After one stormy election, at the end of a long and bitter shearing strike, One-eyed Bogan, his trusty enemy, Barcoo-Rot, and one or two other enthusiastic reformers were charged with rioting, and got from one to three months" hard. And they had only smashed three windows of the Imperial Hotel and chased the Chinese cook into the river.

"I used to have some hopes for Democracy," commented Mitch.e.l.l, "but I"ve got none now. How can you expect Liberty, Equality or Fraternity--how can you expect Freedom and Universal Brotherhood and Equal Rights in a country where Sons of Light get three months" hard for breaking windows and bashing a Chinaman? It almost makes me long to sail away in a gallant barque."

There were other cases in connection with the rotten-egging of Capitalistic candidates on the Imperial Hotel balcony, and it was partly on the evidence of Douglas and his friends that certain respectable Labour leaders got heavy terms of imprisonment for rioting and "sedition" and "inciting," in connection with organized attacks on blacklegs and their escorts.

Retribution, if it was retribution, came suddenly and in a most unexpected manner to Lord Douglas.

It seems he employed a second carpenter for six months to repair and make certain additions to the hotel, and put him off under various pretences until he owed him a hundred pounds or thereabout. At last, immediately after an exciting interview with Lord Douglas, the carpenter died suddenly of heart disease. The widow, a strong-minded bushwoman, put a bailiff in the hotel on a very short notice--and against the advice of her lawyer, who thought the case hopeless--and the Lord Douglas bubble promptly burst. He had somehow come to be regarded as the proprietor of the hotel, but now the real proprietors or proprietor--he was still said to be a priest--turned Douglas out and put in a new manager. The old servants were paid after some trouble. The local storekeepers and one or two firms in Sydney, who had large accounts against the Imperial Hotel (and had trusted it, mainly because it was patronized by Capitalism and Fat), were never paid.

Lord Douglas cleared out to Sydney, leaving his wife and children, for the present, with her brother, a hay-and-corn storekeeper, who also had a large and hopeless account against the hotel; and when the brother went broke and left the district she rented a two-roomed cottage and took in dressmaking.

Dressmaking didn"t pay so well in the bush then as it did in the old diggings days when sewing-machines were scarce and the possession of one meant an independent living to any girl--when diggers paid ten shillings for a strip of "flannen" doubled over and sewn together, with holes for arms and head, and called a shirt. Mrs Douglas had a hard time, with her two little girls, who were still better and more prettily dressed than any other children in Bourke. One grocer still called on her for orders and pretended to be satisfied to wait "till Mr Douglas came back," and when she would no longer order what he considered sufficient provisions for her and the children, and commenced buying sugar, etc., by the pound, for cash, he one day sent a box of groceries round to her. He pretended it was a mistake.

"However," he said, "I"d be very much obliged if you could use "em, Mrs Douglas. I"m overstocked now; haven"t got room for another tin of sardines in the shop. Don"t you worry about bills, Mrs Douglas; I can wait till Douglas comes home. I did well enough out of the Imperial Hotel when your husband had it, and a pound"s worth of groceries won"t hurt me now. I"m only too glad to get rid of some of the stock."

She cried a little, thought of the children, and kept the groceries.

"I suppose I"ll be sold up soon meself if things don"t git brighter,"

said that grocer to a friend, "so it doesn"t matter much."

The same with Foley the butcher, who had a brogue with a sort of drawling groan in it, and was a cynic of the Mitch.e.l.l school.

"You see," he said, "she"s as proud as the devil, but when I send round a bit o" rawst, or porrk, or the undercut o" the blade-bawn, she thinks o" the little gur-r-rls before she thinks o" sendin" it back to me.

That"s where I"ve got the pull on her."

The Giraffe borrowed a horse and tip-dray one day at the beginning of winter and cut a load of firewood in the bush, and next morning, at daylight, Mrs Douglas was nearly startled out of her life by a crash at the end of the cottage, which made her think that the chimney had fallen in, or a tree fallen on the house; and when she slipped on a wrapper and looked out, she saw a load of short-cut wood by the chimney, and caught a glimpse of the back view of the Giraffe, who stood in the dray with his legs wide apart and was disappearing into the edge of the scrub; and soon the rapid clock-clock-clock of the wheels died away in the west, as if he were making for West Australia.

The next we heard of Lord Douglas he had got two years" hard for embezzlement in connection with some canva.s.sing he had taken up. Mrs Douglas fell ill--a touch of brain-fever--and one of the labourers"

wives took care of the children while two others took turns in nursing.

While she was recovering, Bob Brothers sent round the hat, and, after a conclave in the Union Office--as mysterious as any meeting ever called with the object of downing bloated Capitalism--it was discovered that one of the chaps--who didn"t wish his name to be mentioned--had borrowed just twenty-five pounds from Lord Douglas in the old days and now wished to return it to Mrs Douglas. So the thing was managed, and if she had any suspicions she kept them to herself. She started a little fancy goods shop and got along fairly comfortable.

Douglas, by the way, was, publicly, supposed, for her sake and because of the little girls, to be away in West Australia on the goldfields.

Time pa.s.ses without much notice out back, and one hot day, when the sun hung behind the fierce sandstorms from the northwest as dully lurid as he ever showed in a London fog, Lord Douglas got out of the train that had just finished its five-hundred-miles" run, and not seeing a new-chum porter, who started forward by force of habit to take his bag, he walked stiffly off the platform and down the main street towards his wife"s cottage.

He was very gaunt, and his eyes, to those who pa.s.sed him closely, seemed to have a furtive, hunted expression. He had let his beard grow, and it had grown grey.

It was within a few days of Christmas--the same Christmas that we lost the Pretty Girl in the Salvation Army. As a rule the big shearing-sheds within a fortnight of Bourke cut out in time for the shearers to reach the town and have their Christmas dinners and sprees--and for some of them to be locked up over Christmas Day--within sound of a church-going bell. Most of the chaps gathered in the Shearers" Union Office on New Year"s Eve and discussed Douglas amongst other things.

"I vote we kick the cow out of the town!" snarled One-eyed Bogan, viciously.

"We can"t do that," said Bob Brothers (the Giraffe), speaking more promptly than usual. "There"s his wife and youngsters to consider, yer know."

"He something well deserted his wife," snarled Began, "an" now he comes crawlin" back to her to keep him."

"Well," said Mitch.e.l.l, mildly, "but we ain"t all got as much against him as you have, Began."

"He made a crimson jail-bird of me!" snapped Bogan. "Well," said Mitch.e.l.l, "that didn"t hurt you much, anyway; it rather improved your character if anything. Besides, he made a jail-bird of himself afterwards, so you ought to have a fellow-feeling--a feathered feeling, so to speak. Now you needn"t be offended, Bogan, we"re all jail-birds at heart, only we haven"t all got the pluck."

"I"m in favour of blanky well tarrin" an" featherin" him an" kickin" him out of the town!" shouted Bogan. "It would be a good turn to his wife, too; she"d be well rid of the----."

"Perhaps she"s fond of him," suggested Mitch.e.l.l; "I"ve known such cases before. I saw them sitting together on the veranda last night when they thought no one was looking."

"He deserted her," said One-eyed Bogan, in a climbing-down tone, "and left her to starve."

"Perhaps the police were to blame for that," said Mitch.e.l.l. "You know you deserted all your old mates once for three months, Bogan, and it wasn"t your fault."

"He seems to be a crimson pet of yours, Jack Mitch.e.l.l," said Bogan, firing up.

"Ah, well, all I know," said Mitch.e.l.l, standing up and stretching himself wearily, "all I know is that he looked like a gentleman once, and treated us like a gentleman, and cheated us like a gentleman, and ran some of us in like a gentleman, and, as far as I can see, he"s served his time like a gentleman and come back to face us and live himself down like a man. I always had a sneaking regard for a gentleman."

"Why, Mitch.e.l.l, I"m beginning to think you are a gentleman yourself,"

said Jake Boreham.

"Well," said Mitch.e.l.l, "I used to have a suspicion once that I had a drop of blue blood in me somewhere, and it worried me a lot; but I asked my old mother about it one day, and she scalded me--G.o.d bless her!--and father chased me with a stockwhip, so I gave up making inquiries."

"You"ll join the bloomin" Capitalists next," sneered One-eyed Bogan.

"I wish I could, Bogan," said Mitch.e.l.l. "I"d take a trip to Paris and see for myself whether the Frenchwomen are as bad as they"re made out to be, or go to j.a.pan. But what are we going to do about Douglas?"

"Kick the skunk out of town, or boycott him!" said one or two. "He ought to be tarred and feathered and hanged."

"Couldn"t do worse than hang him," commented Jake Boreham, cheerfully.

"Oh, yes, we could," said Mitch.e.l.l, sitting down, resting his elbows on his knees, and marking his points with one forefinger on the other. "For instance, we might boil him slow in tar. We might skin him alive. We might put him in a cage and poke him with sticks, with his wife and children in another cage to look on and enjoy the fun."

The chaps, who had been sitting quietly listening to Mitch.e.l.l, and grinning, suddenly became serious and shifted their positions uneasily.

"But I can tell you what would hurt his feelings more than anything else we could do," said Mitch.e.l.l.

"Well, what is it, Jack?" said Tom Hall, rather impatiently.

"Send round the hat and take up a collection for him," said Mitch.e.l.l, "enough to let him get away with his wife and children and start life again in some less respectable town than Bourke. You needn"t grin, I"m serious about it."

There was a thoughtful pause, and one or two scratched their heads.

"His wife seems pretty sick," Mitch.e.l.l went on in a reflective tone. "I pa.s.sed the place this morning and saw him scrubbing out the floor. He"s been doing a bit of house-painting for old Heegard to-day. I suppose he learnt it in jail. I saw him at work and touched my hat to him."

"What!" cried Tom Hall, affecting to shrink from Mitch.e.l.l in horror.

"Yes," said Mitch.e.l.l, "I"m not sure that I didn"t take my hat off. Now I know it"s not bush religion for a man to touch his hat, except to a funeral, or a strange roof or woman sometimes; but when I meet a braver man than myself I salute him. I"ve only met two in my life."

"And who were they, Jack?" asked Jake Boreham.

"One," said Mitch.e.l.l--"one is Douglas, and the other--well, the other was the man I used to be. But that"s got nothing to do with it."

"But perhaps Douglas thought you were crowing over him when you took off your hat to him--sneerin" at him, like, Mitch.e.l.l," reflected Jake Boreham.