He was n't that kind of person. He DID at times say he was
tired of it all, and often he wished it far enough, too! But, then, that
was all mere talk on Dad's part. He LOVED the selection. To every
inch--every stick of it--he was devoted. 'T was his creed. He felt
certain there was money in it--that out of it would come his independence.
Therefore, he did n't rollup and, with Mother by the hand and little Bill
on his back, stalk into town to hang round and abuse the bush. He walked
up and down the yard thinking and thinking. Dad was a man with a head.
He consulted Mother and Dave, and together they thought more.
"The thing is," Dad said, "to get another horse to finish the bit of
ploughing. We've got ONE; Anderson will lend the grey mare, I know."
He walked round the room a few times.
"When that's done, I think I see my way clear; but THAT'S the trouble."
He looked at Dave. Dave seemed as though he had a solution. But Joe spoke.
"Kuk-kuk-could n't y' b-reak in some kang'roos, Dad? There's pul-lenty in
th' pup-paddick."
"Could n't you shut up and hold your tongue and clear out of this, you
brat?" Dad roared. And Joe hung his head and shut up.
Pages:
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157