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For a moment the bushmen bent over their plates, intent on peaches and cream; but there is a limit to even a bushman's dignity, and with a choking gulp Mac exploded, and Brown of the Bulls joining in with a roar dragged down the Maluka's self-control; and as Cheon reiterated: "What name all about laugh, missus," chuckled in sympathy himself.
As for ourselves, I doubt if we ever enjoyed anything better. A simple thing, perhaps, to amuse grown-up white folk a fat, perspiring Chinaman, and eight or ten lubras chivying fowls; but it is this enjoyment of simple things that makes life in the Never-Never all it is. Busy as he was, Cheon found time to take the missus also under his ample wing, and protect her from everything even herself.
And as the fence grew, Dan lent a hand here and there, the rejected and the staff indulged in glorious washing-days among the lilies of the Reach; Cheon haunted the vegetable patch like a disconsolate ghost; while Billy Muck, the rainmaker, hovered bat-like over his melons, lending a hand also with the fence when called upon.
Happy Dick gone, Cheon turned his attention to the health of the missus; but Dan, persuading the Maluka that "all she needed was a breath of fresh air," we went bush on a tour of inspection. Within a week we returned to the homestead, and for twenty-four hours Cheon gloated over us, preparing every delicacy that appealed to him as an antidote to an outbush course of beef and damper.
Nothing was amiss now but Dan's non-appearance; and the egg-beater whirring merrily on, by Christmas Eve, the Dandy and Jack, coming in with wild duck for breakfast and the Vealer, found the kitchen full of triumphs and Cheon wrestling with an immense pudding. "Four dozen egg sit down," he chuckled, beating at the mixture.
Then, as Cheon gravely measured his inches with his eye, a burly chuckle shook the boss drover's great frame as he repeated: "Just as many as you think I can hold," adding in half apology: "been away from women and vegetables for fifteen months." "That's nothing," we told him, quoting the man from Beyanst, but hopeful to find the woman placed first.
"Um," he murmured absently, and that clinched the matter for all time. "Boss bin talk silly fellow" Cheon said, with an approving nod toward the Maluka, and advised packing the candlestick away again. "Plenty room sit down longa box," he said, truthfully enough, putting it into an enormous empty trunk and closing the lid, leaving the candlestick a piece of lonely splendour hidden under a bushel.
And as Cheon gurgled, and spluttered, and shook, the homestead rocked with yells of delight, while Brown of the Bulls rolled and writhed in a canvas lounge, gasping between his shouts: "Oh, chase him away, somebody; cover him up. Where did you catch him?" Finally Cheon scrambled to his feet, and, perspiring and exhausted, presented the bottle to the Maluka.
If any woman would experience real pleasure, let her pack all her belongings into trunks all but a couple of changes of everything and go away out-bush, leaving them to follow "after the Wet" per bullock waggon, and when the reunion takes place the pleasure will be forthcoming. If she can find a Cheon to be present at the reunion, so much the better.
The Territory is hardly an earthly paradise just before the showers. Still, Cheon did all he could to make things pleasanter, regaling all daily on hop-beer, and all who came in were sure of a welcome from him Dan invariably inspiring him with that ever fresh little joke of his when announcing afternoon tea to the quarters.
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