And Jim Came Back.

Star (Christchurch), Volume LXVI, Issue 20296, 4 May 1934, Page 12

And Jim Came Back.

C. H. BOX.)

(By

Jim was coming back, Old Jim! Rangi find heard the news down at the ]>a, where he had gone to borrow some horses. Old Man Cleave had said so. so it was no idle rumour. Jim had been reported as coming back before but then such news had been only the gossip of the district. Now Jim’s father had spread the news, and he, of all men should know, for all knew it was by the will of the old man that Jim was kept away. “No place this for a young man to grow up,” he had once said “What is there for him to associate with, but a few shepherds and Maoris 1 Jim’s to be master of the ‘Pines’ one ol these days, so he had better grow out of such companions.” But Jim was coming back! Old Man Cleave had said so; he was always Old Man Cleave behind his back, when he was present he was Mr. Cleave, and the emphasis or "the Mister, too. He had told the gang when they had gone to him about tlie draining, “Well, I’m not putting on any body at present. My son is coming back to manage the place, so I’ll leave that to him. He’ll be back in a day 01 two.” Rangi had been told of that, and h« had rejoiced. Jim was his friend. “Tc Old Man Cleave I am only Rangi, £ Maori hanging round for a job,” he said to himself, “but I am Jim’s mate.” There had been a time, before Jim had gone away, when the son of the station owner and the son of Old Pai the roadman, had been inseparable com panions. Two boys of the same age the same ideas, and with no thought ol rank or colour. There was nothing that Jim could do without Rangi, and nothing that Rangi enjoyed if Jim was not there. There had been a time, the time of the annual picnic, the time of day when the sinking sun called the picnickers home, and Cleaves were putting their things in the car in readiness to be olf “Where’s Jim?” Cleave had asked. Mrs. Cleave had looked round. “He’s coming along with that Maori boy.” Rangi was always that Maori boy tc her. “Hurry, Jim, we’re ready to go.” Leaving his companion standing a little way olf, Jim had gone to his parents. “Js there any room for Rangi ?” Mrs. Cleave had looked at her husband; lie had "frowned and shaken his head. “No, Jim,” she had said, “Rang' will have to walk.” “All right, I’m going to walk with him.” “Please yourself,” his father had answered. “I wish he wouldn’t go about with that Maori boy so much,” Mrs. Cleave had said as they drove off. “Oh, it’s no use telling him not to; he’d only sneak off when we weren’t looking. He’ll grow out of it, though; we’ll send him away to school when he is through here.” That time soon came. Jim and Rangi had passed through the little country school. Jim at the bottom of the class, Rangi at the top. They had started school together, and they had managed to keep together, but to do this Rangi had to hold back and to help his white friend along. It had been, “Show me how to do my homework, Rangi.,” or •Whisper the spellings to me, Rangi.** Then Jim had gone away to a secondary school, and Rangi had stayed behind to be a workman. Rangi should have gone away to school also, but he was only the son of Old Pai, who worked on the road, so what did he need with education? Rangi had not gone to farewell his friend at the railway —of course, that could not be; but they had spent the night before Jim went away fishing down by the bridge. “Dad says that when I’m done with school, and some college I have to go to, I’m to conic back and manage the place. I’ll make you head shepherd then, Rangi,,” Jim had said. “We’re going to play football for the Rovers when you come back, and we’ll be able to have guns of our own then,” Rangi had replied. That had been seven years ago, seven years during which the boys had never met. Jim had never been back during his school holidays, Old Man Cleave had seen to that. He had come back for a short time, when he had left the secondary school and before he entered that agricultural college, blit Rangi had been away then. Rangi had been away, over the range on a bushfelling job, when he heard that Jim was home. He had come back as soon as the job was finished; ho could not come before, for the gang was in a hurry to cut out the bush, and Rangi could not let his mates down, not even to see Jim. He had wasted no time when he was free to come, hut Jim had gone hack, so another three years had gone by before Jim was to return. Now Jim was coming back, coming back to stay! Rangi forgot the business that had brought him to the pa. “What docs anything matter, Jim is coming back.” He even spoke to Joe, his bitterest rival, Joe who had beaten him for Hine. “Old Rolii still have those pig dogs? I’ll want them when Jim gets back. He’s keen on hunting.” He bad gone home, thinking of nothing but Jim. “Jim will be back. Mv word, the Rovers will have a good team this year. Jim will be able to piny centre and I’ll be on tlie wing.” “ Jim promised to make me head shepherd,” he thought. “I don’t want to be though. I’d rather not work for him, but of course if Jim insists.” He thought of the things they had planned to do. “ I’ll have to get things ready for fishing.” he thought. “Jim will probably want to go out right away. I suppose Jim fishes with a rod now. I’ll have to get one.” He watched for the mailman going in. “ I want something from the store, here's the note.” he said, when that man came a ion*'. “And if vou see any of those football fellows ‘in town 'tell them Rovers will have the cup this year. Jim Cleave will he playing for us.” “Yes, I heard he was coming back. He’s been playing rep. football hasn’t he ? ” “Yes. We’ll have him for centre.” “ Well. I’m putting my money on Rovers. With you on the wing and Jim at centre, the backs will be set. \ou and Jim played well together as kids, and it won’t take you long to get into each other’s style now. I expect they’ll have both of you for the rep. team.” “My word,” thought Rangi after the mailman had gone, “I never thought of both of us being in the reps. We’ll have good trips away.”

I Then Jim was home. Rangi had seen the car come back, and had seen Jim walk up to the house. “He will be over to-niglit,” lie thought. But the night passed, and Jim was not over. “Oh, well, he’d have a lot to talk about at home; ie’ll come across to-day.” But it was not till the next day that Rangi saw Jim. He saw Jim ride down the paddock and up the road. “I knew he’d come,” said Rangi to himfeelf as he ran down to the road. In his excitement he did not notice that the rider was making no attempt to come up the .rack to Pai’s whare. “Jim, Jirn, old chap,” he called. Jim pulled up, and stared at the Maori. “By gosh, your Rangi. By corry, the Maori get fat'.” “You’re stopping this time?” asked “Yes, my father is going away. I’m manager now.” He was silent for some time, then said, “How the lisli, prenty big now ?” “Fish, there’s more than ever,” and Rangi was going on to say that he was ready to go fishing any time, when Jim remarked, “I’m expecting some friends out. I’ll want the Maori to carry the things and boil the billy. You want the job?” Rangi bad been thinking of fishing, but not as the handy man. “Perhaps Jitn is joking?” he thought. “I’m getting a rod,” he remarked. “By corry, the Maori fresh now. Don’t bring him when you come with us. You’ll be jagging some of u«. I’ll pay you for the day.” “Pay; what nonsense Jiin. What joke’s that?” Then he shot the eager question, “Going to play football?” “Yes, I hope so.” “That’s good. Rovers will win the •up this year. We want a good centre.” “Rovers? That Maori team. I’m playing for Athletics.” Rangi’s hopes sank. “Athletics,” he thought, “the select team, the chaps who wouldn’t have a Maori in the team, not even if he were an All Black.” Then he thought, “It’s Jim’s joke.” “No jolly fear, you’ll play for .us all right,” he said. “Never in your life. I’m not playing in a black team. And, look here, Rangi, if you come out with us on that fishing trip, Pin to be Mr. Cleave.” “That’s all right, I can t come,” replied Rangi. “All right, I’ll get some other Maori. Say, you want the draining job?” Rangi looked at his sometime friend. “So this was Jim. The Jim who has come back,” he thought. “And I’ll carry his bags, and call him sir. Will 1? Never.” Then he thought again, “This man has the giving of all the work round here, I’ve got to work. I’m only Rangi, a Maori,” so he answered, “Me do the drain, Mr. Cleave. Ten bob the day, eh?” “No, six.” “By corry, you the hard man. All right, the six bob.”