A Colonial Reformer, Vol. 1 (of 3)Boldrewood, Rolf
History
A Colonial Reformer, Vol. 1 (of 3)
Boldrewood, Rolf
Australia -- History -- 19th century -- Fiction
So irresistible was Mr. Selmore, that Ernest felt absolutely carried
away by the stream of his decided manner, his good stories, his
pleasant sarcasms, his foreign reminiscences, and his racy description
of Australian bush-life (he owned several stations, it would seem,
himself). So it was natural that after a bottle of hock, of a rare
vintage, ordered in honour of their auspicious meeting, that he should
confide to Mr. Selmore his plans of life, his leading ideas, and the
amount of capital which he was free to invest in some description of
landed property.
After they had compressed more droll, confidential, and semi-practical
talk into a couple of hours than would have served for a week on
board ship, Mr. Selmore proposed a stroll down the street towards the
public gardens, which he thought his young friend would find novel and
interesting.
As they lounged down the principal street Ernest was struck with
the change in the appearance of the crowd which thronged one side
of the footway, between the bisecting cross-streets. The hard and
anxious faces of the world’s workers which had filled the pavement in
the morning had vanished, and in their stead were the flowerets of
fashion, the gilded youth of the land, the butterflies of society, the
fair faces of daintily attired girls, the unworn features of those
ornamental human types which comprise no toilers, whatever may be the
proportion of spinsters.
Mr. Neuchamp, whose sensitive organisation was still more highly
attuned by the voyage, gazed with much interest upon this novel
presentment. Again he could not help asking himself, ‘Have I really
left Britain? Is this a colony, or a magically sliced-off section of
London life? The swells are identical to the turn of a moustache, or
the set of a collar. That girl’s bonnet has not been two months from
Paris, for I saw the fellow of it, which had only that day arrived, on
Cousin Amy’s head the week I left home. Allah is great! Have I come to
reform these people? However, this is only the city. All cities are
alike, except, perhaps, Tangiers and Philadelphia. Wait till I get
fairly into the bush!’
Thus, looking with pleased eyes and wondering mind, Mr. Neuchamp hardly
noticed that his companion, as he swaggered easily along, seemed to
know and be known of every one. He, however, did not care to stop to
speak to his numerous friends. As they passed on, some of them, Ernest
commenced to observe, regarded Mr. Selmore and himself with an amused
expression. Keenly alive to colonial criticism, though proposing to
pour so many vials of the British article upon the heads of these
unsuspecting Arcadians, he noted more closely the manner and bearing
of the still undiminished number of the ‘friends of his friend’ whom
they encountered. It might have been fancy, but he thought that he saw
a keen glance, in some instances not altogether of mirth, bestowed upon
himself.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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