My Brilliant Careerchaptre15文档格式.docx

1、 Oh! oh! Mell die. Boo, hoo. The pain, the pain! Boo, hoo!”“Come, come, now. Daddys little mate isnt going to turn Turk like that, is she? Ill put some fat out of the dinner-bag on it, and tie it up in my hanky. Dont cry any more now. Hush, you must not cry! Youll make old Dart buck if you kick up a

2、 row like that.”That is my first recollection of life. I was barely three. I can remember the majestic gum-trees surrounding us, the sun glinting on their straight white trunks, and falling on the gurgling fern-banked stream, which disappeared beneath a steep scrubby hill on our left. It was an hour

3、 past noon on a long clear summer day. We were on a distant part of the run, where my father had come to deposit salt. He had left home early in the dewy morning, carrying me in front of him on a little brown pillow which my mother had made for the purpose. We had put the lumps of rock-salt in the t

4、roughs on the other side of the creek. The stringybark roof of the salt-shed which protected the troughs from rain peeped out picturesquely from the musk and peppercorn shrubs by which it was densely surrounded, and was visible from where we lunched. I refilled the quart-pot in which we had boiled o

5、ur tea with water from the creek, father doused our fire out with it, and then tied the quart to the D of his saddle with a piece of green hide. The green-hide bags in which the salt had been carried were hanging on the hooks of the pack-saddle which encumbered the bay pack-horse. Fathers saddle and

6、 the brown pillow were on Dart, the big grey horse on which he generally carried me, and we were on the point of making tracks for home.Preparatory to starting, father was muzzling the dogs which had just finished what lunch we had left. This process, to which the dogs strongly objected, was rendere

7、d necessary by a cogent reason. Father had brought his strychnine flask with him that day, and in hopes of causing the death of a few dingoes, had put strong doses of its contents in several dead beasts which we had come across.Whilst the dogs were being muzzled, I busied myself in plucking ferns an

8、d flowers. This disturbed a big black snake which was curled at the butt of a tree fern.“Bitey! bitey!” I yelled, and father came to my rescue, despatching the reptile with his stock-whip. He had been smoking, and dropped his pipe on the ferns. I picked it up, and the glowing embers which fell from

9、it burnt my dirty little fat fists. Hence the noise with which my story commences.In all probability it was the burning of my fingers which so indelibly impressed the incident on my infantile mind. My father was accustomed to take me with him, but that is the only jaunt at that date which I remember

10、, and that is all I remember of it. We were twelve miles from home, but how we reached there I do not know.My father was a swell in those days held Bruggabrong, Bin Bin East, and Bin Bin West, which three stations totalled close on 200,000 acres. Father was admitted into swelldom merely by right of

11、his position. His pedigree included nothing beyond a grandfather. My mother, however, was a full-fledged aristocrat. She was one of the Bossiers of Caddagat, who numbered among their ancestry one of the depraved old pirates who pillaged England with William the Conqueror.“Dick” Melvyn was as renowne

12、d for hospitality as joviality, and our comfortable, wide-verandaed, irregularly built, slab house in its sheltered nook amid the Timlinbilly Ranges was ever full to overflowing. Doctors, lawyers, squatters, commercial travellers, bankers, journalists, tourists, and men of all kinds and classes crow

13、ded our well-spread board; but seldom a female face, except mothers, was to be seen there, Bruggabrong being a very out-of-the-way place.I was both the terror and the amusement of the station. Old boundary-riders and drovers inquire after me with interest to this day.I knew everyones business, and w

14、as ever in danger of publishing it at an inopportune moment.In flowery language, selected from slang used by the station hands, and long words picked up from our visitors, I propounded unanswerable questions which brought blushes to the cheeks of even tough old wine-bibbers.Nothing would induce me t

15、o show more respect to an appraiser of the runs than to a boundary-rider, or to a clergyman than a drover. I am the same to this day. My organ of veneration must be flatter than a pancake, because to venerate a person simply for his position I never did or will. To me the Prince of Wales will be no

16、more than a shearer, unless when I meet him he displays some personality apart from his princeship otherwise he can go hang.Authentic record of the date when first I had a horse to myself has not been kept, but it must have been early, as at eight I was fit to ride anything on the place. Side-saddle

17、, man-saddle, no-saddle, or astride were all the same to me. I rode among the musterers as gamely as any of the big sunburnt bushmen.My mother remonstrated, opined I would be a great unwomanly tomboy. My father poohed the idea.“Let her alone, Lucy,” he said, “let her alone. The rubbishing convention

18、alities which are the curse of her sex will bother her soon enough. Let her alone!So, smiling and saying, “She should have been a boy,” my mother let me alone, and I rode, and in comparison to my size made as much noise with my stock-whip as any one. Accidents had no power over me, I came unscathed

19、out of droves of them.Fear I knew not. Did a drunken tramp happen to kick up a row, I was always the first to confront him, and, from my majestic and roly-poly height of two feet six inches, demand what he wanted.A digging started near us and was worked by a score of two dark-browed sons of Italy. T

20、hey made mother nervous, and she averred they were not to be trusted, but I liked and trusted them. They carried me on their broad shoulders, stuffed me with lollies and made a general pet of me. Without the quiver of a nerve I swung down their deepest shafts in the big bucket on the end of a rope a

21、ttached to a rough windlass, which brought up the miners and the mullock.My brothers and sisters contracted mumps, measles, scarlatina, and whooping-cough. I rolled in the bed with them yet came off scot-free. I romped with dogs, climbed trees after birds nests, drove the bullocks in the dray, under

22、 the instructions of Ben, our bullocky, and always accompanied my father when he went swimming in the clear, mountain, shrub-lined stream which ran deep and lone among the weird gullies, thickly carpeted with maidenhair and numberless other species of ferns.My mother shook her head over me and tremb

23、led for my future, but father seemed to consider me nothing unusual. He was my hero, confidant, encyclopedia, mate, and even my religion till I was ten. Since then I have been religionless.Richard Melvyn, you were a fine fellow in those days! A kind and indulgent parent, a chivalrous husband, a capi

24、tal host, a man full of ambition and gentlemanliness.Amid these scenes, and the refinements and pleasures of Caddagat, which lies a hundred miles or so farther Riverinawards, I spent the first years of my childhood.Chapter2I was nearly nine summers old when my father conceived the idea that he was w

25、asting his talents by keeping them rolled up in the small napkin of an out-of-the-way place like Bruggabrong and the Bin Bin stations. Therefore he determined to take up his residence in a locality where he would have more scope for his ability.When giving his reason for moving to my mother, he put

26、the matter before her thus: The price of cattle and horses had fallen so of late years that it was impossible to make much of a living by breeding them. Sheep were the only profitable article to have nowadays, and it would be impossible to run them on Bruggabrong or either of the Bin Bins. The dingo

27、es would work havoc among them in no time, and what they left the duffers would soon dispose of. As for bringing police into the matter, it would be worse than useless. They could not run the offenders to earth, and their efforts to do so would bring down upon their employer the wrath of the duffers

28、. Result, all the fences on the station would be fired for a dead certainty, and the destruction of more than a hundred miles of heavy log fencing on rough country like Bruggabrong was no picnic to contemplate.This was the feasible light in which father shaded his desire to leave. The fact of the ma

29、tter was that the heartless harridan, discontent, had laid her claw-like hand upon him. His guests were ever assuring him he was buried and wasted in Timlinbillys gullies. A man of his intelligence, coupled with his wonderful experience among stock, would, they averred, make a name and fortune for h

30、imself dealing or auctioneering if he only liked to try. Richard Melvyn began to think so too, and desired to try. He did try.He gave up Bruggabrong, Bin Bin East and Bin Bin West, bought Possum Gully, a small farm of one thousand acres, and brought us all to live near Goulburn. Here we arrived one

31、autumn afternoon. Father, mother, and children packed in the buggy, myself, and the one servant-girl, who had accompanied us, on horseback. The one man father had retained in his service was awaiting our arrival. He had preceded us with a bullock-drayload of furniture and belongings, which was all f

32、ather had retained of his household property. Just sufficient for us to get along with, until he had time to settle and purchase more, he said. That was ten years ago, and that is the only furniture we possess yet just enough to get along with.My first impression of Possum Gully was bitter disappointment an impression which time has failed to soften or wipe away.How flat, common, and monotonous the scenery appeared after the rugged peaks of the Timlinbilly Range!Our new house was a ten-roomed wood