"THE BLOKE."

New Zealand Illustrated Magazine, Volume 1, Issue 2, 1 November 1899, Page 60

"THE BLOKE."

J3Y MONTfiOMIORY BARR

Illustrated by Ashley Hunter

I.

JMmi *• followed by his dogs, " \nv are ye Sm[ Seating himself on my bed lie pulled out a pipe and prepared to lill it. He did not remove the soft felt hat, of no particular shape, that adorned his head. He was in his working garb — muddy water-tight boots, loosely belted trousers of blue dungaree, a dark shirt and an olive-green coat. All bushmen's every-day coats are green. It is reported that these coats were originally of some more conventional colour. Ft may be so. There he sat — the Bloke, so self-styled — full of friendly intentions, a.nd diffusing a mingled odour ol' tobacco, onions and honest toil. " (xood evening, Mr. Drake," I responded. "Oh, 1 say, stash the 'mister'! Plain Bill and Jim is good enough between workin' blokes." 1 winced. 1 had never before realised that! was plain Jim, a working bloke. Butlooking round me at my whare of white pine palings, my fireplace of slabs and clay, my home-made furniture, I felt compelled to admit the appropriateness of the description. "Do ye like batching?" inquired the Bloke, kindly. "Not very well. 1 don't allow my dogs indoors." He lit his pipe with care. "If you wouldn't mind sending your dogs out " "Them two dawgs." He beamed affectionately upon the curs. " What they don't know aint worth knowin'. Why, me and

Ike 'Arvey, we was up at Long Pat's wharo on Sunday, and Pat 'c was pitchin' about a clawg as 'c give ten pound for. T says : ' Pal, I'll lay ye a liver ' " " Send your dogs out, Drake." " Oh, all right ! Ye're easy narked, mate," he complied, snorting contemptuously. Then lie entertained me for an hour with tales of his own sagacity and that of his dogs. From past experience I guessed that he had uot come merely to amuse me, and while lie talked I wondered what he wanted. At last he said, " 1 'card as 'ow ye wanted some timber sawn." " Yes. I need a floor and a partition in this whare, and two front rooms of sawn timber added." " Yell he bringin' in. yer family ?" " Yes, before winter begins, if possible.'" "Well, I'm yer man. Me and Ike 'Arvey, we always saws together. When I 'ear of it, L says to my mate : 'There's a bonny tide settler for you. Not like the blokes as takes up land just to 'avea cut in at the Guvmcnt work. Family man, too. Ought to be 'elped. Let's cut 'is timber for 'im, and maybe give 'im a 'and with the buildin'.' So I come up 'ere." " Very good of you, I'm sure." " Oh, don't name it ! Ike 'Arvey, 'c's just the same : ready to knock off whatever 'c's doin' and go and 'elp any poor bloke as needs 'el p. 'Ow much would ye be wan tin' now?" "I haven't reckoned it up yet. The new part will be twenty-four by twelve, in two rooms. What do you charge for sawing ?" He smiled benignly. " That'U-be all right, mate. Make yer mind easy."

"Yes, but you surely do not propose to cut my timber for nothing ? " " Well, it won't cost ye much. We'll do it friendly like." " Why not name a price ? " " Well, ye see, ye could pay us something for our time. We'll 'aye to knock off (luvment roadmakin' to do yer job.'" v What is your regular charge per hundred feet ? " " Look 'ere, mate, ye talk as if a bloke was tryin' to do ye ! HVe're the best sawyers in the place, though I say it myself, and we won't slip ye up. Just say th~ \rord, and me and my mate we goes oi the job." " I don't do business in that way Mr. Drake. I'll calculate how mucl timber I want, then if you care to givi an estimate, it will be considered Now let us change the subject." "Well, if that's all the thanks ; bloke gets for trudgin' 'alf a mil< through the bush to do 'is neighbou] a good turn — for a paltry little jol like yourn, ye won't get no tenders ai all."' 1 ignored these and other discon. nected grumblings, and turned 1113 attention to the camp-oven, in which my uncooked bread had been set tc rise. The Bloke cooled down, and assisted me with his advice. " Kneaded that batch two 'ours ago, did ye?" he said. "And when did ye set yer sponge? It's goin' to be 'eavy bread, mate. Praps yer yoast is bad. I'll bring ye down some of mine as I pass to-morrer, then ye can start a fresh llott t No, it ain't no trouble." 1 felt rather ashamed of my churlish refusal to give him pit-sawing at daily wages. He seemed kind-hearted and friendly. Of course 1 did not decline his yeast, of which Iso evidently stood in need, lie gave me a few hints on baking, and T received them in the right spirit. Then he put my gratitude to a practical test. " Yell not be usin' yer 'orse much ? " he began. " I'd like to borrow 'im to-morrow,

to go packiu'. 1 got five 'orse loads at Eketahuna,aud so I'm borrowin' extra' orsos.'' "My pony isn't fit for packing. Not strong enough." " Oil ! I'll pack light on 'im. n " I'm afraid, it's impossible." The Bloke evidently considered me a very disagreeable man. His eyes gleamed maliciously. "By gosh!" he exclaimed, "ye fell in, right enough when ye give six pound for i:hat moke ! " •

" Indeed ? " " Mi was offered to me for thirty hob. 4 No,' s;iys I, ' 1 wouldn't 'aye 'mi if ye slung 'im at me ! ' 'K aint fit for them bunh roads at all." I smoked in silence. The Bloke'a oyen roved round tlie whare. " Whatever'n tliafc di"i|)|)in<i; from the ehimbly?" he cried. "Fat, ain't it?" " Oh, never mind ! " lint the Bloke's head waH already up the wide chimney. " Wbat'n thin up 'ere?" he cried. " If you must know, it in a ham 1 am smoking." •

He reached up and took it down. " Great Scott ! Been there for weeks, ain't it ? And all that 'ot fire of matai and stuff! 'Smokin' a 'am,' says 'c ! Oh, boys, I'll die of this ! Ye got it smoked right enough, mate." He flopped on the bed in ecstasies of mirth "I don't profess to know much about smoking a ham," I. remarked, rather testily, " but I fail to see what excuse you have for making yourself so offensive ! " The Bloke reclined on his elbow. He was enjoying himself very much. " \ r e got yer shirt out, mister," he said. Not understanding his metaphor, 1 looked hastily at my clothing He thought this a very facetious retort, and laughedapprovingly. I longed to kick him out. But he was my nearest neighbour, and a poor bush settler must avoid quarrelling with his neighbours. On the wall near him was a photograph. The Bloke took, it down and studied it. "Them yer little lot? " he inquired. " My children," I answered. " Gosh ! The girl's good lookin'. She'd make a slap up barmaid, if she 'ad move style. She's eoniin' to keep 'ouse for ye, 1 expect ? " 1 admitted the fact, and the Bloke grew thoughtful . " Look 'ere ! " ho said at last. " Look 'ere, boss!" On the strength uf my daughter's photograph I was promoted from "mate" to "boss." "Tell want a lot of 'elp in gettin' yer 'ouse ready. Send for me, and I'll give ye a 'and, free gratis. And any tools and things yo want, just borrer off o' me. Don't he afraid to arst. And when all is ready, just say the word, and my pack 'orses goes out to bring yer family in." He was now beaming with goodwill . What could I do but thank him, and accept at least the last part of his offer ?

My whare has been transformed into a cottage, arid my three children have come to live with me. Pretty Louise keeps house for me, and Louise, at nineteen, is a very charming companion as well as a capable

housekeeper. Bert and Jack are helping me clear the bush. They take great interest in the work ; their talk is full of such terms as "drive" and "scarf" and "jigger"; they know to a nicety the comparative hardness of rata, ' maire and akeake. They work as well as talk, each according to his strength, and even little Jack lays low the pretty young tawas and " small stuff " with doughty blows of his "slasher." Louise's bread is much better than mine, and, altogethei , lam much more happy and comfortable than 1 was when living a lone bachelor life last summer. - But 1 have quarrelled with the Bloke. 1 am sorry, but it was unavoidable. He conies no more to sit on my bed and twit me with my culinary failures. I shall be compelled to resort to legal proceedings in order to make him do his half of the fencing. Me tells people that he is "narked," and talks about ingratitude. Ingratitude ! Yes, Ido feel rather moan. The Bloke's intentions were so good. I did not give him the timber to saw, as he and his mate are notoriously incompetent sawyers. But he helped me to build the new rooms. It is true that he was paid by the day, and that his day was sweetened by many restful smokes. But he was so willing and so pleasant that 1 did not like to notice how little he really did. He borrowed my niosi cherished tools for a day, and brought them back a week afterwards, much the worse for unskilful handling ; but the poor fellow offered to lend me all he possessed, so what could I say ? When the packer delivered my roofing iron and window sashes, the Bloke was quite hurt. "Why didn't ye tell me?" said he, "I'd 'aye packed in your stuff and charged ye nothin'." When all was ready I did borrow his two paekhorses — I admit the fact — to bring home my children's luggage. He took a great interest in this home-coming. When I returned from the township, late and tired, with the young people and the packs, the Bloke was at my slip-rails. He assisted Louise to dismount, he unbuckled and unhooked the packs, he unsaddled and turned out the horses.

"Say, boss," he remarked, "I've milked yer cow, and yell find yer billy boilin'. I'm off 'oine now, to see if I can scrape up some tea for myself." "Oh, do please stay and have tea with us." " Well, I ain't particler." This formula, in Bloke language, indicated polite assent. "I've been choppin' firewood for ye, boss. Reglar wood and water Joey. (hiess I've earned my tucker, eh, Miss ? " Louise joined me in expressing gratitude and welcome. The Bloke fried a large panful of chops while Louise and 1 laid (he cloth. As he sat with us at tea, discoursing on pighunting and rattling his knife on his plate, my heart warmed to the good, well - meaning fellow. Louise east many a smiling glance upon him. She looked with interest upon his olivegreen coat, his horny hands and bristly chin, and she seemed fascinated by the novel phrases with which he decorated his ideas. Louise smiled upon him. Poor fellow. How was he to know that the smile was one of amusement:' The Bloke grew vain-glorious. Never was such a remarkable man. " Me and my mate, we took abushfallin' contract last winter. We took it at twentyfive bob an acre, 'eavy bush, fallin' every thin' up to three-six, and we made three quid a week each, countin' wet days and all." " Not many men could do that," 1 said. "' That was out Waihi way, where the wild cattle are. One day my two dawgs, they went 'untin' on their own. I 'cars 'em barkin', and Ike says, ' Them dawgs 'as not a pig.' I listened, and whatever they'd got, it wouldn't bail up. Ike took the gun, and L 'ad only a light slasher. We followed up, and there was fresh cattle tracks all about. ' If it's a cattle-beast,' says I, ' we'll go for it ! ' We was lookin' about, and Ike yelled to me to look slippy. A wild cow, as mad as mad, was comin' full belt down the track, and the dawgs after her. She 'adn't seen us, and I slipped be'ind a tree. Ike, 'c run, and the cow seen 'im, and went for 'im. 'K

dodged and fired, but missed. Then there was some runnin',and soon 1 seen'im comin' back, eyes out, and the cow after 'iin. The gun was gone, and there wasn't a tree fit to climb. But there was a big tree over'angin' the gully, and rata- vines on it. I slashed two on 'em, (juick and lively, and in a jiff we was both swingin' out ten feet above the gully. The cow stands there, tryin' to come at us. ! 'ad my slasher under my arm, and of course it was v hit awkward 'aiigin' on like 1 hut, so 1 worked my logs about, and got

a swin^ on, and swunji; nearer to the row, and at last, on the s\viti£, I let 'cr ave the

slasher on the hack of the neck, and eul; 'er backbone clean through. I fell on top of 'er, but she didn't move. (Josh ! We was just about heat by the time we got the moat back to camp." " You carried the whole cow home ? " inquired Bert, innocently. "No, no. This is all true I'm tcllin' ye. We cut it up as well as wo could, left the 'ide on, and 'umped a quarter each." The Bloke was really rather entertaining. When he; took his leave, I asked him to come again. ■ He did come — the very next evening. Wo began to tire of admiring lii'h prowesH, and

when he told how he had got into a hollow hinau tree, and being unable to climb out, had spend three days in cutting his way out with a pocket-knife, Louise merely looked •tired, and Bert said that very few men could boast of having been inside a hinau. But the Bloke was undisturbed. He stayed rather late, and on rising to go lie turned rather markedly to Louise. " Yell find it awful (juiet up 'ere, Miss." "Oh ! I shall do very well with Dad and the boys for company," said Louise, rather cruelly excluding him. Bui he \v;is not thin-skinned. " But yell be dull in the winter. Are ye fond of music '?" "Very." " I'll bring down my accordion to-morrow night, and cheer ye up a bit." "Thank you, but you mustn't let us monopolise all your evenings." " Oh, never name it ! " And he took his leave. " You'll have to snub that fellow," said I, addressing Louise. " Don't I. snub him, Dad ? Oh, Ido wish he would stay away ! I was just longing to talk a.nd laugh, as we do when we are by ourselves, but I felt obliged to be stiff and distant. And the things 1 said when I did speak !" The next day was veiy wet anil stormy. We fondly hoped that the Bloke would not keep his promise. But he was worse than his word. We had hardly sat down to dinner when little Jack, seated opposite the window, exclaimed : " Here comes a man in yellow oilskins. The Bloke ! Yes, I think so." "Oh ! he's only coming to borrow bakingsoda, or pain-killer,or the hand-saw, "said Bert. By this time the Bloke was at the door. In his hand he dangled four pigeons, which he presented to Louise. From under his oilskin coat he produced a " Little Lord Fauntleroy " accordion. Then lie took off the coat and entered with a cheery " Well, 'ow are ye doin' ? " il Oh, come in ! '' T said, and Bert added : " Make yourself quite at home," in tones of unmistakable hostility.

" I always do," replied the Bloke. " You see, boss," he continued, " it was too wet to work to-day, so I did a tog-up and come over to give ye a tune." He had discarded the harmony in green and blue, and had donned a very new tweed suit. Bound the neck of his. dirty shirt he wore a bright tartairtie. Of course we asked him to share our frugal meal. He was not " particler," ho said, and he fell to accordingly. Though we could well have spared his presence, the Bloke evidently meant well. He was deeply sensible of his own kindness in coining through the wet bush to amuse us, so much so that I felt called upon to say : " Yes, but you really ought to consider yourself a little more. You have a good shed to work in, and you and your mate might have found something to do." Louise looked quite shocked at my plainspeaking, and evidently expected the Bloke to rush out of the house in a rage. But he merely smiled and said : "My mate ? Poor old Ike ! 'E wanted badly to come with me, but I wouldn't bring 'iin. Oh, no, not by a jugful ! ' Never hinterdooce yer donah to a pal,' that's my motto," and he winked at Louise, who looked astonished. " Say, Louise," — Louise, indeed ! — " I'll learn ye to play the accordion. This little Font Lee Boy — we call it 'The Pup,' cause it's so small, but by gosh, it is good ! I'd back myself for twenty quid to play it all night for the dancin', and never rest, it is so light." On the Bloke's initiative we left the table. The dishes were washed to the howl ings of the " Pup." Gentle reader, were you ever weatherbound in a small cottage, in enforced companionship with an accordion enthusiast? Do you realise the feeling, changing by degrees from amused toleration to homicidal mania, induced by the strains of his fell instrument ? . All the tunes are in the same key, the bass is mechanical and monotonous ; no air involving even the simplest transition of key can be correctly played. But the accordion's worst quality is the ease with

which it lends itself to the production of unmusical music by people like the Blolce. The conversation interposed between the musical selections ran somewhat as follows : "Do ye know that? That's ' Glorious Beer,' that is." " No, I don't know it." " Well, I expect ye know this." His eyes assumed a rapt expression, and he created a new reading of " The man that broke the Bank at Monte Carlo." "What? Not know that ? Why, that's a very well-known comic song." " I have heard very few comic songs. 1 don't care for them." The Bloke looked thoughtfully at Louise. "Y r e don't? I see. They ain't class enough for a lady like ye are. Quite right, stick to that. Now I'll play ye some real 'igh-toned music." He began " The Gallants of England," and as some notes did not exist on his instrument, the air faded out in a mist of inappropriate flourishes. He knew several pretty airs, but the same fate befell most of them. At last Louise fled, and Bert's irritation boiled over. "Do give it a rest!" he cried. "What's the use of beginning ' The Garden of Sleep,' and tailing off directly into a lot of silly variations ? If you can't go clear through a tune, give it best ! " " Oh, but I can ! I can play ' Glorious Beer' till all's blue. But where is Louise ? " "My daughter," I answered rather stiffly, " has gone to her room to write letters." "I was just goin' to teach her the fingerin' of a tune or two. She won't be long, will she?" "Can't say," I replied. Then I followed Bert, who had betaken himself to the whare kitchen, now my bedroom and workroom. From our place of concealment we could hear the Bloke talking to Jack, and mutilating ballad music as he talked. Bert was very angry. "Dad," he burst out, "did you hear him call Louise his donah? What next, I wonder? It makes me sick to see him wink at her as he talks. For goodness' sake fire him out, dad! " " Do you mean to say that this — this Bloke

— is paying his attentions to Louise ? " " Ho says so himself, but you don't understand his lingo. By the way, iuis Louise said anything to you about Harry Markhain?" " No." "Then she probably will before long. Marry " At this moment the Bloke appeared in the doorway, where he leaned comfortably against the wall. "Hay, boss," he remarked, "it takes a good-natured bloke to keep from

getting narked with ye. Ain't yo gol, no oar for music V " "1 have, Drake, but it is possible to have too much of a good thing. Besides, Her I. and L have one or two things to do bofore tea." " I'll 'elp ye." I took up one of my many "wet day jobs," and turning my back upon him, J sot to work. He watched me, thoughtfully filling a pipe the while. When he had lighted up he turned back into the living-room, and found Louise there. She at once laughingly ordered him to put out his pipe, and he made a great merit of obeying her. Then followed a conversation in a lower tone. I thought it

advisable to leave my work. When I went in he was saying : "I like stand-offish girls, and I like sensible ones. Ye don't gas and jaw like most of them girls about 'ere. Ye've got the sense to shut up, and give a bloke a chanst to speak. That's why ye suit me." " But I really don't care to hear this. Talk about something else." " Well, then, let me teach ye the accordion." "No time, Mr. Drake. Lt is almost teatime." " Well, I'll come in of cvenin's and learn ye." "But I'm sure 1 could never learn to play as you do." " You won't try V " " L won't try." The Bloke told us that he was going- to Eketahuna next day. He was most pressing in his offers to post our letters for us, pointing out that we should thus gain three days, as the local mail did not close till Wednesday. Louise handed him two letters. I saw that one was addressed to Harry Markham. Tea passed oft' fairly well, until the liloke, his hunger appeased, began to talk. 1 happened to say that the bridge over the creek was getting shaky. " \ r es,' he replied, " It will want more money spent on it soon. A good job for some poor workin' man.' 1 " The bridge can't be very old." " No, but it has not lasted well. Me and Ike, we cut the timbers for that bridge. They was to be good old 'cart-wood of the usual sorts, and we simply 'adn't got it to saw. We cut a good deal of young sappy stuff — far easier to cut— and Ike 'c says: ' The boss will never pass this.' ' Take my tip 'c will,' says 1, ' when I've faked it a bit.' So 1 got a lot of hinau bark, and made a dye with it, and we splashed it well on the sapwood to make it dark and old lookiu', and so we bested the boss." " I'm surprised to hear you boast of such a thing," said I. " Oh, we took the contrack too low ! 'Ad to get even somehow."

"It was a dishonest act ! " cried Bert, hostly. The Bloke looked surprised. " Don't ye understand that it was a Gruvment job ?" he inquired. " Why, everybody makes a rise out of the Gruvment ! Ye dunno 'alf of what goes on." The rest of the evening was spent in playing five-handed euchre, a particularly silly game. The Bloke played with noise and vigour. His little way of slapping a card on the table, and bawling : " Play to that," was rather trying, but we could have borne it. Soon, however, he was inspired to pat Louise on the shoulder, and to grasp her hand under the table. She turned and looked steadily at him, with all the dignity of offended nineteen. His armour of vanity was pierced at Last, and he went home crest-fallen, but by no means vanquished. Bert and Jack went to their rooms. Louise knelt on the hearth beside me, laying her head on my knee. She has done this ever since she was a very little girl, and it always means that good old dad is not to be angry with his little daughter. "Dad," she began, "that man is always here." " I saw little of him, my child, except when he came a-borrowing, until you young people came. So you are tired of him, too ? " " He is unbearable, dad." " Yes. If he comes to visit us again — which L don't expect, after our extreme coldness to him to-day — 1 shall plainly tell him his company is not wanted." " Poor man ! But we can't have him here. Of course I know we are ever so poor now. and away from all our friends, but a man like that -eh, dad?" " I have been rather weak, perhaps. This Drake is always trying to put me under obligations, and once or twice .1 have found it necessary to accept his help. I do not like to impute selfish motives, but he trades upon my gratitude, and what 1 do for him in return he forgets. In future we must decline his pigeons and all other favours. 1 am rather sorry you gave him your letters to post."

here

" So am I, but it seemed ungracious to decline so small a service. I didn't foresee that lie. was going to become offensively familiar. And I didn't know that he was going to make a great black thumb-mark on one of the envelopes. Did you see it, Dad ?' " Yes, and 1 saw him attentively reading the address." My little daughter was looking with shining eyes into the fire. .1 paused, she laid a burning cheek upon my hand, but: said nothing. I must help her. '• Have you anything to tell me about Harry Markham V" I asked. v Yes, Dad,' very softly. " I don't want to lose you yet, child. You are very young." " Oh, not yet, Daddy dear, not forever and ever so long ! " "If I know young Markham, he won't wait ever so long," L said. She had risen, and was standing behind me, too shy to let me see her Face. She now threw her arms round my neck and kissed me, sobbing a little. '" I love you too, dear old Dad ! " she cried, as if she felt that I needed comfort. 1 assumed a matter-of-fact air. " You had better ask Harry to write to me about it, or to come, if possible, and pay us a visit. Understand me, .1 would rather give you to Harry Markham than to anyone else, and I hope he will make you happy, my child." For a few days we were free from our incubus. His business detained him at Eketahuna. Mail - day came, and brought an answer to Louise's letter. Enclosed was that letter itself with its envelope. In explanation of this Markham wrote : "As you have not hitherto been wont to smear your correspondence with tobacco ashes and thumb autographs, I return your letter (but 1 must have it again, dear) to ask you whether you can account for the state it is in. Is it possible that some one has opened it V You will see that the postmark is Eketahuna. The inference is that you entrusted it to some one to post for

you. Was your messenger trustworthy?" The rest of the letter was not for me to see. Unfolding the returned letter, wo found a large thumb-mark on the note-paper corresponding to that on tho envelope. Careful comparison, with the aid of a lens, showed that the same thumb had made both impressions. Now we had soon the Bloke make the mark on the envelope. There was no doubt that he had tampered

with the letter, and LoiUHe'n face burned at the thought of his having road what her heart had prompted her to write to her lover. The letter was still in my hand when the Bloke appeared, loud-voiced and self-satisfied as ever. He was received in dead silence. Louise remained standing, white with anger. The Bloke wit down " Well, what's up ? Who's cat's dead 'i " he inquired, crossing his legs, ami mechanically lighting his pipe.

I charged him with opening the letter entrusted to his care. " I never did. It's a lie ! " " That is your thumb-mark on the paper." " Pooh ! The post-office people done it, p'raps. Thumb-marks is all alike." " No, they are all different. The mark on the envelope we saw you make. The one on the letter is just the same. You opened the letter ! " " Well, what if I did ? All's fair in love and war. I'm goin' to arst Louise to keep company with me." Louise gave me one look, and left the room. " T wanted to know if she had yot a chap already . I done it to find out. There is a chap, and I've got to cut 'im out. Sec ? " " Are you not ashamed ? '' "Well, it ain't quite the square thing, boss. I'm ready to apologise to Louise. There, that's, handsome " " Listen to me, Drake. I do not blame

you for doing this dirty action, because you know no better. But you are unfit to associate with my daughter, and you must not come here again ! " " What ye puttin' on side about ? Who are ye ? If ye was better off once, ye 're only a poor bush settler now." " Not too poor to choose my company ! " " I'm as good as ye, and better off. i\nd after all I've done for ye ! Confound all snobs ! I'll send ye in a bill for 'ire of pack-'orses." " Do, please. 1 shall he glad to pay it." " Well, I'm off. But I've got it in for yv now, so ye'd better watch it ! " "Oh! Dad, is he gone?" asked Louise, coming out of her room. "He threatened you, Dad. I am afraid he will do you a mischief." "We'll risk it. Thank Heaven, the Bloke is offended at last ! Better an avowed enemy than an intolerable friend "