Chapter VII.
James and Peter attend Church.

Sunday.

Old John, Granny, Mrs. Dashwood and the girls had accepted an invitation to tea and to spend the evening in the suburbs. James and Peter were alone at the hotel. They moped about all the afternoon, and time hung heavily on their hands. After tea they retired to their room and moped more. For want of something better to do James turned his pockets out and counted his money.

“That’s all I’ve got left of my lot,” he said, producing a half sovereign and two sixpenny pieces.

Peter chuckled and said it was more than he had. “I’ve none at all,” he added, “unless I can get some more out of father!”

James doubted Peter’s chances of raising any more funds from his parent, giving as a reason, that “father was buying a traction engine to-morrow!”

“Well, lend us five bob of yours?” Peter said.

James smiled and returned the money to his pocket James had lent Peter “five bob” before.

They lay across their beds and stared at the ceiling. After a while James said:

“Suppose we go to church somewhere?”

“Anywhere you like,” Peter answered, with a chuckle, and off they went.

Out in the street James paused and said:

“Well, where are we going—to what church?”

“The Scotch church,” Peter answered. Peter had an idea that the Scotch church was better than other churches. Peter held curious ideas about churches.

“Well, it’s down this street and up the next,” James said, leading the way.

“Are you going to walk there?” Peter asked in surprise.

“And back, too,” James answered, “unless you’re going to pay for the tram.”

Peter laughed. He also walked.

Presently they were approaching the sacred edifice. They could see the lights in every window. The bell was tolling in their ears.

At the large gates guarding the entrance they paused a while and held a silent consultation.

“Well, what do you think?” James said. James’s spiritual courage was dwindling.

Peter glanced at the imposing-looking building and chuckled. “I dunno,” he answered, “perhaps we had better let it rip and come some other evening.”

James glanced wonderingly toward the open door, then up at the sky to see if there was any signs of rain. But it was a bright night, without a cloud in sight.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he drawled doubtfully, “perhaps we had better go in now that we’ve come so far.”

The last of the congregation passed in.

James and Peter sauntered closer to the door. They posted themselves, one each side it, and took observations. They could see the interior of the building ablaze with light. They could see the draped pulpit. They could see the great organ. They could see a sea of heads packed together, like sheep in a yard.

The last bell rang dolefully.

“Well,” James whispered, “what do y’ think?”

Peter thought the place was full.

James said he could see an empty seat “on the right.”

There was a brief silence.

“Well, you go first,” Peter suggested, “and I’ll follow. Ha! ha!”

“Sh-h-h!” from James. Peter’s mirth sounded like sacrilege to James.

Peter craned his neck to locate the empty seat that James had in view.

He drew back and said he “couldn’t see it,” but he “could see a Chinaman.”

James shook his fist threateningly at Peter.

“Well, go on,” Peter said, with a grin.

James almost took a step forward, but halted in the middle of it. Peter stifled a laugh. James scowled at him.

The organ started to play low and soft. James glanced wistfully back at the street, but only moths and night flies, fluttering round a dim gas-lamp, were there. Then he glanced interrogatingly at Peter. Peter glanced at James.

Suddenly the organ burst into loud thundering peals that startled them.

James couldn’t stand any more. He gripped his hat firmly in his fist and took the fatal step. In long, quick strides he set out for that empty seat. Peter started after him, taking even larger strides and tramping on James’s heels, and attracting the attention of the congregation Peter thought James would never arrive at that empty seat. It seemed more than a mile away. But James reached it at last and dropped with all his weight into it. Peter dropped on James. It was a swell seat, too—covered with a luxurious cushion. They both breathed hard, and stared silently and strangely about. On a card let into the cedar panel before them was the name of the Premier of the State. Their eyes rested on the name, then they looked meaningly at each other and thought hard. An ugly suspicion that they were trespassing crept all over them and made them go cold.

Several moments of heavy suspense passed. Then a venerable churchwarden glided down the aisle and hovered over them. His long, grey whiskers fell about their necks. They both thought their hour had come. The ancient warden whispered things to them through his hands, and pointed with his thumb to the rear of the church. But he might as well have talked to them on his fingers. They didn’t understand.

At last he gave them up and retired to consult with a brother official.

A broad man with a red face and a double chin and a heavy gold chain linked across his stomach, carrying a kid glove and a walking stick in his hand, closely followed by a tall lady, covered with finery and perfume, paused at the seat James and Peter had “jumped,” and glared at them. It was a trying moment for James and Peter. They “shoved up,” and crouched together till they resembled compressed fodder. The lady clutched her skirts in her hand and hesitatingly sat down beside Peter. The burly Premier, glaring at the occupants of his “reserved” seat, sat with a series of grunts.

The lady opened a large fan and talked behind the battlements of it to her Premier husband.

James and Peter heard her say: “Outrageous!” and “all sorts of people!” and it made them feel faint.

A moment later the parson appeared, and the service commenced. It commenced with a hymn. The congregation stood to it. So did James and Peter—stood like fools, for they were unprovided with “hymnaries.” Not that this made any difference to the singing. But in the absence of “Sankey” they felt that the eyes of the congregation were all upon them. Suddenly the gloved hand of a lady in the seat behind thrust an open book under their nose. Her thoughtfulness went near to ending their lives. That all the eyes of the congregation were upon them now they had no doubt. Peter wished James had been seized with appendicitis before he started to induce him to go to that church. James mechanically reached for the book, and holding it upside down, nudged Peter to join with him in song. Peter responded in a series of hysterical laughs, which were drowned by the voices around him. All the same that hymn-book helped them on a long way. It made them feel a little at home, and more like the rest of the congregation.

The parson rose and preached his sermon. It must have been a good sermon. No one disagreed with it. There was not a solitary dissenting voice. When he concluded his “third part” and sat down, a mild commotion set in away at the rear of the church. Several church officials left their places and moved about the aisles. The organ played again. James and Peter wondered what was going to happen. A coin dropped on the floor and rolled round on a solemn excursion of its own. Some more started to jingle in a plate; then they fell thicker and thicker. A collection! Peter’s heart gave a jump. He became uneasy. The Premier’s wife took out a purse and rattled the contents. Peter remembered seeing “escape door” printed up on the walls of the theatre. He looked round to see if there was one in the church. There wasn’t. By the ring of the silver Peter knew the plate was coming nearer and nearer. He began to perspire. James dug his hand down into his trouser pockets. Peter glanced pleadingly at him.

“I’ve two sixpences,” James whispered, and pressed his hand against Peter’s. Peter clutched at the proffered coin and nearly took a joint of one of James’s fingers with it.

The plate arrived. Peter planked his piece on top of the pile. It gave the man behind the plate a surprise. It gave Peter one, too; and it nearly took James’s breath away. It was a gold-piece—James’s only half sovereign.

The Premier and his wife seemed to take a different view of Peter. They looked as though they would be pleased to know him. Peter, himself, suddenly felt on an equality with them. He sat up straight, and his eyes gleamed with the light and consciousness of wealth and philanthropy. But James felt different to Peter. A heavy, sinking feeling seemed to come over him. His teeth rattled, and he dug his finger nails into Peter’s thigh. But Peter only listened to the organ.

The benediction pronounced, and the congregation rose and started to file out. James and Peter were almost last to leave.

At the door the man who took up the collection was waiting with beaming countenance. He shook hands with Peter, and enquired if he was a stranger. Peter said he was, and told him where he came from. The churchman said nothing to James.

He shook hands with Peter again, and hoped to see him become a regular attendant at the services. Peter smiled and hurried after James. They passed out the gate and walked through the streets for about a mile before James spoke.

At last he looked at Peter, and said:

“Of course I only lent you that half sovereign, remember!”

“Hah! hah! hah! Hah! hah! hah-h-h!” came loudly from Peter. And a solitary policeman standing on the opposite side of the street stared wonderingly across.

Chapter VIII.
In the Public Domain.

Sunday again. The whole family rambling through the great public park. Mrs. Dashwood and the girls in heaven amongst the panoply of flowers, ferns, artistic nooks, and bowers and shapely shaven lawns. They dragged old John here, there, and everywhere, around this bed, down that path, and from hill-top to water’s edge. They searched for historical spots and monuments, for sights they had heard others talk of, and for sights they had never heard of at all.

Peter and James struck out on their own account. Flowers and ferns, with a gloomy weather-worn old monument or two thrown in, were not in their line. They became interested in the forms and types of humanity that were around them. And such forms, such types! Verily, it were as though all the freaks and misfortunes of nature had been gathered together from all parts of the earth and emptied into that domain. The blind, the stunted, the lame, the halt, the limbless, the lungless, the hopeless, the homeless, all were in evidence there. On every hand, at every turn, they were crouched beneath the spreading trees, unnoticed by the hordes of leisure seekers, as unregarded by the world in general as though they had never lived.

Aged and decrepid pensioners hobbled feebly about on sticks; careless nurse-girls, with other peoples’ infants hanging anyhow in their arms, loitered around; girlish wives, with boyish husbands at their sides, pushed the precious first-born along in its new gorgeous perambulator; crowds of merry children, let loose for the day, romped riotously over everything. From improvised platforms stump-orators shouted themselves hoarse for the benefit of jeering, cheering crowds that out of curiosity assembled to hear their mouthsport. Cricket pitches, tennis courts, and bowling greens were in full play. And as interested spectators of the latter James and Peter, in the course of an hour or so, found themselves seated at the butt of a large shade tree.

The rinks were sprinkled with tottering old grey-beards and grandfathers, big-bingied, stiff-backed old fogies who did nothing all the week but smoke cigars and pose as “leading citizens.” There were a hundred or more of him in short sleeves and flannels, and a faithful portrait of any one of him would have been a valuable asset in the days of the humorous valentine.

What the game was all about or what constituted the skill of it or what didn’t, James and Peter hadn’t the remotest idea, but they saw great fun in it, and sometimes laughed till they nearly hurt themselves.

“Look, look at the old cove in the middle, with the braces; watch him!” Peter cried, tugging hysterically at James.

James fixed his gaze on that “old cove” and followed his movements closely.

The “old cove,” with one withered hand supporting the bowl, the other pressed against his left hip, bent down, carefully and cautiously, till he was almost sitting or lying on the lawn. A blatant, breathless sort of individual of the larrikin class, standing in the vicinity of James and Peter, groaned a loud, satirical groan, in the interests of the feeble bowler, that added to the enjoyment of our two friends. They turned their attention to the larrikin. Delighted to find he was affording amusement to some one he lifted his voice a note or two higher and called: “Now, then, Spofforth!”

The hoary bowler bent some more, and, satisfied that his feet had a grip of the earth, and that his sight was correct, slowly extended the bowl to arm’s length.

“Now, then! ah-h!” bellowed the larrikin, and James and Peter broke into fresh merriment.

But the warrior didn’t deliver the bowl just then; he drew his hand back again until the bowl touched his side, then once more he pushed it to arm’s length, and for several moments repeated these movements until he seemed to be imitating a man with a saw. Finally the bowl slid from his palm and started off on a peaceful rolling excursion down the rink. As it travelled the old cove’s arms went out each side of him, his chin went forward, his eyes started to jump out of his head. The bowl started to deviate to the right. The aged sportsman resorted to will-power to guide it. He hung over his left side and strained all his shrunken sinews to haul that bowl to leeward. Instead of responding the bowl started to show symptoms of spent energy before it had travelled half way down the rink. It got down to snail pace and began to flounder. The old cove worked his head and hands up and down like a pump and “hooshed” it. The bowl wobbled, then made one more revolution and stubbornly lay down on the green and sulked. The old cove spun stiffly round on one leg and, in a hollow, broken voice, shouted:

“Ech! damn it a’!”

“Hoh! hoh! hoh! Poor old Daddy Christmas!” cried the larrikin, sympathetically, and, swinging round, walked abruptly away. James and Peter, having had their fill of excitement, followed his example.

“Well, I dunno!” James murmured, coming to a standstill, after they had explored the great park from end to end, “but it beats me where they can have got to!”

Peter, with tears in his eyes, gazed about like one abandoned to the heartlessness of the cruel world, and whined: “I’d know them if I saw them, though, by Maria’s red dress!”

They moved on, and strolled round the base of a drowsy old monument that never got tired of standing in the one place on the brow of a hill. Numbers of people of all kinds were lounging round, reading newspapers and feasting on fruit in the vicinity of that monument. James and Peter scanned the faces of them all, but no! there was no father, no mother, no Polly, no Tilly amongst them!

They were in the act of abandoning the search and returning to the hotel when Peter’s eyes suddenly lit up like the morning star, and he uttered a short, happy laugh.

“There they are! Ha! ha!” he said, pointing to a red dress, amongst a number of others, on a long rustic seat, and off he scampered. James followed him slowly. James always took his joy calmly, and suppressed all symptoms of excitement. Besides, James wasn’t so confident about the discovery as Peter. But Peter’s assurance increased as the distance between himself and the objects of his sudden happiness was reduced. Once he glanced round to see if James was following, then raced on again.

The female in the red dress sat with her back to Peter, so did her companions. They were talking about the next Government House Ball, and the lady in red had just remarked that she “was afraid Sir Thomas would be leaving for Japan,” when Peter, stealing up on tip-toe, and smiling like a picture, blindfolded her with his hot, clammy hands, and held her back hair firmly against his manly bosom. The lady gasped and strained and tried to rise, but Peter had a firm grip of her. Her friends on either side turned their heads and glanced up curiously at Peter. Peter, still smiling, glanced down at them. But instead of encountering the eyes of Polly and Tilly he beheld the faces of two absolute strangers. Peter nearly dropped dead. He staggered back several yards. He was still staggering when the outraged one, finding her feet, demanded to know why “he dared lay hand on her?”

“Call a policeman, Lady Fitzsmith!” one of her companions, both of whom were now facing Peter, excitedly advised.

Peter didn’t wait for any more. He bolted, and didn’t draw breath or look round till he reached the iron gates opening on to the busy street. There he waited until James came up. James, who had also deemed it advisable to run, came up with perspiration and a scowl on his face.

“Well, you are an idiot of a fellow,” he said, “an awful d— idiot!”

Peter sparred for wind, then gasped:

“By—by Jove, I thought she was” (puff) “Maria, didn’t you?”