"The boys couldn't find the horses," put in Mrs. Mears.
"Johnny was just going down the gully again."
He gave her a grateful look, and felt a strange, new thrill of admiration
for his wife.
"And -- there's a bottle of the best put by for you, Johnny,"
added Pat McDurmer, mistaking Johnny's silence; "and we'll call it
thirty bob!" (Johnny's ideas were coming slowly again,
after the recent rush.) "Or -- two quid! -- there you are!"
"I don't want two quid, nor one either, for taking my wife to a dance
on New Year's Night!" said Johnny Mears. "Run and put on
your best bib and tucker, Mary."
And she hurried to dress as eager and excited, and smiling to herself
as girlishly as she had done on such occasions on evenings
before the bright New Year's Night twenty years ago.
--
For a related story, see "A Bush Dance", in "Joe Wilson and His Mates".
-- A. L., 1998.
--
Black Joe
They called him Black Joe, and me White Joe, by way of distinction
and for the convenience of his boss (my uncle), and my aunt, and mother;
so, when we heard the cry of "Bla-a-ack Joe!" (the adjective drawn out
until it became a screech, after several repetitions,
and the "Joe" short and sharp) coming across the flat in a woman's voice,
Joe knew that the missus wanted him at the house, to get wood or water,
or mind the baby, and he kept carefully out of sight; he went at once
when uncle called. And when we heard the cry of "Wh-i-i-te Joe!" which we did
with difficulty and after several tries -- though Black Joe's ears
were of the keenest -- we knew that I was overdue at home,
or absent without leave, and was probably in for a warming,
as the old folk called it.
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