Daily we hinted to Happy Dick that Peter's welcome was wearing out, and
daily Happy Dick assured us that he "couldn't keep him away nohow." But
then Happy Dick's efforts to keep him away were peculiar, taking
the form of monologues as Peter trotted beside him towards the
homestead - reiterations of:
"We're not the sort to say nuff, are we, Peter? We'll never say die,
will we, Peter? We'll win if we don't lose, won't we, Peter?" Adding,
after his arrival at the homestead, a subdued "S - SS-s, go it, Peter!"
whenever Brown appeared in the thoroughfare.
But the homestead's hour of triumph was at hand, for as the afternoon
wore on, Happy Dick found the very best told recital a poor substitute
for the real thing, and thirsting for a further "Peter's latest," hissed:
"S - s - ss, go it, Peter!" once too often. For, well, soon
afterwards - figuratively speaking - Peter was carried off the field on a
stretcher.
True, Brown had only one sound leg left to stand on, but by propping the
other three carefully against it, he managed to cut a fairly triumphant
figure. But Brown's victory was not to be all advantage to the
homestead, for never again were we to hear "Peter's latest."
"Can't beat the Elsey for a good dog-fight! Can you, Peter?" the Fizzer
chuckled, as Peter lay licking his wounds at Happy Dick's feet; but the
Quarters, feeling the pleasantry ill-timed, delicately led the
conversation to cribbage, and at sun-up next morning Happy Dick "did a
get" to his work, with bulging pockets, leaving the Fizzer packing up and
declaring that "half a day at the Elsey gave a man a fresh start."
But Dan also was packing up - a "duplicate" brought in by the Fizzer
having necessitated his presence in Darwin, and as he packed up he
assured us he would be back in time for the Christmas celebrations, even
if he had to swim for it but before he left he paid a farewell visit to
the Christmas dinner. "In case of accidents," he explained, "mightn't
see it again. Looks like another case of one apiece," he added,
surveying with interest the plumpness of six young pullets Cheon was
cherishing under a coop.
"Must have pullet longa Clisymus," Cheon had said, and all readily
agreeing, "Of course!" he had added "must have really good Clisymus"; and
another hearty "Of course" convincing him we were at one with him in the
matter of Christmas, he entered into details.
"Must have big poodinn, and almond, and Clisymus cake, and mince pie," he
chuckled, and then after confiding to us that he had heard of the
prospective glories of a Christmas dinner at the Pine Creek "Pub.," the
heathen among us urged us to do honour to the Christian festival.
"Must have top-fellow Clisymus longa Elsey," he said, and even more
heartily we agreed, "of course," giving Cheon carte blanche to order
everything as he wished us to have it. "We were there to command," we
assured him; and accepting our services, Cheon opened the ball by sending
the Dandy in to the Katherine on a flying visit to do a little shopping,
and, pending the Dandy's return we sat down and made plans.
The House and the Quarters should join forces that day, Cheon suggested,
and dine under the eastern verandah "No good two-fellow dinner longa
Clisymus," he said. And the blacks, too, must be regaled in their humpy.
"Must have Vealer longa black fellow Clisymus," Cheon ordered, and Jack's
services being bespoken for Christmas Eve, to "round up a Vealer," it was
decided to add a haunch of "Vealer" to our menu as a trump card - Vealers
being rarities at Pine Creek. Our only regret was that we lived too far
from civilisation to secure a ham. Pine Creek would certainly have a
ham; but we had a Vealer and faith in Cheon, and waited expectantly for
the Dandy, sure the Elsey would "come out top-fellow."
And as we waited for the Dandy, the Line Party moved on to our northern
boundary, taking with it possible Christmas guests; the Fizzer came in
and went on, to face a "merry Christmas with damper and beef served in
style on a pack-bag," also regretting empty mail-bags - the Southern mail
having been delayed en route. Tam and the Sanguine Scot accepted
invitations to the Christmas dinner; and the Wet broke in one terrific
thunderclap, as the heavens, opening, emptied a deluge over us.
In that mighty thunderclap the Wet rushed upon us with a roar of falling
waters, and with them Billy Muck appeared at the house verandah dripping
like a beaver, to claim further credit.
"Well?" he said again, "Me rainmaker, eh ?" and the Maluka shouted above
the roar and din:
"You're the boy for my money, Billy! Keep her going!" and Billy kept her
going to such purpose that by sun-up the billabong was a banker, Cheon
was moving over the face of the earth with the buoyancy of a child's
balloon, and Billy had five inches of rain to his credit. (So far,
eleven inches was the Territory record for one night). Also the fringe
of birds was back at the billabong, having returned with as little
warning as it had left, and once more its ceaseless chatter became the
undertone of the homestead.
At sun-up Cheon had us in his garden, sure now that Pine Creek could not
possibly outdo us in vegetables and the Dandy coming in with every
commission fulfilled we felt ham was a mere detail.
