Читать книгу The Boy in the Bush онлайн

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He ended in a stammer. He rather hated adults; he definitely hated them in tribunal.

Mr. George held up his hand deprecatingly.

"Say nothing! Say nothing! Your father made no mention of anything. Tell us when you know us, if y'like. But you aren't called on to indict yourself.—That was a silly joke of mine. Forget it.—You came to go on the land, as your father informs me.—I knew your father, long before you were born. But I knew your mother better."

"So did I," said Mr. Swallow. "And grieved the day that ever a military gentleman carried her away from Western Australia. She was one of our home-grown flowers, was Katie Reid, and I never saw a Rose of England that could touch her."

Jack now flushed deeper than ever.

"Though," said Mr. George slyly, "if you've got a prank up y'r sleeve, that you can tell us about—come on with it, my son. We've none of us forgotten being shipped to England for a schooling."

"Oh well!" said Jack. He always said "Oh well!" when he didn't know what to say. "You mean at the Agricultural College? Oh well!—Well, I was the youngest there, stable-boy and harness-cleaner and all that. Oh well! You see there'd been a chivoo the night before. The lads had a grudge against the council; because they gave us bread and cheese, and no butter, for supper, and cocoa with no milk. And we weren't just little nippers. We were—Oh well! Most of the chaps were men, really—eighteen—nineteen—twenty. As much as twenty-three. I was the youngest. I didn't care. But the chaps were different. There were many who had failed at the big entrance exams for the Indian Civil, or the Naval or Military, and they were big, hungry chaps, you can bet—"