THE NE'ER DO WEEL.

New Zealand Illustrated Magazine, Volume 1, Issue 6, 1 March 1900, Page 9

THE NE'ER DO WEEL.

By Hunter Murdoch.

Illustrated by H. E. Taylor

HE mid-day rays of a bnrn- ! ing sun beat down npon a, New Zealand woolshed, through the open door of which could be seen a long stretch of plains and flax

swamps bounded by ranges

of interlocking hills, upon which the grey-green of the fern was in beautiful contrast with the rich dark bush which crowned their summits. In the shed all was bustle and activity, the shearers, stripped io their trousers and singlets, each vicing with the other in hi.s efforts to make the biggest tally. Ever and anon one of them would throw open one of the pens wherein the sheep were waiting to be shorn, carry out a sheep, place it on the "board," tuck it between his legs in an uncomfortable and undignified position, speedily deprive it of its fleece, and then bundle it unceremoniously through one of the port-holes into a pen outside, where it stood naked and astonished. Then after a short pause for sharpening his shears and wiping off the perspiration which streamed down his face, he would make a dive at another fleecy victim. There was but little vandyking or tomahawking, the men being practised hands, and the cry of " Tar ! " was rarely heard. "Smoke 0 ! " At the welcome signal the men threw down their shears, and sat down and lighted their pipes. Suddenly the hum of talk was interruptrd by the. notes of a fiddle, and the men made a rush for the door to see whence the unwonted sound proceeded. . In the yard stood the musician, a young iinan. of. medium. ..height, wifch short, crisp,

brown hair, a clean-shaven face, and frank, stecl-groy oyes, with a humorous twinkle in thorn which suggested thai- they wore over on the look out for a joke. Well sot up and carefully groomed, ho gave one the idea of a man who had been in the army. The most curious thing about him was his dress. A high collar, a silk scarf fastened with a horse shoe pin, a Melton morning coat buttoned across his broad chest, grey trousers and dainty, thin soled boots ; everything was of the beat material, and litted him to perfection. He would have looked like a man fresh from Bond Street but for the melancholy facts that his coat and trousers wore threadbare and frayed, and that the uppers of the dainty boots seemed to be contemplating a speedy divorce from their soles. At his foot wore his violin case and a small bundle done up in a handkerchief, a thing seldom soon oIT tho stage. There was a gasp of astouishment at this apparition. On the appearance of Ink auditors the young man ceased playing, and with a nod wished them "' Good morning." " Mornin' to von, mate," replied Coates, the ringer. " Come in and have a smoke." "Thanks. I shall be glad of a rest. It's awfully hot ! " " It is ivurm," corrected the other. They went back to tho shed, where ho sat down with them. " Queer cove ! " remarked one aside. "Looks likoa broken down swell. There's a good few knockin' about the towns, though they don't in general find their way so far up country." " Come far this moruin 1 ? " " From Gisborne," replied the stranger." " You're an actor, ain't you 'f " inquired

Coatesj looking at the new chum's shaven face. "Not exactly. Two months ago I was fiddling in the orchestra of T.E., Wellington. Since then it has been ♦ Fiddle and I Wandering by, Over the world together/" " Can you sing us that song, Mister ? " He gave the ditty in a powerful baritone, with violin accompaniment, and established himself as first favourite in the shed. When the applause had subsided, he turned to a rough looking fellow who sat on his right.

" Do you think your master would give me a job ? " "We don't own no masters in this ere Corlony. It's the boss. Remember that ! " was the characteristic reply. "Now d'ye want me to tell yer the frozen truth, or a bloomin' lie ? " "I should prefer the truth, frozen or otherwise, if it's all the same to you." "Well then, we don't want no whitehanded swells 'ere. But 'ere's the boss. Ask 'mi yerself ! "

The " boss " was a tall, grizzly-bearded, good-humoured looking Scot. To him the new chum propounded his question. " What's your name ?" " Smith. John Smith." "Hum! Step this way, Mr. Smith." He laid a peculiar emphasis on the last word. " Now,' he resumed as they walked towards the stables, " let's see what's what,'and who's who. Smith is not your real name ? " " No, I left that at home." " England ? " "Yes." ■ " What were you there ? " "A ' ne'er-do-weel.' At least that is what everybody told me." " Candid, at any rate. And why did you come out here ? " " Why do other fools come here ? Let the dead past bury its dead. I have left my past in England, and have come to New Zealand to work out my future. Can you give me work ? " " That depends. Do you know anything about sheep ? " " Only that— ' Sheep are harmless, and we knowThat on their backs the wool doth grow.' " Mr. McQuoid smiled grimly. "Do you understand horses ? " " From ears to tail." The sheep farmer opened the stable door, and pointed to a splendid bay horse standing in a loose box. "A week ago," he said, " that horse took a trembling fit after having been ridden all day. Since then he's been off his feed. Look at him with his head hanging down, and his staring coat. I've tried all I know, and he's getting worse instead of better." John Smith put his ear to the horse's side and chest, and listened. Then he raised the animal's eyelids. " Have you got a farrier's chest? " "Yes." " Let's have a look at it. If it has what I want in it, I'll take him in hand. I cured one of the horses in our sta at Home of the same disease." ■ *' I wish you could cure Bruce there. I

wouldn't lose him for anything. He's my daughter's pet." " Well, unless horses out here are diffei'ent from what they are in England, she shall ride him again in less than a week." He was as good as his word. Five clays afterwards he led the horse up to the house for his fair owner to mount. Jessie McQuoid was at that time the belle of Poverty Bay. Tall, with a complexion like a sun-kissed peach, brilliant dark eyes and blue- black hair, and full of good health and high spirits, she was the pride of her parents, and the admiration and despair of all the young sheep farmers for miles round. But although, like the Widow Malone, " She melted the hearts Of the swains in thhn parts," she was — " Like the impartial sun, Which beams on all, and favours none." Her father's description of the mauvais sujet had piqued her curiosity, and as she contrasted his gentlemanly bearing with his shabby dress, her curiosity gave way to pity. " I think you may safely ride Bruce now, Miss McQuoid," said he, raising his hat. (A groom would have touched the brim). " Only don't ride him too fast or too far." " I'm so much obliged to you for your care and skill. Have you been out here long?" " Long enough to get through all my money, but not long enough to get any useful experience." " Well, let us hope that there's a prosperous career before you in this Colony. Here all who can and will work are sure to get on. Besides, when things are at their worst, they'll mend." " I'm afraid, Miss McQuoid, that I must answer you in the words of poor Talfourd : ' They say things at the worst will mend, if true My wardrobe's very near as good as new.' " Then they both laughed, and a sort of freemasonry was established between them. " That girl would make a sensation in Rotten Row," thought the young man as he watched her cantering off. " Bruce," said she, patting the horse s glossy neck, " be on your best behaviour, for you've a gentleman to groom you."

And then the same thought shot through both their minds : each had been too familiar with the other. " What an ass I made of mysolf to speak to her as if she and I woro equals ! " said the groom to himself. " How could I bo so familiar with a perfect stranger?" said Jessie, biting hor lip with vexation. " But I wanted to ohoor him up, poor fellow ! " * * * * * Having installed our hero as master of the horse, it is timo to hark back to tho misdoings which led to his expatriation. The Honourable Cyril Fortescuo was the younger and only brother of Lord Woodleigii, of Woodleigh Towors, and had boon a constant thorn in the side of that model landlord and decorous M.P. At eighteen Cyril was expelled from Oxford for letting off fireworks in his College quad. After that he got a cornetcy in tho " Death or Glory," whore his songs, jests and unfailing good humour made him the idol of his brothor Lancers, until one unlucky night he played a practical joke upon his Major, which resulted in a court martial and dismissal from tho service. Then, facilis descensus, ho gravitated to tho " rank," and drove a hansom. Bo not incredulous, reader. Was thero not once upon a time a Viscount who went organ-grinding? Why then blame our hero for trying by any means to get his own living rather than again face an austere elder brothor who had thrico paid the young prodigal's debts? When, however, tho aristocratic johu had lost his licence by furious driving, ho was summoned to Woodleigh Towors. His Lordship's summing up will convoy tho result of the interview. " Cyril," said tho scandalised Peer, "you've brought disgrace upon our family name. I've done what I could to set you right, and I've failed. You'd better go away some whore and hide yourself. Here's a cheque for two hundred. It'll take you to New Zealand, and keep you till you can find something to suit your peculiar talents. I'd give you more but I know you'd squander it." And so Cyril, the spendthrift, came out to

Wellington^ characteristically taking a firstclass berth, and living in the most expensive hotel while he looked about for a situation, and found none. When his money was gone, he accepted a short engagement in the orchestra of the theatre, on the expiration of which he was fain to shave off his moustache and join a variety company as comic singer. This burst up at Waipukurau, and each member of it had to shift for himself. Thus it was that Cyril Fortescue came to tramp the country as "John Smith." Six months had passed, during which his

duties as groom had brought him into almost daily contact with Jessie McQuoid. On these occasions each was "ou guard." But although his manner was that of a superior sort of servant towards his mistress, and her communications to him were strictly limited to matters affecting her horse, their eyes were traitors, and betrayed the secret so jealously guarded by their tongues. One evening, two evil looking fellows carrying swags came up to McQuoid and asked for quarters. "Didn't you see the notice?" asked the irate Scot. "Yes, boss, but we've been walking all day, and we thought that for once " " Now look here ! You fellows come here and get your tucker and shake-down, and in

the morning off you go, and you won't even take the trouble to shut my gates, and my sheep get mixed. I'm sick of you ! Try some other station." "You won't have us, won't you ?" growled the ruffian. "Then all I've got to say is, you'll be sorry for this ! D you, you white-livered cur !" A blow from McQuoid's fist felled him, and he picked himself up bleeding, and went, off with his mate, both vowing vengeance.

The next day McQuoid called to Smith : " I'm going to ride to Gisborne. Meet mo at nine at the boundary gate, and if I bring back any papers, you can take them across to Melville." At half-past eight, Cyril was sitting nnder a clump of firs at the trystiug place. Suddenly his meditations were interrupted by the sound of voices. He recognised I hem as those of the sundowners

of the previous evening 1 . " Once we've fixed that up, down ho must come, and then it's 'ard if you an' me can't settle Mm !" " Stop yer jawin', an' come down at once, or we shall miss 'im ! "

Fully convinced that there was some plot against McQuoid, Cyril watched the fellows till they disappeared at a turn in the road. He would have liked to get past them to warn their intended victim, but that was impossible. Presently he caught a glimpse of them as they descended into a hollow where the road was overhung by trees Here they stopped, and Cyril, getting through the fence, stalked them as near as he could. Hark ! A horse's hoofs clattering down the opposite hill. Nearer and nearer, and then a crash ! The horse had fallen and had thrown his rider, who was instantly set upon by the ruffians. A hfavy blow under the ear from Cyril's fist, struck one senseless. The other rose and threw himself upon Cyril.

A knife glittered in the moonlight, and with a sharp cry of pain, he staggered" back. By this time McQuoid had risen, and picking up his heavy riding whip, he attacked Cyril's assailant with such vigour that he deemed discretion the better part of valour, and fled. Then McQuoid turned his attention to Cyril. "You've saved my life, Smith, and I shall never forget it ! " " Well, for the matter of that, you've saved mine ! " " Take off your coat, and let's have a look at your wound." A nasty cut below the left shoulder, from which the blood was welling freely. McQuoid bound it up as well as he could, and then went to look for his mare, who had regained her feet, and stood trembling a few yards off. On his return he saw the device by which she had been thrown — a rope made of flax leaves stretched across the road from fence to fence. He cut it to prevent further mischief, and then made Cyril mount the horse, and so they, got home. As Cyril tried to walk up the verandah steps, he fainted from loss of blood, to the great consternation of the ladies. He was put to bed, and a horseman was dispatched to Gisborne to fetch a surgeon, and to inform the police of the outrage. It may be stated here that the latter succeeded in capturing the miscreants, who took up their residence in gaol for two years. The surgeon, on dressing his patient's wound, pronounced it not dangerous, and after giving directions as to perfect quiet and diet, took his leave, remaining to Mrs. McQuoid : " I leave him in your hands, and I'm sure he" could not be in better." He was right. She nursed him as if she had been his mother, and his splendid constitution standing him in good stead, he was in a- few days sufficiently recovered to listen in languorous happiness to the sweet, low voice of Jessie, as she read to him hour after hour. She never tired of reading, nor he of listening, albeit while his bodily hurt was getting well, the wound inflicted by Cupid was becoming one that Hymen alone could heal.

At the end of threo weeks tho convalescent was sunning himself on tho verandah with McQuoid, when a young man rodo up, and flinging himself from his horse, asked if Mr. McQuoid was at home. "I am Mr. McQnoid," roplied that gontloman. " Then I have much pleasure in making your acquaintance," replied the stranger. " My name's Hamilton — Captain Hamilton, of the 17th Lancers. Hero's a letter of introduction from my father." "My old friend Jock ! Give us your hand, man ! Eh ! what's the matter ? " Cyril had risen, and was slinking Hamilton's hand with a vigour astonishing in an invalid. "Cyril, old man, how on earth came you here, and what have you been doing all this time ? " " I don't understand ! " began MeQuoid. " Neither do 1 ! " rejoined the bewildered Lancer. " What do you mean, Fortescue, by hiding away like this when your lawyers have been advertising for yon all over the world ? " "Fortescue!" "Yes, Mr. McQuoid, Cyril lAirteseue, formerly of the 17th Lancers, and now Lord Woodleigh ! " "My brother ?" gasped Cyril, falling back into his chair. " He — he — I grieve to say that ho was killed in a railway collision six months ago." "Look to him, he's fainted!" cried McQuoid, rushing into tho honso for restoratives. " Fool that I was to spring it on him so suddenly!" muttered tho Captain. #*. # # # In due time, however, Cyril came round, and the next day he had an interview with Jessie, the result of which may be inferred from the following paragraph which appeared in the Rawlces Bay Herald shortly afterwards : " On Saturday last, Lord and Lady Woodloigh sailed for England by the lonic. Tho romantic circumstances which led to their union will bo fresh in the recollection of our readors. Tho happy pair carry with them the best wishes of all who know them."