The Boss of Taroomba. Hornung Ernest William

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СКАЧАТЬ the barracks, with Tom Chester rather gingerly pulling off his clothes for him as he lay. The first thing he saw was his own heavily splintered arm stretched stiffly across his chest. For the moment this puzzled him. His mind was slow to own so much lumber as a part of his person. Then he remembered, and let his lids fall back without speaking. His head ached abominably, but it was rapidly clearing, both as to what had happened and what was happening now. With slight, instinctive movements, first of one limb, then another, he immediately lightened Tom Chester's task. Presently he realized that he was between the sheets and on the point of being left to himself. This put some life in him for perhaps the space of a minute.

      "Thank you," he said, opening his eyes again. "That was awfully good of you."

      "What was?" asked the other, in some astonishment. "I thought you were stunned."

      "No, not this last minute or two; but my head's splitting; I want to sleep it off."

      "Poor chap! I'll leave you now. But what induced you to tackle Hard Times, when you weren't a rider, sweet Heaven only knows!"

      "I was a fool," said Engelhardt, wearily.

      "You leave that for us to say," returned the other. "You've got some pluck, whatever you are, and that's about all you want in the bush. So long."

      He went straight to Naomi, who was awaiting him outside with considerable anxiety. They hovered near the barracks, talking all things over for some time longer. Then Naomi herself stole with soft, bold steps to the piano-tuner's door. There she hesitated, one hand on the latch, the other at her ear. It ended in her entering his room on tiptoe. A moment later she was back in the yard, her fine face shining with relief.

      "He's sleeping like a baby," she said to Chester. "I think we may perhaps make our minds easy about him now – don't you? I was terribly frightened of concussion; but that's all right, or he wouldn't be breathing as he is now. We'll let him be for an hour or two, and then send Mrs. Potter to him with some toast and tea. Perhaps you'll look him up last thing, Mr. Chester, and give him a hand in the morning if he feels well enough to get up?"

      "Certainly I would, Miss Pryse, if I were here; but we were all going out to the shed to-night, as usual, so as to make an early start – "

      "I know; I know. And very glad I shall be to get quit of the others; but I have this poor young man on my mind, and you at least must stop till morning to see me through. I shall mention it myself to Mr. Gilroy."

      "Very well," said Chester, who was only too charmed with the plan. "I'll stop, with all my heart, and be very glad to do anything that I can."

      With Chester it was certainly two for himself and one for the unlucky Engelhardt. He made the most of his evening with Naomi all to himself. It was not a very long evening, for Gilroy delayed his departure to the last limit, and then drove off in a sullen fury, spitting oaths right and left and lashing his horses like a madman. This mood of the manager's left Chester in higher spirits than ever; he had the satisfaction of feeling himself partly responsible for it. Moreover, he had given Gilroy, whom he frankly detested, the most excellent provocation to abuse him to his face before starting; but, as usual, the opening had been declined. Such were the manager of Taroomba and his subordinate the overseer; the case was sufficiently characteristic of them both. As for Chester, he made entertaining talk with Naomi as long as she would sit up, and left her with an assurance that he would attend to the piano-tuner like a mother. Nor was he much worse than his word; though the patient knew nothing until awakened next morning by the clatter and jingle of boots and spurs at his bedside.

      "What is it?" he cried, struggling to sit up.

      "Me," said Chester. "Lie perfectly tight. I only came to tell you that your breakfast's coming in directly, and to see how you are. How are you? Had some sleep?"

      "Any quantity," said Engelhardt, with a laugh that slipped into a yawn. "I feel another man."

      "How's the arm?"

      "I don't feel to have one. I suppose it's broken, is it?"

      "No, my boy, only dislocated. So Miss Pryse said when she fixed it up, and she knows all about that sort of thing. How's the head?"

      "Right as the bank!"

      "I don't believe you. You're the color of candles. If you feel fit to get up, after you've had something to eat, I'm to give you a hand; but if I were you I'd lie in."

      "Die first," cried the piano-tuner, laughing heartily with his white face.

      "Well, we'll see. Here comes Mother Potter with your breakfast. I'll be back in half an hour, and we'll see about it then."

      Chester came back to find the piano-tuner half dressed with his one hand. He was stripped and dripping to the waist, and he raised his head so vigorously from the cold water, at the overseer's entrance, that the latter was well splashed.

      "Dry me," he cried.

      The overseer did his best.

      "I feel as fit as a Strad," panted Engelhardt.

      "What may that be?"

      "A fiddle and a half."

      "Then you don't look it."

      "But I soon shall. What's a dislocated arm? Steady on, I say, though. Easy over the stones!"

      Chester was nonplussed.

      "My dear fellow, you're bruised all over. It'd be cruel to touch you with a towel of cotton-wool."

      "Go on," said Engelhardt. "I must be dried and dressed. Dry away! I can stand it."

      The other exercised the very greatest care; but ribs and shoulders on the same side as the injured arm were fairly dappled with bruises, and it was perfectly impossible not to hurt. Once he caught Engelhardt wincing. He was busy at his back, and only saw it in the mirror.

      "I am hurting you!" he cried.

      "Not a bit, sir. Fire away!"

      The white face in the mirror was still racked with pain.

      "Where did you get your pluck?" asked Chester, casually, when all was over.

      "From my mother," was the prompt reply; "such as I possess."

      "My boy," said Chester, "you've as much as most!" And, without thinking, he slapped the other only too heartily on the bruised shoulder. Next moment he was sufficiently horrified at what he had done, for this time the pain was more than the sufferer could conceal. In an instant, however, he was laughing off his friend's apologies with no less tact than self-control.

      "You're about the pluckiest little devil I've ever seen," said the overseer at last. "I thought so yesterday – I know so to-day."

      The piano-tuner beamed with joy. "What rot," however, was all he said.

      "Not it, my boy! You're a good sort. You've got as much pluck in one hair of your head – though they are long 'uns, mind – as that fellow Gilroy has in his whole composition. Now I must be off to the shed. I should stroll about in the air, if I were you, but keep out of the sun. If you care to smoke, you'll find a tin of cut-up on the corner bracket in my room, and Miss Pryse'll give you a new pipe out of the store if you want one. You'll see her about pretty soon, I should say. Oh, yes, she had breakfast with me. She means to keep you by main force till you're up to piano-tuning again. Serve Gilroy jolly well right, the brute! So we'll meet again СКАЧАТЬ