woman with whom men become much infatuated. She would never make a fool of herself by letting her emotions run away with her, because she had no emotions, but lived in a sea of unruffled self-consciousness and self-confidence. Any man would be proud to introduce her as his wife to his friends whom he had brought home to dinner. She would adorn the head of his table. She would never worry him with silly ideas. She would never act with impropriety. She would never become a companion to her husband. Bah, a man does not want his wife to be a companion! There were myths and fables in the old day; so there are now. The story that men like a companion as well as a wife is an up-to-date one. This train of thought was interrupted by our host, who appeared in the doorway, clad from sole to neck in white. We steered for the dining-room—twenty-two all told—thirteen men and nine representatives of the other sex. Aunt Helen got one seat of honour near the head of the table and Miss Derrick another. I drifted to the foot among the unimportant younger fry, where we had no end of fun and idle chatter. We had to wait on ourselves, and as all formality was dispensed with, it was something like a picnic. The heat was excessive. Every window and door were open, and the balmy, almost imperceptible, zephyrs which faintly rustled the curtains and kissed our perspiration-beaded brows were rich with many scents from the wide old flower-garden, which, despite the drought, brought forth a wealth of blossom. When done eating we had to wash the dishes. Such a scamper ensued back and forwards to the kitchen, which rang with noise, and merriment. Everyone was helping, hindering, laughing, joking, teasing, and brimming over with fun and enjoyment. When we had completed this task, dancing was proposed. Some of the elderly and more sensible people said it was too hot, but all the young folks did not care a rap for the temperature. Harold had no objections, Miss Derrick was agreeable, Miss Benson announced herself ready and willing, and Joe Archer said he was</|quote|>“leppin’” to begin, so we adjourned to the dancing-room and commenced operations. I played the piano for the first quadrille, and aunt Helen for the second dance. It was most enjoyable. There was a table at one end of the room on which was any amount of cherries, lollies, cake, dainties, beers, syrups, and glasses, where all could regale themselves without ceremony or bother every time the inclination seized them. Several doors and windows of the long room opened into the garden, and, provided one had no fear of snakes, it was delightful to walk amid the flowers and cool oneself between dances. A little exertion on such a night made us very hot. After the third dance the two old squatters, the horse-buyer, the clergyman, and Mr Benson disappeared. Judging from the hilarity of their demeanour and the killing odour of their breaths when they returned an hour or so later, during their absence they must have conscientiously sampled the contents of every whisky decanter on the dining-room sideboard. I could not dance, but had no lack of partners, as, ladies being in the minority, the gentlemen had to occasionally put up with their own sex in a dance. “Let’s take a breeze now and have a song or two, but no more dancing for a while,” said some of them; but Harold Beecham said, “One more turn, and then we will have a long spell and a change of programme.” He ordered Joe Archer to play a waltz, and the floor soon held several whirling couples. Harold “requested the pleasure” of me—the first time that night. I demurred. He would not take a refusal. “Believe me, if I felt competent, Mr Beecham, I would not refuse. I cannot dance. It will be no pleasure to you.” “Allow me to be the best judge of what is a pleasure to me,” he said, quietly placing me in position. He swung me once round the room, and then through an open window into the garden. “I am sorry that I haven’t had more time to look after you today. Come round into my room. I want to strike a bargain with you,” were his words. I followed him in the direction of a detached building in the garden. This was Harold’s particular domain. It contained three rooms—one a library and office, another an arsenal and deed-room, and the third, into | short bitter laugh. I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever. “Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?” I inquired. “No. They have gone over an hour,” he replied. “Gone! How am I to get home? She must have been very angry to go and leave me. What did she say?” “On the contrary, she was in great fiddle. She said to tell you not to kill yourself with fun, and as you are not going home, she left me to say good night. I suppose she kisses you when performing that ceremony,” he said mischievously. “Where am I going tonight?” “To Five-Bob Downs, the camp of yours truly,” he replied. “I haven’t got a dinner dress, and am not prepared. I will go home.” “We have plenty dinner dresses at Five-Bob without any more. It is Miss Melvyn we want,” he said. “Oh, bother you!” I retorted. “Men are such stupid creatures, and never understand about dress or anything. They think you could go to a ball in a wrapper.” “At all events, they are cute enough to know when they want a young lady at their place, no matter how she’s dressed,” he said good-humouredly. On reaching the racecourse I was surprised to see aunt Helen there. From her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded to the drawing-room to await the arrival of the other visitors. They soon made their appearance. First, two stout old squatters with big laughs and bigger corporations, then Miss Augusta Beecham, next Joe Archer the overseer, and the two other jackeroos. After these appeared a couple of governesses, Mr, Mrs, and Miss Benson, a clergyman, an auctioneer, a young friend of Harold’s from Cootamundra, a horse-buyer, a wool-classer, Miss Sarah Beecham, and then Miss Derrick brought herself and her dress in with great style and airs. She was garbed in a sea-green silk, and had jewellery on her neck, arms, and hair. Her self-confident mien was suggestive of the conquest of many masculine hearts. She was a big handsome woman. Beside her, I in my crushed white muslin dress was as overshadowed as a little white handkerchief would be in comparison to a gorgeous shawl heavily wrought in silks and velvet. She was given the best seat as though she were a princess. She sat down with great indifference, twirled a bracelet round her wrist, languidly opened her fan, and closed her eyes as she wafted it slowly to and fro. “By Jove, isn’t she a splendid creature?”<|quote|>enthusiastically whispered a gentleman sitting beside me. I looked at her critically. She was very big, and in a bony stiff way was much developed in figure. She had a nice big nose, and a long well-shaped face, a thin straight mouth, and empty light eyes. If my attention had not been called to her I would not have noticed her one way or the other, but being pointed to as a beauty, I weighed her according to my idea of facial charm, and pronounced her one of the most insipid-looking people I had set eyes upon. She was the kind of woman with whom men become much infatuated. She would never make a fool of herself by letting her emotions run away with her, because she had no emotions, but lived in a sea of unruffled self-consciousness and self-confidence. Any man would be proud to introduce her as his wife to his friends whom he had brought home to dinner. She would adorn the head of his table. She would never worry him with silly ideas. She would never act with impropriety. She would never become a companion to her husband. Bah, a man does not want his wife to be a companion! There were myths and fables in the old day; so there are now. The story that men like a companion as well as a wife is an up-to-date one. This train of thought was interrupted by our host, who appeared in the doorway, clad from sole to neck in white. We steered for the dining-room—twenty-two all told—thirteen men and nine representatives of the other sex. Aunt Helen got one seat of honour near the head of the table and Miss Derrick another. I drifted to the foot among the unimportant younger fry, where we had no end of fun and idle chatter. We had to wait on ourselves, and as all formality was dispensed with, it was something like a picnic. The heat was excessive. Every window and door were open, and the balmy, almost imperceptible, zephyrs which faintly rustled the curtains and kissed our perspiration-beaded brows were rich with many scents from the wide old flower-garden, which, despite the drought, brought forth a wealth of blossom. When done eating we had to wash the dishes. Such a scamper ensued back and forwards to the kitchen, which rang with noise, and merriment. Everyone was helping, hindering, laughing, joking, teasing, and brimming over with fun and enjoyment. When we had completed this task, dancing was proposed. Some of the elderly and more sensible people said it was too hot, but all the young folks did not care a rap for the temperature. Harold had no objections, Miss Derrick was agreeable, Miss Benson announced herself ready and willing, and Joe Archer said he was</|quote|>“leppin’” to begin, so we adjourned to the dancing-room and commenced operations. I played the piano for the first quadrille, and aunt Helen for the second dance. It was most enjoyable. There was a table at one end of the room on which was any amount of cherries, lollies, cake, dainties, beers, syrups, and glasses, where all could regale themselves without ceremony or bother every time the inclination seized them. Several doors and windows of the long room opened into the garden, and, provided one had no fear of snakes, it was delightful to walk amid the flowers and cool oneself between dances. A little exertion on such a night made us very hot. After the third dance the two old squatters, the horse-buyer, the clergyman, and Mr Benson disappeared. Judging from the hilarity of their demeanour and the killing odour of their breaths when they returned an hour or so later, during their absence they must have conscientiously sampled the contents of every whisky decanter on the dining-room sideboard. I could not dance, but had no lack of partners, as, ladies being in the minority, the gentlemen had to occasionally put up with their own sex in a dance. “Let’s take a breeze now and have a song or two, but no more dancing for a while,” said some of them; but Harold Beecham said, “One more turn, and then we will have a long spell and a change of programme.” He ordered Joe Archer to play a waltz, and the floor soon held several whirling couples. Harold “requested the pleasure” of me—the first time that night. I demurred. He would not take a refusal. “Believe me, if I felt competent, Mr Beecham, I would not refuse. I cannot dance. It will be no pleasure to you.” “Allow me to be the best judge of what is a pleasure to me,” he said, quietly placing me in position. He swung me once round the room, and then through an open window into the garden. “I am sorry that I haven’t had more time to look after you today. Come round into my room. I want to strike a bargain with you,” were his words. I followed him in the direction of a detached building in the garden. This was Harold’s particular domain. It contained three rooms—one a library and office, another an arsenal and deed-room, and the third, into which he led me, was a sort of sitting-room, containing a piano, facilities for washing, a table, easy-chairs, and other things. As we entered I noticed the lamp, burning brightly on the table, gleamed on the face of a clock on the wall, which pointed to half past ten. We stood beside the table, some distance apart, and, facing me, he said: “It is no use of me making a long yarn about nothing. I’m sure you know what I want to say better than I do myself. You always are wonderfully smart at seeing through a fellow. Tell me, will it be yes or no?” This was an experience in love. He did not turn red or white, or yellow or green, nor did he tremble or stammer, or cry or laugh, or become fierce or passionate, or tender or anything but just himself, as I had always known him. He displayed no more emotion than had he been inviting me to a picnic. This was not as I had pictured a man would tell his love, or as I had read of it, heard of it, or wished it should be. A curious feeling—disappointment, perhaps—stole over me. His matter-of-fact coolness flabbergasted me. “Is this not rather sudden? You have given me no intimation of your intentions,” I stammered. “I didn’t think it wise to dawdle any longer,” he replied. “Surely you have known what I’ve been driving at ever since I first clapped eyes on you. There’s plenty of time. I don’t want to hurry you, only I want you to be engaged to me for safety.” He spoke as usual in his slow twangy drawl, which would have proclaimed his Colonial nationality anywhere. No word of love was uttered to me and none requested from me. I put it down to his conceit. I thought that he fancied he could win any woman, and me without the least palaver or trouble. I felt annoyed. I said aloud, “I will become engaged to you;” to myself I added, “Just for a little while, the more to surprise and take the conceit out of you when the time comes.” Now that I understand his character I know that it was not conceit, but just his quiet unpretending way. He had meant all his actions towards me, and had taken mine in return. “Thank you, Sybylla, that is all I | her I learnt that grannie and uncle Jay-Jay had really gone home, but Mr Beecham had persuaded them to allow aunt Helen and me to spend the night at Five-Bob Downs, our host promising to send or take us home on the morrow. Now that I was to have aunt Helen with me I was delighted at the prospect, otherwise I would have felt a little out of it. With aunt Helen, however, I was content anywhere, and built a castle in the air, wherein one day she and I were always to live together—for ever! Till death! Going home aunt Helen occupied a front seat with Harold and Miss Derrick, and I was crammed in at the back beside Miss Augusta, who patted my hand and said she was delighted to see me. A great concourse of young men and women in vehicles and on horseback, and in expectation of great fun, were wending their way to Yabtree—nearly every trap containing a fiddle, concertina, flute, or accordion in readiness for the fray. CHAPTER TWENTY Same Yarn—continued Every station hand from Five-Bob, male and female, had gone to the ball at Yabtree. Harold and his overseer had to attend to the horses, while the jackeroos started a fire in the kitchen, opened windows and doors which had been locked all day, and saw to the comfort of the gentlemen guests. Aunt Helen and I shared the one bedroom. As we had not fresh dresses to put on we had to make the best of our present toilet. I unplaited my hair (shook the dust out of it) and wore it flowing. We washed and dusted ourselves, and wore as adornment—roses. Crimson and cream roses paid the penalty of peeping in the window. Aunt Helen plucked some of them, which she put in my hair and belt, and pinned carefully at my throat, and then we were ready. Miss Beecham assured us there was nothing to be done, as the maids had set the table and prepared the viands for a cold meal before leaving in the morning, so we proceeded to the drawing-room to await the arrival of the other visitors. They soon made their appearance. First, two stout old squatters with big laughs and bigger corporations, then Miss Augusta Beecham, next Joe Archer the overseer, and the two other jackeroos. After these appeared a couple of governesses, Mr, Mrs, and Miss Benson, a clergyman, an auctioneer, a young friend of Harold’s from Cootamundra, a horse-buyer, a wool-classer, Miss Sarah Beecham, and then Miss Derrick brought herself and her dress in with great style and airs. She was garbed in a sea-green silk, and had jewellery on her neck, arms, and hair. Her self-confident mien was suggestive of the conquest of many masculine hearts. She was a big handsome woman. Beside her, I in my crushed white muslin dress was as overshadowed as a little white handkerchief would be in comparison to a gorgeous shawl heavily wrought in silks and velvet. She was given the best seat as though she were a princess. She sat down with great indifference, twirled a bracelet round her wrist, languidly opened her fan, and closed her eyes as she wafted it slowly to and fro. “By Jove, isn’t she a splendid creature?”<|quote|>enthusiastically whispered a gentleman sitting beside me. I looked at her critically. She was very big, and in a bony stiff way was much developed in figure. She had a nice big nose, and a long well-shaped face, a thin straight mouth, and empty light eyes. If my attention had not been called to her I would not have noticed her one way or the other, but being pointed to as a beauty, I weighed her according to my idea of facial charm, and pronounced her one of the most insipid-looking people I had set eyes upon. She was the kind of woman with whom men become much infatuated. She would never make a fool of herself by letting her emotions run away with her, because she had no emotions, but lived in a sea of unruffled self-consciousness and self-confidence. Any man would be proud to introduce her as his wife to his friends whom he had brought home to dinner. She would adorn the head of his table. She would never worry him with silly ideas. She would never act with impropriety. She would never become a companion to her husband. Bah, a man does not want his wife to be a companion! There were myths and fables in the old day; so there are now. The story that men like a companion as well as a wife is an up-to-date one. This train of thought was interrupted by our host, who appeared in the doorway, clad from sole to neck in white. We steered for the dining-room—twenty-two all told—thirteen men and nine representatives of the other sex. Aunt Helen got one seat of honour near the head of the table and Miss Derrick another. I drifted to the foot among the unimportant younger fry, where we had no end of fun and idle chatter. We had to wait on ourselves, and as all formality was dispensed with, it was something like a picnic. The heat was excessive. Every window and door were open, and the balmy, almost imperceptible, zephyrs which faintly rustled the curtains and kissed our perspiration-beaded brows were rich with many scents from the wide old flower-garden, which, despite the drought, brought forth a wealth of blossom. When done eating we had to wash the dishes. Such a scamper ensued back and forwards to the kitchen, which rang with noise, and merriment. Everyone was helping, hindering, laughing, joking, teasing, and brimming over with fun and enjoyment. When we had completed this task, dancing was proposed. Some of the elderly and more sensible people said it was too hot, but all the young folks did not care a rap for the temperature. Harold had no objections, Miss Derrick was agreeable, Miss Benson announced herself ready and willing, and Joe Archer said he was</|quote|>“leppin’” to begin, so we adjourned to the dancing-room and commenced operations. I played the piano for the first quadrille, and aunt Helen for the second dance. It was most enjoyable. There was a table at one end of the room on which was any amount of cherries, lollies, cake, dainties, beers, syrups, and glasses, where all could regale themselves without ceremony or bother every time the inclination seized them. Several doors and windows of the long room opened into the garden, and, provided one had no fear of snakes, it was delightful to walk amid the flowers and cool oneself between dances. A little exertion on such a night made us very hot. After the third dance the two old squatters, the horse-buyer, the clergyman, and Mr Benson disappeared. Judging from the hilarity of their demeanour and the killing odour of their breaths when they returned an hour or so later, during their absence they must have conscientiously sampled the contents of every whisky decanter on the dining-room sideboard. I could not dance, but had no lack of partners, as, ladies being in the minority, the gentlemen had to occasionally put up with their own sex in a dance. “Let’s take a breeze now and have a song or two, but no more dancing for a while,” said some of them; but Harold Beecham said, “One more turn, and then we will have a long spell and a change of programme.” He ordered Joe Archer to play a waltz, and the floor soon held several whirling couples. Harold “requested the pleasure” of me—the first time that night. I demurred. He would not take a refusal. “Believe me, if I felt competent, Mr Beecham, I would not refuse. I cannot dance. It will be no pleasure to you.” “Allow me to be the best judge of what is a | My Brilliant Career |
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