In Bad Company and other stories

Gayters. It's more'n I am to see you here. D'ye know where you are?

Egremont. On the Crown Lands of Her Majesty the Queen of England in the first place, and on the farm conditionally purchased (refers to Land Regulations) by Cecil Egremont, gentleman farmer, late of Bideford, Devon.

Gayters. What's the good of all this rubbish? You're on our main camp.

Egremont. Camp? camp? – I see no traces of an encampment. In what historical period, may I ask?

Gayters. Can't yer see this? (Kicks bone aside.) It's our cattle camp. I don't mean a soldier's camp or any of that rot. It's been our – the Hon'ble Rufus Polyblock's – Bundabah Run, this twenty year and more.

Egremont. Has this land been sold before? Then that land agent has deceived me! And yet he looked respectable. I paid him eighty pounds deposit. Have his receipt.

Gayters. I don't mean sold exactly – not but that Mr. Polyblock would have bought it fast enough if Government had let him. But we had a lease of it and always had stock running on it.

Egremont. Oh, a lease! – for a special object I presume, or perhaps a pastoral lease? (Consults book.) Perhaps it was a Run – Run – oh, I have it here! – page 38. But surely that gives you no legal right to hold it against the bona-fide conditional purchaser?

Gayters. Well, I expect we've no legal claim if it comes to that. But no gentleman in this country goes to select on another gentleman's run. It ain't the thing, you know.

Egremont. Oh, 'it ain't the thing'? Something like poaching or shooting without a license; but how was I to know? The law says, 25 Vict. No. 1, Section 13 (opens copy of Crown Lands Alienation Act), 'On and from the first day of January 1862 – '

Gayters. Oh, hang the law! The Act's all very well for them as knows no better, or as wants to take advantage-like of a squatter, but it ain't the square deal if you mean to act honest – what I call between man and man. Good-morning, sir.

[Exit Gayters.

Egremont (soliloquising). What an extraordinary country! When I quarrelled with my uncle, who wanted me to go into the Church, and came out to Australia to carve out a fortune in a new world where land was plentiful and caste unknown, I never expected to meet with class distinctions. Instead of being able to live my own life in peace, I am met with obstacles at every turn. I might as well have remained in North Devon, for all I can see. Well! courage – I'll go and finish my work, and cut this splendid log into lengths for fencing slabs. (Begins to chop log.) Why, here comes the young lady whose horse was frightened yesterday. How handsome she is, and such a figure too! What a soft voice she had. I had no idea the girls out here were anything like this! (Goes on chopping; his dogs rush out.) Down, Ponto! Down, Clumber! Come to heel! (Throws down axe and calls off dogs.) Pray don't be frightened – a – I haven't the pleasure of knowing your name – I hope you have quite recovered yesterday's accident.

Miss Dulcie P. I am not in the least frightened, thank you. What beautiful dogs! I am sure they are too well-bred to hurt a lady. Oh, my name! (slight confusion) – my name is Dulcie Polyblock. I feel much obliged by your kindness last evening.

Egremont. (Aside– Polyblock! Polyblock! Why, that's the name of the owner of the station, the overseer told me. Probably a nice person. I'll go and explain matters to him.) (Speaks.) Really I'm delighted to have been of the slightest service. I hope, as I am settled in this part of the world, that I may have the privilege of meeting you occasionally.

Miss Dulcie (confused). I don't know – I can't say – just at present, but – (Aside– How distinguished-looking he is, but what queer clothes!)

Egremont. Does your father, Mr. Polyblock (aside– Droll name, but that doesn't matter), live in this neighbourhood?

Miss Dulcie. Live here! Why, he owns the Run you're on. Our home-station, Bundabah, is about five miles off.

Egremont. Oh, indeed, what a long way! I had thought we might be near neighbours. I had intended to call and inquire if you had quite recovered from your fright.

Miss Dulcie P. I wasn't frightened, pray don't suppose that, but I might have been hurt if you had not come up. Are you going to stay here long?

Egremont (proudly). Till I make a fortune. [Dulcie (aside) – Oh!] I have resolved to turn this waste into a productive farm – a – it will be the work of years.

Miss Dulcie. I should think it would. (Aside– Waste, indeed!) It's the best part of Bundabah Run.

Egremont. So I was quite right to purchase it from the Crown.

Miss Dulcie. Oh no. Quite wrong. It's never done, except by – by low sort of people.

Egremont. Indeed! Then perhaps I'm mistaken about the law. Just oblige me by looking at this section of the Land Act. (Hands book to her – she stoops from her horse – their heads come close together – she reads– 'Section 13, Crown lands other than town lands,' etc.) Well, it really seems as if you had the right to do it, or anybody else, but father's in the Upper House, and all that. He says it's a perfect robbery to free-select on his Run. It's very confusing, don't you think? But I must say good-bye.

Egremont. Good-bye, Miss Polyblock. (Shakes hands warmly.) You have really comforted me very much. If you had time to explain this Act to me I really think I should get over all my difficulties; as it is, I despair.

Miss Dulcie P. (Aside– Poor fellow! It's very hard for him; and how white his hands are – such expressive eyes too. I oughtn't to have come, I know, but still – I might bring about an understanding between him and father.) Well, perhaps I might be riding this way on Saturday, near that water-hole where the willows are. Good-bye. Now then you naughty Sultan (canters off).

Egremont (sitting down on log). She has gone! disappeared like a beautiful dream. What a kind face it is too – anxious to be friendly, and yet, with maidenly diffidence, doubting the propriety. Polyblock! Dulcie! a sweet name. Dulce Domum – ha! shall I ever have a home in this wilderness? So she's the daughter of this old party who owns the Run – the Run – ha! ha! What an idea! This elderly fossil in aboriginal times fed his flocks and herds here. He doesn't know the difference between lease and freehold evidently. What ignorant people these Australians are! But the daughter – how could she have acquired that air of fierté, that aplomb, that intonation? I must consider my course. (Puts his head between his hands and seems lost in thought for some minutes.) I have resolved (rises and walks proudly erect) I will visit the old gentleman in his own house. I will convince him of his error. I will argue the point with him. I will show him this Act of Parliament – these Regulations (slaps book). I will appeal to him as an Englishman bound to respect the law. We shall then be on good terms. Perhaps I may even catch a sight of her. But I must finish. (Recommences chopping – sees a horseman approaching, and sits down on log. Mr. Gayters rides up.)

Gayters. Good day – good day, Mr. Whatsisname! So you've sat down here permanent, it seems?

Egremont. My name is Egremont, if you will please to remember; yours I believe to be Gayters. I don't quite follow you about sitting down (rises); I get up occasionally, I assure you. But I have settled here permanently, as far as that goes.

Gayters. Oh yes, cert'nly, cert'nly, of course! We know all that. Heard it afore. But perhaps you'll hear reason (they mostly does). I'm here to make you an offer – so much on your bargain.

Egremont. I don't quite understand?

Gayters. Well (sits down), let's argue it out between man and man.

Egremont. I'm ready; which section do you refer to? (Takes up copy of Act.)

Gayters. Oh, blow the Act! What's it got to do with it? (Egremont makes gesture of surprise.) See here; of course you're here to make money?

Egremont. Honestly – legally – certainly I am.

Gayters. Dash the honesty! the legal part's all right of course – else it wouldn't wash, you know. Now you know, this being our main camp, it ain't the good you can do yourself, but the harm you can do him – the boss – the Hon'ble Rufus – that's what you're looking at, naturally.

Egremont (appears puzzled). Can't understand you.

Gayters. Perhaps you'll understand this (takes out cheque). Mr. Polyblock says, 'Gayters,' says he, 'we've not been half sharp this time; this here land ought to have been secured. But the young chap's been and got the pull, and we can't afford to lose our main camp. Of course he'll go pounding our stock night and day; so you take him this five 'undred pound – five 'undred! and give it him on conditions as he does the residence for twelve months and then conveys the s'lection over to me, all legal and ship-shape,' says he – and here it is. (Hands out cheque.) Ha! ha! I expect you understand me now.

Egremont (rising slowly). I believe I do.

Gayters (rising quickly). Just you sign this, then.

Egremont (with lofty anger). Confound your cheque, sir! Take it back, and with it my scorn and contempt, which you can present to your master, telling him from me, at the same time, that you are a pair of scoundrels!

Gayters. Scoundrels! What d'ye mean? Are yer off yer chump? A free selector to call the Hon'ble Mr. Polyblock of Bundabah and his super a pair of scoundrels! Take care what you're about, young man. A camp's a public place, or close up. 'Words calculated to cause a breach of the peace – '

Egremont (deliberately). Yes, scoundrels! First of all to insult a gentleman by treating him as a rascally blackmailer; secondly, by offering an honest man money to break the law of the land – to violate every principle of honour and integrity. And now, if you don't quit my land at once, I'll kick you from here into the brook!

Gayters (hastily mounting). You take care what you're about, young man – two can play at that game. (Aside– Most extraordinary chap! Rummest free selector I ever seen.)

Later – Bundabah House —The Hon'ble Mr. Polyblock in his morning room, pacing up and down, disturbed in mind. Enter Gayters.

Mr. Polyblock. Well, what is it? He's got the money of course – I'm always had, seems to me. D'ye want any more cheques? If you'd been half sharp enough he'd never have been there.

Gayters. You won't want no more cheques, unless you're drove to dummying all round him.

Mr. Polyblock. Dummy, sir! Damme! What d'ye mean by that expression? Are you aware that I'm a member of the Hupper 'Ouse, Mr. Gayters?

Gayters. Beg pardon, sir. I meant perhaps other parties might desire to select on his pre-lease and might want a bit of assistance, like.

Mr. Polyblock. That's another matter! I always make a point of advancing money to the struggling free selector – as long as I get a proper mortgage on the land – Bonus Allround sees to that. But about this young chap?

Gayters. He won't take the cheque; all but threw it at me.

Mr. Polyblock (much astonished). Won't take the cheque! and won't go out?

Gayters. Not he; won't hear of it. Called you and – well his language was horful!

Mr. Polyblock. What did he call me —me?

Gayters. Said we was a pair of damned scoundrels! and he'd kick me off his ground.

Mr. Polyblock (solemnly). This is what the country's a-comin' to! What with universal sufferage, bushranging, and free selection – as is land robbery by Act of Parliament – pore old Australia ain't a country for a gentleman to live in. Are you sure he called me, the Hon'ble Rufus Polyblock, a scoundrel, or was it only you?

Gayters. Both of us, sure as I'm alive. 'Take this to your master,' says he, 'with my scorn and contempt.' He talked like a chap I see at that circus last shearin'. He looked grand, I tell you, sir.

Hon'ble Rufus (gloomily). He won't look so grand when I've done with him. He's got no stock yet?

Gayters. Not so much as a horse. He's building his cottage at present, he says – ha! ha!

Hon'ble Rufus (grimly). Wait till he gets his stock on, that's all. And you watch him – watch him night and day. If he puts a foot on my ground, pull him for trespass; if he touches a head of stock, have him up for stealin' 'em. It's what he's layin' himself out for, of course, and we may as well fit him first as last.

[Exit Gayters.END OF SECOND ACT

ACT III

Mr. Egremont (discovered nailing up slabs, in order to complete dwelling). Well, this is a most enjoyable life; that is, it will be enjoyable when I have completed my cottage (hits finger with hammer, and examines same), but at present I seem rather hurried. I have had to help the ploughman in order to get the crop in. I have quite ten acres of wheat nicely sown and harrowed. I intend to plant potatoes after the cottage is up, and I must manage to have some turnips; they're always useful for the stock. A good deal of money seems to be going out; it is equally certain that none is coming in. No man can have worked harder either in an old or new country. But the worst of it is (sits down on round post and considers), I am not fully convinced that I am working to the best purpose. I may be doing all this for nothing! Miss Polyblock – somehow I'm always thinking of that girl! – implied as much the last time I saw her. By all the saints and angels, here she comes! How gloriously handsome she always looks, and how well her habit becomes her! Strange, what a gulf there seems to be between us!

Dulcie. So you're working away as usual, Mr. Egremont? You certainly are a pattern young man. How hot it must make you this terrible weather?

Egremont. I thought everybody worked hard in this country.

Dulcie. That's a popular error, as you'll find out by and by. They work in some ways, but not usually with their hands, except when pioneering or exploring.

Egremont. Well, am I not pioneering?

Dulcie (bursting out laughing). What! upon three hundred and twenty acres of land! Excuse my rudeness in laughing.

Egremont (rather nettled). We think it a decent-sized piece of land in England.

Dulcie. Oh, do you, really? I beg your pardon, but father did all the pioneering work here years and years ago. Fought the blacks when he took up the country, and was speared by them when I was a little girl. So there isn't much pioneering left for you to do, is there?

Egremont. I wish there was.

Dulcie. Oh, do you? Then why don't you go outside?

Egremont. Outside – outside – where's that? I thought I was pretty well outside here; I haven't slept under a roof these two months.

Dulcie (laughing again). Oh, indeed, I didn't mean that. Of course you're outside now; I wish you were not. I'm afraid you'll get a dreadful cold, the weather is so changeable; but I mean real outside country, beyond the settled districts, in Queensland, Western Australia, Kimberley – anywhere.

Egremont. But how far off is that?

Dulcie. Oh, a couple of thousand miles; but it doesn't matter how far it is; it's the way to make money, and position, and a name. Here no one can do anything but potter about, live miserably, and – and vegetate.

Egremont. But I thought everybody farmed in Australia?

Dulcie. Farmed! farmed! (with amazement). Why, nobody does; no gentleman farms, I assure you. But English people never seem to understand things for the first year or two.

Egremont (with air of astonishment). Oh, then I shall only begin to understand the country in another year? At present I am supposed to be blissfully ignorant of the real meaning of matters Colonial. I may have all my work to undo; is that what you think?

Dulcie. Well, very nearly. It's rude, of course, to say so, but you'd rather be told the truth, wouldn't you? (He bows.) I've heard young Englishmen say over and over again that if they'd done nothing for the first two years they would have learned a great deal and saved all their money.

Egremont. But surely there is nothing so hard to understand about the country after all? Any one can see the sense of these regulations, for instance. (Produces book, Land Act Amendment.)

Dulcie. Oh, don't show me that horrid book! It's about free selection and all that, and dad says it's done no end of harm. Oh, I wish I could advise you properly!

Egremont. If you only would undertake the task! (Takes her hand and looks at her tenderly.)

Dulcie (hastily). Oh, really, I have no time now; I shall be late for lunch as it is. Good-morning.

Mr. Polyblock's Drawing-Room

Mr. Polyblock (looks at wrong card). Mr. Stanley – Hubert Stanley – oh, one of the swells that came up with the governor! Show him in.

Enter Mr. Egremont, neatly and cleanly attired in bush-fashion – Crimean shirt, moleskin trousers, no coat

Mr. P. (surprised and irritated). Hulloa! who the devil are you? Oh, I see, swell out of luck! Want employment or else, perhaps, I wouldn't mind advancing twenty pound till your remittance came out. Is that the game?

Egremont (haughtily). No, sir; I am perfectly able to pay my way, and trust to be so for the future. We have not met before, but no doubt you will know who I am when I tell you that my name is Cecil Egremont.

Mr. P. Eggermont? Eggermont? We've not met afore, as you say; but, by George, I'll meet you some day! You're the chap as took up my main camp. Then what the devil do you want at my private house, eh? Mind, I won't sell you a pound of beef or mutton either, if you want it ever so bad. I ain't to be had that way.

Egremont (proudly). You're over-hasty in your conclusions, sir. I have no pressing need for butcher's meat. But you are right in surmising that I do want something from you – something of value also.

Mr. P. (much surprised). Good Gad! (Aside– What can he want? Don't want money nor beef; perhaps it's wheat or 'taters. Never knew a free selector yet that didn't want one of 'em.) What is it, man, speak out?

Egremont. The fact is, Mr. Polyblock, your daughter; that is, I have long cherished an admiration —

Mr. P. (wrathfully). Admiration be hanged! You said my daughter —my daughter! God bless my soul and body! You don't mean to say she'd ever say a word to the likes of you?

Egremont. I fear, sir, that without the least intention of gaining her affections clandestinely, I have been so imprudent as to receive counsel respecting my course of action in a strange land, which Miss Polyblock was too generous to refuse. This harmless intercourse has ripened into intimacy – into, I may boldly say, mutual affection. As a man of honour I feel it my duty to acquaint you with the fact, and to respectfully demand her hand. I —

Mr. P. (deeply shocked and violently affected). Stop! not another word! Man of honour! Ha! ha! how the devil can a free selector be a man of honour? So you think my daughter, as has been eddicated equal to the first lady in the land, is to go into a hut, and – and – (Breaks into uncontrollable rage.) You – you – robber – murderer —free selector! Leave this room – get off my place, or by – I'll set the dogs on ye! (Advances threateningly.)

Egremont (slowly receding). I can afford to smile at your vehemence, to laugh at your threats. There are reasons which prevent me from resenting your ignorant, ungentlemanly conduct.

Mr. P. (in boxing attitude). Come on, if that's what you want. Put up your 'ands. I may be a member of the Hupper 'Ouse, and not so young as I was, but I can take the conceit out of a chap like you yet. (Advances with hands up.)

Dulcie (coming from behind, pulls him by the coat-tail). Oh, father, father! don't touch him.

Mr. P. Let me go, girl!

Dulcie. Oh, Cecil, Cecil! why don't you go away? (Throws her arms round Mr. P. and drags him back; Egremont slowly retreating, Mr. Polyblock struggling and menacing him.)

[Curtain falls.END OF THIRD ACT

ACT IV

About a year afterwards —Mr. Polyblock in library, also Mr. Gayters

Mr. P. (walks up and down). Well, I feel regularly stumped and dried out. Haven't felt so bad since the '68 drought. I don't know what's comin' over the country. This young Colonial experiencer stands up agin' me like a bulldog ant in front of a team of bullocks! My gal, Dulcie, as I've spent thousands on – and where's there a gal like her, high or low? – is turned that stupid and ungrateful that she's crying her eyes out; and who for? Why, a low feller with only a half-section of land to his name – worse than a boundary-rider, I call him! Damme! I'll dummy all round him – eat him up that close that he won't have grass for a bandicoot. I'm that miserable as I could go and drownd myself in that creek afore the door. Blast that infernal Land Act and them as made it! It'll ruin the country and every man of property in it. Well (turns angrily to Gayters), what do you want?

Gayters (hesitatingly). Mr. Overdew has just sent his reporter for ten thousand sheep, sir; wants to know if you'll let him take them through the Run, along the back track.

Mr. P. (with concentrated wrath). Tell him if he dares to go one yard off his half-mile from the main-frontage road I'll pound every hoof of his grass-stealin', hungry, loafin' sheep, as is the dead image of their owner – if he does own 'em, and not the bank. Tell him that, and mind you shepherd him slap through the boundary gate.

Gayters. Of course, sir; cert'nly, sir. Anything else, sir?

Mr. P. (with sudden fury). Only, you stand gapin' there another minute and I'll knock yer through my study winder!

Gayters. Cert'nly, sir; of course, sir.

[Exit hastily.Mr. Cecil Egremont on his selection, discovered chopping down a tree

(Speaks.) I am more than ever confirmed in my opinion that this is the most extraordinary, puzzling, topsy-turvy country in the whole world. I might just as well have remained in North Devon for all the good I am likely to do. I could have taken a farm there, and – well – probably have managed to pay the rent. I have bought a farm here, become a free-holder – that most enviable position, at least in England – and now when I've got it I don't know what to do with it. Old Polyblock's sheep eat right up to my boundary, and beyond it too. I gather there's not much to be done with three hundred and twenty acres in a dry season. My wheat is prematurely yellow; my potatoes won't come up! I must fence my farm in; that will cost – at six shillings a rod – let me see – how much? (Sits down on log and begins to cipher in pocket-book.)

Dulcie (who has ridden closely up in the meantime, and is watching him, coughs slightly). Don't let me interrupt you, but you seem absorbed in thought. Is it about the value of the tree, or some other abstruse calculation?

Egremont (jumps up hastily). Oh, my dearest Dulcie! neither, that is, both – really I hardly know what I am about at present. I was working to distract my mind. I suppose it's always right to cut down a tree?

Dulcie. Nonsense! About the worst thing you could do. Sinful waste of time. Do you suppose father made his money in that way? The pencil and pocket-book look more like it. We say in Australia that a man's head ought to be good enough to save his hands. Are your birth, breeding, and education only equal to a pound a week? Because you can buy a man's work for that – all the year round.

Egremont. But I thought all the early colonists worked with their hands, tended their sheep, drove bullocks and all that – the books say so.