Andy Page’s Rival | |
Author | Henry Lawson |
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Published |
1890
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Language | English |
Nationality | Australian |
Genre | Australian Literature |
1890 Short Story
Andy Page’s Rival
Andy Page’s Rival is an English Australian Literature short story by Australian writer Henry Lawson. It was first published in 1890.
Andy Page’s Rival
by Henry Lawson
Tall and freckled and sandy,
Face of a country lout;
That was the picture of Andy
Middletons rouseabout.
On Middleton’s wide dominions
Plied the stock-whip and shears;
Hadnt any opinions
AND he hadnt any ideersat least, he said so himself except as regarded anything that looked to him like what he called funny business, under which heading he catalogued tyranny, treachery, interference with the liberty of the subject by the subject, blanky lies, or swindlesall things, in short, that seemed to his slow understanding dishonest, mean or paltry; most especially, and above all, treachery to a mate. That he could never forget. Andy was uncomfortably straight. His mind worked slowly and his decisions were, as a rule, right and just; and when he once came to a conclusion concerning any man or matter, or decided upon a course of action, nothing short of an earthquake or a Nevertire cyclone could move him back an inchunless a conviction were severely shaken, and then he would require as much time to back to his starting point as he did to come to the decision.
Andy had come to a conclusion with regard to a selectors daughtername, Lizzie Porterwho lived (and slaved) on her fathers selection, near the township corner of the run on which Andy was a general hand. He had been in the habit for several years of calling casually at the selectors house, as he rode to and fro between the station and the town, to get a drink of water and exchange the time of day with old Porter and his missus. The conversation concerned the drought, and the likelihood or otherwise of their ever going to get a little rain; or about Porters cattle, with an occasional enquiry concerning, or reference to, a stray cow belonging to the selection, but preferring the run; a little, plump, saucy, white cow, by-the-way, practically pure white, but referred to by Andywho had eyes like a blackfellowas old Speckledy. No one else could detect a spot or speckle on her at a casual glance. Then after a long bovine silence, which would have been painfully embarrassing in any other society, and a tilting of his cabbage-tree hat forward, which came of tickling and scratching the sun-blotched nape of his neck with his little finger, Andy would slowly say: Ah, well. I must be gettin. So-long, Mr. Porter. So-long, Mrs. Porter. And, if she were in evidence as she generally was on such occasionsSo-long, Lizzie. And theyd shout: So-long, Andy, as he galloped off from the jump. Strange that those shy, quiet, gentle-voiced bushmen seem the hardest and most reckless riders.
But of late his horse had been seen hanging up outside Porters for an hour or so after sunset. He smoked, talked over the results of the last drought (if it happened to rain), and the possibilities of the next one, and played cards with old Porter; who took to winking, automatically, at his old woman, and nudging, and jerking his thumb in the direction of Lizzie when her back was turned, and Andy was scratching the nape of his neck and staring at the cards.
Lizzie told a lady friend of mine, years afterwards, how Andy popped the question; told it in her quiet wayyou know Lizzies quiet way (something of the old, privileged house-cat about her); never a sign in expression or tone to show whether she herself saw or appreciated the humour of anything she was telling, no matter how comical it might be. She had witnessed two tragedies, and had found a dead man in the bush, and related the incidents as though they were common-place.
It happened one dayafter Andy had been coming two or three times a week for about a yearthat she found herself sitting with him on a log of the woodheap, in the cool of the evening, enjoying the sunset breeze. Andys arm had got round her just as it might have gone round a post he happened to be leaning against. They hadnt been talking about anything in particular. Andy said he wouldnt be surprised if they had a thunderstorm before mornin it had been so smotherin hot all day.
Lizzie said, Very likely.
Andy smoked a good while, then he said: Ah, well! Its a weary world.
Lizzie didnt say anything.
By-and-bye Andy said: Ah, well; its a lonely world, Lizzie.
Do you feel lonely, Andy? asked Lizzie, after a while.
Yes, Lizzie; I do.
Lizzie let herself settle, a little, against him, without either seeming to notice it, and after another while she said, softly: So do I, Andy.
Andy knocked the ashes from his pipe very slowly and deliberately, and put it away; then he seemed to brighten suddenly, and said briskly: Well, Lizzie! Are you satisfied!
Yes, Andy; Im satisfied.
Quite sure, now?
Yes; Im quite sure, Andy. Im perfectly satisfied.
Well, then, Lizzieits settled!
But to-daya couple of months after the proposal described above Andy had trouble on his mind, and the trouble was connected with Lizzie Porter. He was putting up a two-rail fence along the old log-paddock on the frontage, and working like a man in trouble, trying to work it off his mind; and evidently not succeeding for the last two panels were out of line. He was ramming a post Andy rammed honestly, from the bottom of the hole, not the last few shovelfuls below the surface, as some do. He was ramming the last layer of clay when a cloud of white dust came along the road, paused, and drifted or poured off into the scrub, leaving long Dave Bentley, the horse-breaker, on his last victim.
Ello, Andy! Graftin?
I want to speak to you, Dave, said Andy, in a strange voice.
Allall right! said Dave, rather puzzled. He got down, wondering what was up, and hung his horse to the last post but one.
Dave was Andys opposite in one respect: he jumped to conclusions, as women do; but, unlike women, he was mostly wrong. He was an old chum and mate of Andys who had always liked, admired, and trusted him. But now, to his helpless surprise, Andy went on scraping the earth from the surface with his long-handled shovel, and heaping it conscientiously round the butt of the post, his face like a block of wood, and his lips set grimly. Dave broke out first (with bush oaths):
Whats the matter with you? Spit it out! What have I been doin to you? Whats yer got yer rag out about, anyway?
Andy faced him suddenly, with hatred for funny business flashing in his eyes.
What did you say to my sister Mary about Lizzie Porter?
Dave started; then he whistled long and low. Spit it all out, Andy! he advised.
You said she was travellin with a feller!
Well, whats the harm in that? Everybody knows that
If any crawler says a word about Lizzie Porterlook here, me and yous got to fight, Dave Bentley! Then, with still greater vehemence, as though he had a share in the garment: Take off that coat!
Not if I know it! said Dave, with the sudden quietness that comes to brave but headstrong and impulsive men at a critical moment: Me and you aint goin to fight, Andy; and (with sudden energy) if you try it on Ill knock you into jim-rags!
Then, stepping close to Andy and taking him by the arm: Andy, this thing will have to be fixed up. Come here; I want to talk to you. And he led him some paces aside, inside the boundary line, which seemed a ludicrously unnecessary precaution, seeing that there was no one within sight or hearing save Daves horse.
Now, look here, Andy; lets have it over. Whats the matter with you and Lizzie Porter?
IM travellin with her, thats all; and were going to get married in two years!
Dave gave vent to another long, low whistle. He seemed to think and make up his mind.
Now, look here, Andy: were old mates, aint we?
Yes; I know that.
And do you think Id tell you a blanky lie, or crawl behind your back? Do you? Spit it out!
Nno, I dont!
Ive always stuck up for you, Andy, andwhy, Ive fought for you behind your back!
I know that, Dave.
Theres my hand on it!
Andy took his friends hand mechanically, but gripped it hard.
Now, Andy, Ill tell you straight: Its Gorstruth about Lizzie Porter!
They stood as they were for a full minute, hands clasped; Andy with his jaw dropped and staring in a dazed sort of way at Dave. He raised his disengaged hand helplessly to his thatch, gulped suspiciously, and asked in a broken voice:
Howhow do you know it, Dave?
Know it? Andy, I seen em meself!
You did, Dave? in a tone that suggested sorrow more than anger at Daves part in the seeing of them.
Gorstruth, Andy!
Tell me, Dave, who was the feller? Thats all I want to know.
I cant tell you that. I only seen them when I was canterin past in the dusk.
Then howd you know it was a man at all?
It wore trousers, anyway, and was as big as you; so it couldnt have been a girl. Im pretty safe to swear it was Mick Kelly. I saw his horse hangin up at Porters once or twice. But Ill tell you what Ill do: Ill find out for you, Andy. And, whats more, Ill job him for you if I catch him!
Andy said nothing; his hands clenched and his chest heaved. Dave laid a friendly hand on his shoulder.
Its red hot, Andy, I know. Anybody else but you and I wouldnt have cared. But dont be a fool; theres any Gorsquantity of girls knockin round. You just give it to her straight and chuck her, and have done with it. You must be bad off to bother about her. Gorstruth! she aint much to look at anyway! Ive got to ride like blazes to catch the coach. Dont knock off till I come back; I wont be above an hour. Im goin to give you some points in case youve got to fight Mick; and Ill have to be there to back you! And, thus taking the right moment instinctively, he jumped on his horse and galloped on towards the town.
His dust-cloud had scarcely disappeared round a corner of the paddocks when Andy was aware of another one coming towards him. He had a dazed idea that it was Dave coming back, but went on digging another post-hole, mechanically, until a spring-cart rattled up, and stopped opposite him. Then he lifted his head. It was Lizzie herself, driving home from town. She turned towards him with her usual faint smile. Her small features were washed out and rather haggard.
Ello, Andy!
But, at the sight of her, all his hatred of funny business intensified, perhaps, by a sense of personal injurycame to a head, and he exploded:
Look here, Lizzie Porter! I know all about you. You neednt think youre goin to cotton on with me any more after this! I wouldnt be seen in a paddock with yer! Im satisfied about you! Get on out of this!
The girl stared at him for a moment thunderstruck; then she lammed into the old horse with a stick she carried in place of a whip.
She cried, and wondered what shed done, and trembled so that she could scarcely unharness the horse, and wondered if Andy had got a touch of the sun, and went in and sat down and cried again; and pride came to her aid and she hated Andy; thought of her big brother, away droving, and made a cup of tea. She shed tears over the tea, and went through it all again.
Meanwhile Andy was suffering a reaction. He started to fill the hole before he put the post in; then to ram the post before the rails were in position. Dubbing off the ends of the rails, he was in danger of amputating a toe or a foot with every stroke of the adze. And, at last, trying to squint along the little lumps of clay which he had placed in the centre of the top of each post for several panels backto assist him to take a line he found that they swam and doubled, and ran off in watery angles, for his eyes were too moist to see straight and single.
Then he threw down the tools hopelessly, and was standing helplessly undecided whether to go home or go down to the creek and drown himself, when Dave turned up again.
Seen her? asked Dave.
Yes, said Andy.
Did you chuck her?
Look here, Dave; are you sure the feller was Mick Kelly?
I never said I was. How was I to know? It was dark. You dont expect Id fox a feller I see doing a bit of a bear-up to a girl, do you? It might have been you, for all I knowed. I suppose shes been talking you round?
No, she aint, said Andy. But, look here, Dave; I was properly gone on that girl, I was, andand I want to be sure Im right.
The business was getting altogether too psychological for Dave Bentley. You might as well, he rapped out, call me a liar at once!
Taint that at all, Dave. I want to get at who the feller is; thats what I want to get at now. Where did you see them, and when?
I seen them Anniversary night, along the road, near Ross farm; and I seen em Sunday night afore thatin the trees near the old culvert near Porters sliprails; and I seen em one night outside Porters, on a log near the woodheap. They was thick that time, and bearin up proper, and no mistake. So I can swear to her. Now, are you satisfied about her?
But Andy was wildly pitchforking his thatch under his hat with all ten fingers and staring at Dave, who began to regard him uneasily; then there came to Andys eyes an awful glare, which caused Dave to step back hastily.
Good God, Andy! Are yer goin ratty?
No! cried Andy, wildly.
Then what the blazes is the matter with you? Youll have rats if you dont look out!
Jimminy froth!It was me all the time!
What?
It was me that was with her all them nights. It was me that you seen. Why, I popped on the woodheap!
Dave was taken too suddenly to whistle this time.
And you went for her just now?
Yes! yelled Andy.
Wellyouve done it!
Yes, said Andy, hopelessly; Ive done it!
Dave whistled nowa very long, low whistle. Well, youre a bloomin goat, Andy, after this. But this thingll have to be fixed up! and he cantered away. Poor Andy was too badly knocked to notice the abruptness of Daves departure, or to see that he turned through the sliprails on to the track that led to Porters.
Half an hour later Andy appeared at Porters back door, with an expression on his face as though the funeral was to start in ten minutes. In a tone befitting such an occasion, he wanted to see Lizzie.
Dave had been there with the laudable determination of fixing the business up, and had, of course, succeeded in making it much worse than it was before. But Andy made it all right.