Such Is Life Joseph Furphy (ebook reader screen .TXT) 📖

closing the door of the store behind him, advanced with the indescribably weary step of a station man when the day is warm and the boss absent, and seated himself by my side.

“Why ain’t you in the barracks having one of your quiet palavers with Mrs. Beaudesart?” he asked.

“Prithee be silent, boy; I profit not by thy talk,” I murmured.

“Something I wanted to ask you, Collins,” he resumed; “but I’m beggared if I can think what it is. Slipped away like a snake, while you’re looking round for a stick. Singular how a person can’t remember a thing for the life of them, when once they forget it; and suddenly it crops up of its own accord when you’re not thinking of it.”

“Parse that,” said I, listlessly.

“Parse your granny!” he retorted. “I don’t believe you could parse it yourself, as clever as you think you are. Beggar conceitedness; beggar everything. I wish I was about forty.”

“And know as much as you do now?” I barely articulated.

“Yes⁠—and know as much as I do now,” he repeated doggedly. “In fact, I never met anyone that knows as much as I do; but people won’t pay any attention to a young fellow, no matter if he was Solomon. That Martin wants a lift under the ear.”

“Does he?” I asked faintly. “I didn’t hear him express the desire.”

“Gosh! you’ve been on the turkey; you’ll be cutting yourself some of these times. I wish Toby was back with the mail. I hope he’ll forget to ask for your letters.”

“Now the Lord lighten thee; thou art a great fool,” I sighed. “What time does Toby generally get back?”

“Any time between two in the afternoon and sunrise next morning, according to the state of the mailman’s horses. Beggar such a life as this. At it, early and late; working through accounts, and serving-out rations, and one thing or another; and no more chance of distinguishing myself than if I was in jail. I can’t stand it much longer, and what’s more, I won’t. I wish the mail was in. I’ve got a presentiment of something good this time. If you don’t speculate, you won’t accumulate, as the saying is; and if a man can’t make a rise by some sort of gambling, he may as well lie down and die, straight-off. But the first rise is the difficulty; and, of course, you’ve got to take the risk.”

“What do you do with the rise when you get it?” I asked, drowsily.

“Why, distinguish yourself, of course⁠—what else? There’s a great future sticking out for a fellow, if he’s got his head screwed on right.”

“So there is. Well, what shall it be? Mechanics? Fine opening for an inventive genius there⁠—but you must be up and doing, as the poet says.”

“You had all the chances when you were my age,” replied Moriarty bitterly. “I’m too late arriving. Everything’s invented now.”

“True,” I observed. “I hadn’t thought of that objection. Then why not take up some interesting study, and work it out from post to finish? Political Economy, for instance?”

“Anybody could do that,” replied the young fellow contemptuously. “I want to distinguish myself.”

“Then I’ll tell you what you’ll do, Moriarty. Take a narrow branch of some scientific study, and restrict yourself to that. Say you devote your life to some special division of the Formicae?”

“The what?”

“Formicae. The name is plural. It embraces all the different species of ants.”

“Why, there’s only about three species of ants altogether; and there’s nothing to learn about them except that they make different kinds of hills, and give different kinds of bites. That sort of study would about suit you. Fat lot of distinction a person could get out of ants.”

“Still, every avenue to distinction is not closed,” I urged. “We’re knocking at the gates of Futurity for the Australian pioneer of poetry⁠—fiction⁠—philosophy⁠—what not? You’ve got all the working plant ready in your office. There you are!”

“No use, Collins,” he replied hopelessly. “I’ve got the talent, right enough, but I haven’t got the patience. In fact, I’m too dash lazy.”

“Charge it on the swimming-hole, brother,” I sighed.

“No; I can’t very well do that. I haven’t been there for the last month. I’d go tonight if I had a horse.”

“Heavens above!” I murmured; “what would he be like if he was clean? He would distinguish himself in one direction. The material is there.”

“Jealousy, jealousy,” replied Moriarty disgustedly. “Never mind. I’ll make things hum yet. Do you know⁠—I stand to win twenty-four notes on the regatta, besides my chance of the station sweep on the big Flemington, let alone private bets. We’ll get news of both events today; and I have a presentiment of something good. Gosh! I wish Toby was here!”

“And how much do you stand to lose, if your mozzle is out?” I asked. “By-the-way, didn’t I incidentally hear that you were playing cards all last Sunday?”

“I don’t believe that has anything to do with it,” replied Moriarty, in an altered tone. “But, to tell you the truth, I daren’t count up how much I’ll lose if things go crooked. I’ve plunged too heavy⁠—there’s no doubt about that⁠—but I did it with the best intention. I made sure of scooping; and, for that matter, I make sure of it still. But whatever you do, don’t begin to preach about the evils of gambling⁠—not now, Collins; not till after we get news of these events. Doesn’t everybody gamble, from the Governor downward⁠—bar you, and a couple or three more sanctimonious old hypocrites, with one foot in the grave, and the other in the devil’s mouth? Why, Nosey Alf is the only fellow on this station that has no interest in the sweep, besides no end of private bets.”

“Isn’t that Toby?” I asked, indicating a horseman, half-a-mile away.

“Gosh, yes!” replied Moriarty nervously. “I wonder what brings him from that direction? Come, Collins⁠—will you give me five to one he has letters for you? I’ll take it at that.”

“Indeed you won’t, sonny.”

“Well, let’s have some wager before he gets any nearer,” persisted