He inspired the shareholders with
so much zeal that the prophecies were almost fulfilled through a surfeit
of watering. But Cheon's attitude towards the water-melons did not
change, although he had begun to look with favour upon mail-matter and
station books, finding in them a power that could keep the Maluka at the
homestead.
For two full weeks after our return from the drovers' camp our life was
exactly as Cheon would have it - peaceful and regular, with an occasional
single day "out-bush"; and when the Maluka in his leisure began to fulfil
his long-standing promise of a defence around my garden, Cheon expressed
himself well-pleased with his reform.
But even the demands of station books and accumulated mail-matter can be
satisfied in time, and Dan reporting that he was "getting going with the
bullocks," Cheon found his approval had been premature; for, to his
dismay, the Maluka abandoned the fence, and began preparations for a trip
"bush." "Surely the missus was not going?" he said; and next day we left
him at the homestead, a lonely figure, seated on an overturned bucket,
disconsolate and fearing the worst.
Cheon often favoured an upside-down bucket for a seat. Nothing more
uncomfortable for a fat man can be imagined, yet Cheon sat on his rickety
perch, for the most part chuckling and happy. Perhaps, like Mark Tapley,
he felt it a "credit being jolly" under such circumstances.
By way of contrast, we found Dan and Jack optimistic and happy, with some
good bullocks in hand, a record branding to report for the fortnight's
work, and a drover in camp of such a delightful turn of mind that he was
inclined to look upon every bullock mustered as "just the thing." He was
easily disposed of, and within a week we were back at the homestead.
We had left Cheon sad and disconsolate, but he met us, filled with fury,
and holding a sack of something soft in his arms. "What's 'er matter?" he
spluttered, almost choking with rage. "Me savey grow cabbage "; and he
flung the sack at our feet as we stood in the homestead thoroughfare
staring at him in wonder. "Paper yabber!" he added curtly, passing a
letter to the Maluka.
It was a kindly, courteous letter from our Eastern neighbour, who had
"ventured to send a cabbage, remembering the homestead garden did not get
on too well." (His visits had been in Sam's day). "How kind!" we said,
and not understanding Cheon's wrath, the Maluka opened the bag, and
passed two fine cabbages to him after duly admiring them.
They acted on Cheon like a red rag on a bull. Flinging them from him, he
sent them spinning across the stony ground with two furious kicks,
following them up with further furious kicks as we looked on in
speechless amazement. "What's 'er matter?" he growled, as, abandoning
the chase with a final lunge, he stalked indignantly back to us; and as
the unfortunate cabbages turned over and lay still on their tattered
backs, he began to explain his wrath. Was he not paid to grow cabbages,
he asked, and where had he failed that we should accept cabbages from
neighbours? Cabbages for ourselves, but insults for him! Then, the
comical side of his nature coming to the surface as unexpectedly as his
wrath, he was overcome with laughter, and clung to a verandah post for
support, while still speechless, we looked on in consternation, for
laughing was a serious matter with Cheon.
"My word, me plenty cross fellow," he gasped at intervals and finally led
the way to the vegetable garden, where he cut an enormous cabbage and
carried it to the store to weigh it. The scale turned at twelve pounds,
and, sure of our ground now, we compared its mighty heart to the stout
heart of Cheon - a compliment fully appreciated by his Chinese mind; then,
having disparaged the tattered results to his satisfaction, we went to
the house and wrote a letter of thanks to our neighbour, giving him so
vivid a word-picture of the reception of his cabbages that he felt
inspired to play a practical joke on Cheon later on. One thing is very
certain - everyone enjoyed those cabbages including even Cheon and the
goats.
Of course we had cabbage for dinner that day, and the day following, and
the next day again, and were just fearing that cabbage was becoming a
confirmed habit when Dan coming in with reports we all went bush again,
and the spell was broken. "A pity the man from Beyanst wasn't about,"
Dan said when he heard of the daily menu.
It was late in September when Dan came in, and four weeks slipped away
with the concerns of cattle and cattle-buyers and cattle-duffers, and as
we moved hither and thither the water-melons leafed and blossomed and
fruited to Billy's delight, and Cheon's undisguised amazement and the
line party, creeping on, crept first into our borders and then into camp
at the Warlochs, and Happy Dick's visits, dog-fights, and cribbage became
part of the station routine. Now and then a traveller from "inside"
passed out, but as the roads "inside" were rapidly closing in, none came
from the Outside going in, and because of that there were no extra mails,
and towards the end of October we were wondering how we were "going to
get through the days until the Fizzer was due again," when Dan and Jack
came in unexpectedly for a consultation.
"Run clean out of flour," Dan announced, with a wink and a mysterious
look towards the black world, as he dismounted at the head of the
homestead thoroughfare then, after inquiring for the "education of the
missus" he added, with further winks and mystery, that it only needed a
nigger hunt to round off her education properly but it was after supper
before he found a fitting opportunity to explain his winks and mystery.
Then, joining us as we lounged in the open starry space between the
billabong and the house, he chuckled:
