A Bid for Fortune Guy Boothby (animal farm read .txt) 📖

This was attaching too much importance to such a simple action, and I was about to tell her so, when she spoke again:

“I think I ought to let you know who I am. My name is Wetherell, and my father is the Colonial Secretary. I’m sure he will be quite as grateful to you as I am. Goodbye.”

She seemed to forget that we had already shaken hands, for she extended her own a second time. I took it and tried to say something polite, but she stepped into her carriage and shut the door before I could think of anything, and next moment she was being whirled away up the street.

Now old fogies and disappointed spinsters can say what they please about love at first sight. I’m not a romantic sort of person⁠—far from it⁠—the sort of life I had hitherto led was not of a nature calculated to foster a belief in that sort of thing. But if I wasn’t over head and ears in love when I resumed my walk that evening, well, I’ve never known what the passion is.

A daintier, prettier, sweeter little angel surely never walked the earth than the girl I had just been permitted the opportunity of rescuing; and from that moment forward I found my thoughts constantly reverting to her. I seemed to retain the soft pressure of her fingers in mine for hours afterwards, and as a proof of the perturbed state of my feelings I may add that I congratulated myself warmly on having worn that day my new and fashionable Sydney suit, instead of the garments in which I had travelled down from Torres Straits, and which I had hitherto considered quite good enough for even high days and holidays. That she herself would remember me for more than an hour never struck me as being likely.

Next morning I donned my best suit again, gave myself an extra brush up, and sauntered down town to see if I could run across her in the streets. What reason I had for thinking I should is more than I can tell you, but at any rate I was not destined to be disappointed. Crossing George Street a carriage passed me, and in it sat the girl whose fair image had exercised such an effect upon my mind. That she saw and recognized me was evidenced by the gracious bow and smile with which she favoured me. Then she passed out of sight, and it was a wonder that that minute didn’t see the end of my career, for I stood like one in a dream looking in the direction in which she had gone, and it was not until two hansoms and a brewer’s wagon had nearly run me down that I realized it would be safer for me to pursue my meditations on the side walk.

I got back to my hotel by lunchtime, and during the progress of that meal a brilliant idea struck me. Supposing I plucked up courage and called? Why not? It would be only a polite action to enquire if she were any the worse for her fright. The thought was no sooner born in my brain than I was eager to be off. But it was too early for such a formal business, so I had to cool my heels in the hall for an hour. Then, hailing a hansom and enquiring the direction of their residence, I drove off to Potts Point. The house was the last in the street⁠—an imposing mansion standing in well-laid-out grounds. The butler answered my ring, and in response to my enquiry dashed my hopes to the ground by informing me that Miss Wetherell was out.

“She’s very busy, you see, at present, sir. She and the master leave for England on Friday in the Orizaba.”

“What!” I cried, almost forgetting myself in my astonishment. “You don’t mean to say that Miss Wetherell goes to England in the Orizaba?”

“I do, sir. And I do hear she’s goin’ ’ome to be presented at Court, sir!”

“Ah! Thank you. Will you give her my card, and say that I hope she is none the worse for her fright last evening?”

He took the card, and a substantial tip with it, and I went back to my cab in the seventh heaven of delight. I was to be shipmates with this lovely creature! For six weeks or more I should be able to see her every day! It seemed almost too good to be true. Instinctively I began to make all sorts of plans and preparations. Who knew but what⁠—but stay, we must bring ourselves up here with a round turn, or we shall be anticipating what’s to come.

To make a long story short⁠—for it must be remembered that what I am telling you is only the prelude to all the extraordinary things that will have to be told later on⁠—the day of sailing came. I went down to the boat on the morning of her departure, and got my baggage safely stowed away in my cabin before the rush set in. My cabin mate was to join the ship in Adelaide, so for the first few days of the voyage I should be alone.

About three o’clock we hove our anchor and steamed slowly down the Bay. It was a perfect afternoon, and the harbour, with its multitudinous craft of all nationalities and sizes, the blue water backed by stately hills, presented a scene the beauty of which would have appealed to the mind of the most prosaic. I had been below when the Wetherells arrived on board, so the young lady had not yet become aware of my presence. Whether she would betray any astonishment when she did find out was beyond my power to tell; at any rate, I know that I was by a long way the happiest man aboard the boat that day. However, I was not to be kept long in suspense. Before