Chapter IX.
Peter in the Breakers.

Since arriving in the metropolis the family had witnessed many scenes and sights that had filled them with wonder and surprise, but when they stepped from the jangling tram-car to the great sand beach by the sea and beheld the mixed mass of humorously-clad humanity plunging and flopping in the roaring, rolling breakers, the limit was reached.

“Dear, oh dear! oh dear!” Mrs. Dashwood gasped, “just look at the women!”

Polly and Tilly giggled. Old John and James and Peter stared hard, then burst into laughter.

So that visitors might study and enjoy the awful sights that rolled and stalked about the sand an enterprising management had furnished the beach with chairs at a penny a time. Old John took ten pennorth of chairs, and secured positions of advantage in the front row. Then the eyes of the family began to roam over the scene before them.

And such a scene! Such a display of bare arms, bare necks, bare legs! Such a hideous exhibition of ill-shaped humanity! Such clumsy, clothes-bag corporations! Such crooked trunks and winding limbs! Such a galaxy of fat, flabby women of forty! Such a multitude of thin, skinny women of fifteen and fifty! And such odd women, with no chests, and legs rolling with fat to the ankles! Verily it was a great sight, worthy of a great city. It seemed as though nature were out for the day, as though she were holding a grand parade, a parade of all her best jokes, her most humorous works of art!

And as the mellow, moaning breakers rolled in on the heels of each other, flinging and flashing flakes of froth and foam before them, the bathers were tossed sportively about on the crests like so many scraps of cork.

Now and again a large female would be lifted off her legs and thrown into the arms of some frail, bald-headed old fool, who, in his excitement, had forgotten to remove his spectacles when undressing, and together they would turn turtle to the great delight of the spectators.

A broad-backed man, with a heavy stomach and bow legs, arrayed in a suggestion of blue short pants and a handkerchief, crawled out of the water and stood with his back obscuring the view of our friends. There was sand in his hair and his ears. The salt water trickling down his hairy back dripped off him on to the sand. The Dashwoods looked at each other, then blushed and laughed. This man was the mayor of the great city, but he might just as well have been one of the council cart-horses for all the notice that was taken of him.

Mrs. Dashwood voiced a desire to return to the city; but old John opposed the proposition. Old John was beginning to see the fun of surf-bathing. So was Peter.

“By Jove, I don’t know,” Peter said enthusiastically, “I wouldn’t mind having a dip in it. Will you come in, father?”

“Go on with you, boy!” Mrs. Dashwood interposed, “your father would never be so stupid.”

“Well, now, Ah bain’t be sure,” old John put in, with a short laugh. “Everyone be agoin’ in, an’ Ah thenks it’s good for yow.”

Tilly took alarm.

“Oh, father’s going in, too!” she said to Polly, with a look of horror.

“He’s not!” sceptically from Polly. Polly was sure her parent would never do anything that would lower the family pride.

“Well, only for the baby,” Maria said bluntly, “I’d go in myself. I don’t see where the harm comes in so long as you have got something on.”

At this Polly and Tilly tittered, and Mrs. Dashwood said: “Maria!”

But Maria was prepared to argue the matter.

“Now, what’s wrong about it?” she insisted, turning to her mother.

“There bain’t be nothin’,” old John put in, “an’ Ah’ll go wi’ yow, lad,” he added, addressing Peter.

Peter jumped at the suggestion.

“Come on, then, father,” he said, and off they went to join the throng of fresh arrivals that were crowding into the paling yards which served for dressing-rooms.

They were absent for quite a while.

At intervals Mrs. Dashwood and the girls would glance nervously around to see if old John really meant to join the surf-bathers.

Eventually old John and Peter appeared, garbed like a pair of circus clowns. Stepping tenderly over the pebbles in their bare feet they advanced to the water’s edge. Old John, with his ponderous corporation covered with red, his long, hairy arms dangling about, and his long feet poking out before him, formed an interesting addition to the many humorous surf sights. Peter, in blue pants that were mostly trunk, might, at a distance, have passed for a girl.

At sight of them Mrs. Dashwood felt the family virtue had gone for ever.

“I never thought they could be such fools!” she moaned plaintively.

“I don’t think they’re fools!” Maria growled stubbornly. “Do you, James?” she asked of her staid brother.

But James didn’t know what to think. He could only stare and chuckle.

“Good gracious me!” Tilly murmured, as she felt cause for fresh alarm, “I do hope they won’t come over here, near us.”

“Well, I won’t stay if they do,” and Polly glanced along the crowded beach.

Old John and Peter took boldly to the water. They paddled through the shallow parts, one behind the other, like King Sandy and his gin out ration-hunting. The tail-end of a wave flew up at their heads. It was a cold tail-end. They gasped, and laughed and pranced about. They waded further, until the water rose above their knees, then anchored awhile. And while Peter scooped up fistsful of brine to wet his head as a protection again sunstroke, old John gave his whiskers a drenching, and adjusted his red garment, which showed an inclination to part company with him. Both looked back at their friends on shore and waved.

“Don’t notice them!” Mrs. Dashwood advised.

“Pretend you don’t see them!” Tilly added.

But Maria’s heart was with the surf-bathers. She took out her handkerchief and waved back, and waved again, until the front seats resembled a flag station. Then, elevating her infant in her arms, she called upon it to gaze afar out upon “grandfather.” People sitting near her smiled and turned their eyes upon the attractive form of old John.

Old John and Peter ventured some more. The water was now up to their waist. A great wave came breaking in, bearing back to shore scores of bathers on its bosom. Quite a column of them were shooting straight for old John. John saw the breaker coming. He put out his chest and stood to it bravely. The breaker struck him, and the head of a flying female struck him too. It bunted him in the stomach and knocked him back. Like a sunken ship old John went down in three feet of water. At the same time, though, his hands went out like grappling-irons. They gripped the offending female and dragged her under also. Then for a moment two pairs of unevenly balanced legs were seen walloping the surface water into foam and fury, just as though two monsters of the deep were there engaged in deadly combat. The half-smothered female came to the surface first, and, with a gurgle and a splutter and an hysterical squeal, floundered off in pursuit of her friends. Then up rose old John like a whale, and, discharging quite a cargo of salt water, dragged at his whiskers and joyfully roared his appreciation of the rough-and-tumble. The spectators joined with him in his merriment. The more they saw of old John the more they enjoyed him, and so as no mistakes would be made when they were pointing him out to each other they designated him “whiskers” and “old red-skin.” Some others who had overheard Maria familiarly referred to him as “grandfather.”

At intervals Polly and Tilly would glance round to see what like those people were who would make their parent a butt for jokes. In fact, they became very uneasy, and as a way out of the predicament Tilly suggested they all take a walk along the beach. But receiving no encouragement from the others she contented herself through the few remaining miserable moments by prodding the sand at her feet with the point of her parasol.

Encouraged by the example of experienced bathers around him, Peter set his mind upon swimming out to meet the breakers. He swam out. In fresh water creeks Peter was a fair swimmer; amongst the breakers, of course, he was a fool. Peter swam out further than the boldest of them. Then he attracted notice. A chorus of voices called warningly to him. He rounded and turned his head for shore again. Then suddenly something went wrong. He struggled, and splashed, but made no headway. He lost ground. The angry sea was carrying him out, bearing him off another victim! Peter yelled. A hundred others yelled. All hit out hurriedly for shore till all that could be seen in the surf was Peter’s black head bobbing about afar out. The alarm went up and down the beach. Everyone rushed to the same spot, and the crowd thickened and thickened. The spectators stood upon the chairs.

“It’s Peter!” Tilly shrieked.

“Oh, my God!” and Mrs. Dashwood fainted into the arms of James. Then lusty cries of “Marcee! Marcee!” rang out, and were echoed all around. The stalwart, sinewy, scarred form of the hero of a hundred rescues, life-line in hand, eyes open wide, nostrils distended, raced from the dressing-room and took to the water. The crowd watched silently, breathlessly. Out forged Marcee, arm over arm. Nearer and nearer he drew to Peter. Still not a murmur from the multitude on the beach. The dropping of a pin on the sand would have made a big dint in the silence. Then, like a clap of thunder the break came. “He’s got him!” burst on the air like the belching of twenty thousand guns. For just a moment Marcee and Peter seemed to grapple with each other. Then the iron-like fist of Marcee was uplifted and Peter received the punch of his life on the head.

“It was to stun him so as he wouldn’t hold me!” Marcee explained afterwards.

When Peter came to again he was lying in a hotel by the beach, and a doctor in bathing costume, and the whole family and a number of sympathetic old women, were watching over him.

“Why—what th’ deuce are you all doing, eh? Is it dinner-time? What?” and Peter stared strangely about.

Then Mrs. Dashwood fell on his neck and shed tears all over him and called him her “darling boy.”

Old John, who had been bellowing like a pen of bull calves, threw his arms round the doctor.

“He’ll be all right now,” the latter said, with a smile, and went off to the beach again.

Chapter X.
Home Again.

A fortnight since the family, weary and dusty, with all the parcels, bundles and battered baggage, arrived home at the farm. A fortnight! And that holiday still fresh and green and going strong! The trip to the city was thought of, talked of, laughed over, morning, noon and night. Incidents were recalled, re-enacted and served up at breakfast, dinner and tea. Friends who called at the home to welcome the family back were treated to the minutest detail of the things that happened. They heard it all from Mrs. Dashwood, from Tilly and Polly and from old John; heard it from them severally; heard it from them jointly; heard it from them backwards; heard it from them frontwards; heard it from them endwards and sidewards. It was a great holiday—the greatest of all holidays—that holiday of the Dashwoods. It was excelled only, if excelled at all, by Noah and his ark and all his animals.

But the trip did the family some visible good. It worked wonders in their methods, and gave a universal aspect to their outlook.

And upon none was the influence more marked than upon Peter. Peter showed reform in his very walk, in the cut of his hair, in the shape of his boots, in the odour and quality of his pocket handkerchiefs, and in the wonderful variety of tooth-brushes and razors that now adorned his bedroom. But it was the distinct and complete change in his studious pursuits that rendered the reformation of Peter complete. Ambition set in strong upon him. He hungered for fame. In his heart he secretly longed to do something that would put all the great minds of the world in the shade.

Peter turned his attention to invention.

Once, for about six months, while it was new, Peter rode a bicycle with tremendous enthusiasm, but, tiring of the toy, which cost old John fifteen guineas, discarded it in favour of a mule that arrived on the farm, and hung the wheels up on the walls of the barn to harbour vermin.

Peter’s attention now reverted to that bicycle. Acting upon an inspiration which came to him in the city, he locked himself in the barn along with that bicycle and worked hard and mysteriously upon it for many weeks. But what service it was that Peter hoped to render humanity and the world per medium of said bike no one had any idea. Whether he had any himself or not remains to be seen.

“Goodness only knows,” James sniggered, in answer to his sisters one day upon the matter, “I don’t think he knows himself. A new sort of life buoy, perhaps, to take with him the next time he goes for a swim in the breakers!”

The peals of laughter that came from the sisters reached the ears of Peter. He threw open the door of the barn and thrusting out his head enquired the cause of their mirth.

“Oh, something good, Peter!” from Tilly.

“They’re laughing at this invention of yours,” James said, with a grin.

“By Jove, then,” Peter answered, in a self-satisfied sort of way, “it’s all right. It’s finished now, and I’m just going out to give her a trial!”

The girls threatened to go off their heads with joy. They ran inside for their hats, and loudly proclaimed Peter’s announcement to their parents. “The great invention is finished!” they cried. “Come and see it working.”

The parents, grinning broadly, came and saw.

Old McMurdy and his wife, passing in a sulky, pulled up at James’s invitation and waited near the gate to witness the unveiling of the miracle.

They hadn’t long to wait. The barn door opened wide again and Peter, with the bicycle rigged in full canvas like a sailing boat, appeared.

His appearance was greeted with loud merriment.

But the mirth didn’t disconcert Peter.

“Wait till you see her going!” he said, with a grin.

James, who had laughed least of any, suddenly evinced an interest in the invention. He stepped forward and held its head while Peter re-adjusted the setting and rigging.

When a number of small things were attended to Peter mounted, and, seating himself somewhere between the lower topsail and the flying jib, invited James to give the brig a shove off. James shoved her, and Peter, grinning, peddled cautiously to keep her balanced. Suddenly a gust of wind came up and, catching in the topmast staysail, the craft made a lurch to leave port per the open gate-way.

“Hah! hah! hah! h——” roared old McMurdy from the seat of the sulky, but his mirth was short-lived. It was the first time his sulky horse had set eyes on a sailing craft, and it reared, then flew round and bolted up the road as though suddenly possessed of several devils.

When the brig cleared port and arrived in the middle of the road-way it stopped and languished for want of wind. The sails started to flap uselessly, and Peter had to pedal hard to keep her afloat.

Fresh merriment and jeers came from the family. But Peter propelled assiduously with his feet, and worked his passage for about fifty yards. Then a change came over the weather conditions. Up sprang a breeze with some life and devil in it. It filled the flapping sails till they looked like balloons, and hurried the barque off up the road at full speed. Peter’s bosom filled with joy. He felt he had achieved a triumph. He was sure he had conquered the world. Raising his legs he rested them on the handle-bars as he whirled along. Peter believed in taking success calmly and contentedly. Talk about ploughing the deep and the main! Peter was ploughing the main stock route.

As she glided and wobbled along, the craft looked a strange quadruped.

Terence Blaises, a Justice of the Peace, who had just turned in at his slip-rails, with a cart of empty milk-cans from the factory, observed the strange white object floating calmly up over the horizon. Terence put up the rails and, leaning both arms on them, waited wonderingly.

“Now, what th’ divil is it at all?” he murmured, as the brig came rattling and “swishing” along in the wind. But the banging of milk-cans in the rear caused Terence to jump round quickly and shout: “Woa, boy! woa!” The horse didn’t “woa” worth considering. It flashed its glaring mongrel eye upon the craft, then off, knocking down trees and throwing empty milk-cans at the clouds. Terence pursued him till he fell over a milk-can, and gave up. He looked back pathetically at the sailing craft. The sails dipped and ducked as though saluting Terence in passing, but further than that no communication passed between him and Peter.

Successfully negotiating a corner in the road without going to pieces, Peter set sail for the township. The township was situated in the middle of a great plain. It sat, simmering there like a steak on a grid-iron. The road to it was level, and as good as could be expected from the average Australian Shire Council. There were numerous deformities along it, of course, many of which bore evidence of the Council’s intention to wipe them out some day. In fact, like the road to hell, the township road was paved with good intentions.

A fair wind and a nowing sail drove the barque over the rolling plain in gallant style.

A mile or so ahead a hooded gig, drawn by a sleepy rheumatic steed, hove in sight. It was the township lawyer making for his branch office, the local store at the next railway station, where, amongst the rock-salt and empty crockery cases, as per advertisement in the Settler, he journeyed bi-weekly to consult with farmers and dairymen having grievances, and to lead them into trials and tribulation for a modest fee. A few moments more and the distance between the brig and the gig was reduced to chains. Then the sleepy, rheumatic steed, suddenly waking up, stopped dead and stared like a brumby for the first time looking at a wind-mill. The craft came on like a great white eagle. The township lawyer, to satisfy himself it was not a hallucination, popped on his gold-rim glasses and eyed the advancing brig closely. He gave a short chuckle. He raised a hand and was about to hail the captain to enquire the name of the vessel when that rheumatic steed gave one decisive snort, and, swinging round, flew like the wind for the township. The lawyer’s hat came off and flew out the back way; then his glasses followed. The barque rode tranquilly over the lost apparel. For about a mile Peter kept just behind that flying quadruped; and whenever the lawyer got a pull on, and the animal seemed inclined to reason with the bit, the “swish” of the barque in the breeze would put fresh terror into the brute, and away he would go again.

“D—n you!” the lawyer shouted, but his blasphemy didn’t reach Peter. Then for fully three miles, until a cross road afforded a haven of safety, that lawyer was driven before Peter like Cain flying before Jehovah.

Having lost so much ground, the lawyer abandoned his mission and decided to return to the township, permitting his steed to jog along at a safe distance behind the offending craft.

With a full sail, and the mast dipping and bobbing as the brig rode over the hills and hollows in the ill-formed street, Peter started to enter the township. No band played; no chorus of voices sang the “Conquering ’Ero”; there was nothing to greet or cheer Peter. But there must have been as many as fifty horses standing calmly between the shafts of vehicles outside the shops, and as many more fastened to posts by their bridles. And Peter had not proceeded twenty yards along that street when there wasn’t an animal in sight. They all became obscured in a cloud of dust that was rolling out at the other end of the township. And all that was to be seen in the street was a mob of excited men and women, pieces of sulkies, broken lamp-posts and the maimed and mangled remains of a Councillor, whom the Shire Clerk and the newspaper editor were supporting in their arms.

“Don’t! Don’t hold her there!” Peter cried, when the rough hands of two furious policemen seized hold of the sails of his craft. “You’ll spoil her!”

“Phwat game is this?” yelled one of the bobbies, while the other, seizing hold of Peter, hissed: “Yis ’ll paay fer me mahn, if yis ever paid fer anythin’!”

Peter started to protest wildly. Peter was in trouble. But soon numbers of friends had gathered round him.

The township lawyer, having arrived in good time, pushed himself forward, and, planting a card in Peter’s hand, said:

“I’ve seen the whole thing; I’ll defend you.” Then the local representatives of six banks jostled with each other for possession of Peter’s ear.

“On deeds, or any security like that,” each of them said, “I can let you have whatever you want.”

“Deeds!” growled the police, “there is his deeds!” and they pointed scornfully to the maimed Councillor being borne off on a hurdle.

The End.


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