Ricky

by Sheila Hunter

  Tom objected though, saying. "Yer've no call to take on the likes o' me, matie. I kin manage."

  "Tom, you gave me shelter when I needed it badly and I am not going to refuse you. You just come on up and we'll take you home."

  "Well, matie, I'll come with you but I won't stay wiv yer. I ain't going to live on yer."

  "I'll tell you what, Tom. We've got a stable and two horses. We could make you comfortable there in the stable and you could have that."

  "A stable, eh?" said the old man wistfully. "Would yer do thet, matie? I miss me 'orses."

  "You come and see, Tom. You needn't stay if you don't want to." Ricky was sad to see his old friend so wobbly on his legs as he got into the vehicle. "When did you eat last, Tom?" he asked.

  "A while back, matie," came the reluctant reply.

  "You'll get a good meal tonight, Tom. Will here is a great cook."

  So another person joined the family. Will and Tad were quite dubious about taking him in, but Ricky had known that Tom wouldn't live in the house, for he had never lived anywhere but stables or the street. The boys settled him into the quarters at the stables and they dubbed him their groom. He ate with the boys but slept out with the horses and thought life was grand. He was able to cut the wood and do all sorts of jobs when his strength returned but spent most of his time keeping the sulky, and the gear and of course the horses in tip-top condition.

  John Landon had great pleasure in making himself responsible for Will. When the new shop was painted in the same cream colour of the other shop, he insisted that Will's studio be painted white so that there could be as much light as possible in there. He had picture rails put all round the room on two levels so that Will would have plenty of hanging space for his pictures. Will watched the proceeding with great interest and on the day he entered his new domain, finished and ready, he found two easels, a palette, a wonderful box of oil colours, canvas and stretchers, all the brushes he would ever need , knives, and palette knives and the other things a budding artist desires, like turpentine, varnish for finishes and even a few frames to hold against the finished product to get an idea of what they would be like. There were small tables, a few chairs and last of all a sofa to rest on when he wanted to sit and think. All he needed now was a teacher to tell him how to mix his paints and lay them on as thickly as he wanted to do. He found he could not keep his fingers off all his new treasures and was most anxious to begin his lessons.

  Patrick Thomas, the artist who was to teach Will his art, came as a rude shock to Will. He came home after his first lesson saying that he didn't know whether it would be worth it for a more insulting, rude man he had never come across.

  "If I hadn't seen some of his work while Mr Landon was talking to him, I wouldn't go back. But his paintings are really wonderful, so I suppose I'll have to put up with him. If I end up by painting like him, I daresay it will be worth it."

  "What are his paintings like, Will?" asked Ricky.

  "Just grand," answer Will. "I don't think I could explain, but I will show you, you just wait. I can see that he will teach me a lot, but I sure will have to take the insults with the lessons."

  "Why, what does he say?"

  "Well, he calls me 'limpy', for a start. He tells me I am not worth teaching and he said I am just a runt that no-one wants, and if he wasn't being paid for it he wouldn't give me house room."

  "I wouldn't take that from anyone, Will. Would you like me to deal with him?" asked Tad, ready to go to his brother's defense.

  Will laughed. "No, Tad, I'll fight my battles my own way. In any case there are two more learning from him, one told me that he is often like that and not to take any notice of him. They told me he is a very good teacher and to let it just go over my head, and I will."

  "Well you tell us if you can't take it, Will," said Ricky. "I won't have you put up with too much."

  They heard little about what Will had to take, but they saw plenty of the results of the lessons with Patrick Thomas. He became totally immersed in his painting. At times he even forgot to do his share of the housework. But what he produced was simply grand.

  One of the first series he did was those of the smithy that Mr Landon liked so much. John's remark about how much better they would be in oils was quite correct, the resultant four paintings were the best the young man had done up to that time. One day after they had dried and were framed, Will asked Ricky to help take them up to John Landon.

  On being invited into the man's office they set them up for him to see. The first one was, as they all were, quite dark but the light on the sweaty shoulders of the smith drew your eyes to that. The smith was standing at the anvil and was raising his hammer to strike a red-hot bar. The second one showed the smith at the forge. Beside him was his striker. The light shone on their faces and they looked down on the dull embers. The next showed the smith's boy pumping up the bellows to burn the coke at the forge. Sparks were showing up from the glow and the light shone on the boy's face. The last one showed the smith shoeing a horse. He had just placed a hot iron shoe onto the horse's hoof, the smoke coming off where the hot iron touched. The smith's bare back glistened in the filtering sunlight and the hind quarters of the big roan horse just showed in the sun through the door. The contrast of the sun on the horse, the filtered sun on the smith and the glow of the forge in the background was beautifully achieved.

  All John Landon could say was, "Oh, Will."

  Will smiled and said, "That's the first installment, Mr Landon. I did want you to have my first big works, for you have made them possible. This is my thank you."

  "Do you mean I am to keep them, Will? I couldn't take them, lad. You must not give them away."

  "Yes, you are to keep them. I painted them for you and they are yours. One day I will do much better ones but they are my first real and I want you to have them."

  CHAPTER 7 Ricky’s Business and Bushrangers

  Ricky was kept so very busy with the expansion of his business and Will was taken up with his painting, that Tad wondered where his lovely long companionable evenings had got to. Ricky always seemed to have his head in an account book and Will doing his 'homework' in his studio, that Tad found it difficult to have a conversation with his brothers. He had not been given the promotion he longed for and was rather despondent about it. Ricky was so busy with his own things that he didn't realise the strain he was putting on the boy. Tad sometimes tried to get a conversation going with Ricky, but he received only half answers, and so began to be rather tetchy with the older boy.

  It came home to Ricky when Tad burst into the kitchen in great excitement, one evening, and announced that he was heading for the gold fields. Ricky stood up, the books he was studying sliding to the floor, and said, "What?"

  Tad suddenly realised what Ricky thought and with a grin strung him along for a while. "Well, why not?" said Tad, "no-one ever notices that I am around anymore. I will go off and seek my fortune."

  Old Tom was sitting by the stove smoking his rotten old pipe, which he removed from his mouth and turned to look at Tad. The gleam in his eyes and the faint twitching of the boy's mouth gave him away and so, content, he turned back to the warmth of the stove.

  Ricky was quite conscious that gold had been found in the country around Bathurst, indeed that had been very good for business; he really wasn't interested on a personal level, not really believing half the stories that came out of the fields. But for Tad to entertain the idea of giving up all his ambitions, well… he just couldn't take it in. It was unbelievable! He stood there, grabbing at his books, half of which were on the floor at his feet and stared at Tad. "You can't," he said.

  By this Tad realised that he had gone far enough. He was shocked at Ricky's face. Ricky was deeply shaken and quite a nasty colour. Tad was sorry that he had been so precipitant and went over to his friend, putting a hand on his sleeve.

  "It's all right, Rick. I'm not going to make my fortune. You know I wouldn't be so silly. I am going with Mr Handley and Mr Fraser
, we've been sent up to get some stories of the diggings. It's my first big chance."

  Ricky breathed a big sigh of relief. "Don't do that again, you rotter," he said with a grin. "You had me on there for a while. Tell me about it."

  "Did you really think I would leave my job, Rick? I wouldn't, you know. I am not stupid."

  "Tad, old fellow, there are more experienced men than you who have dropped everything and gone looking for their fortune. I must admit you scared me for a while, but I honestly could not see you down a dirty hole digging all your life. Any way tell me about what you are going to do."

  "Mr Hughes called us in and asked if we would like to go. Mr Handley to do the stories and Mr Fraser to do some sketches, and me to learn all I can from Mr Handley. We are to go up by coach on Monday. I have to be ready packed and be at the coach depot at 7 on Monday morning."

  "I daresay you'll need some rough clothes and boots. Let's go into the store and see what we can find for you."

  Tad chatted away merrily while they went through the dungarees, shirts, and socks, boots and all the other gear that Ricky had recently been selling to the prospectors. Ricky making him try on this and that. Then he realised that Ricky was piling things on to him and said, "Hey! Stop! I'm only going for a week and I won't be digging. I won't need all these."

  "Maybe you won't, Tad, but if what I hear is true and you run into some wet weather, you'll be going through lots of mud and you'll need heavy boots, especially if you are going out on the field talking to miners. It seems they almost live in mud. And... if it is so wet, you'll want a change of clothes. I don't think it will be the place for wearing your best."

  "But we'll be staying in a hotel, I believe," said the ignorant Tad.

  "From what I hear any country hotel out west is bad enough, but anything you will find on the diggings will be pretty horrible," Ricky assured him.

  Tad opened his eyes and said, "Will it? Gee I thought it would be good to stay in a hotel, I was thinking of one like the Soldier's Arms up the street."

  "Not a hope, matie, as Tom would say, you'll be going out to rough it."

  "Oh, well, it will all be an adventure won't it, Rick, and an experience that I can chalk up?"

  "Yes, you keep your eyes open and your mouth shut and learn all you can, and yes, it will be quite an experience. I am happy that you are going with Mr Handley and Mr Fraser, I am sure they will look after you. I must admit, though that I cannot see Mr Fraser out in the bush, he seems to be a real townie."

  "But he is only going out to do pictures, I don't suppose he will wander around too much."

  Ricky was reluctant to let Tad go on such an adventure on his own. He knew he wasn't really on his own, but couldn't help feeling that Mr Fraser and Mr Handley wouldn't be all that much protection. Tad was so excited, though, he didn't have the heart to dampen his spirits. When they arrived at the coach station they were amazed at the number of men who wished to go to the diggings. The three from the newspaper were all right for they had booked seats, but there were about twenty men, loaded with picks and shovels and all sorts of implements who were demanding to get on the coach and beware anyone who would stop them. Tad and his companions were inside the coach with three others. There was a wild scramble as the driver announced that he would take six on top and no more. The first to get on and find a place could do so, the rest had to stop. There was almost a brawl. But eventually, as the driver yelled that he was going off, those who could grabbed a place and those who couldn't were left behind. As the coach went off down the street, there were still some legs and arms waving in the breeze while trying to get a toe-hold. Ricky could see an arm waving from the inside of the coach and presumed that Tad was waving his farewells.

  Ricky missed Tad, thinking of him a great deal, wondering how he was getting on. He hadn't realised how much he depended on him for companionship, and suddenly realised that he had neglected him of late. He was determined he would do something about this when he returned. Will, now, was so immersed in his painting that he didn't seem to need as much companionship as he used. to Every now and then he would appear and want to talk and talk and talk to Ricky and Tom, as though he had been in isolation for months.

  Old Tom was usually sitting by the fire each evening. Not that he had to come to the kitchen for that, but he, too, liked the companionship of the busy boys. Ricky had spoiled him, he insisted, for he had had a pot-bellied stove installed for Tom's comfort in his room at the stables. Tom could not believe his luck. But these evenings spent listening to the old man made Ricky feel that he had been very fortunate and could never complain about anything that had happened in his life. Tom was certainly no trouble to anyone, he was so used to living a lone life that he just pottered around and fitted in with what everyone else was doing. He rather felt that Ricky was some sort of god, the way he treated him, and could not do enough for him.

  Ricky was surprised how little of Sydney Town Tom knew. Then he realised that there was little he knew, or Will. Tad got around more than they did and was their usual means of finding out interesting tit-bits, but as for the knowing the outlying parts of the town, well, they were very ignorant.

  "Tom," he said one night. "I think I'll be very rash and buy a buggy that will take the four of us. Then each weekend we can go exploring. Have you ever seen the Macquarie Light? or the water supply or anything like that? "

  "No, matie, I ain't seen much o' the town but right 'ere. I never wus much o' a walker and never 'ad no call to walk very far any ways," the old man said.

  "I haven't, either. We must go and see them. What sort of vehicle should we get? Now that Will is using the gig so often I find I need another one anyway. What do you think?"

  They discussed this at length and finally decided to ask Ward, Mr Landon's man at the stables next door. As a result there was a new double buggy in the stables and a nice pair of horses that were the pride of old Tom's eyes. He had gone with Ward to buy this turnout and so felt really responsible for it. He was so happy to be working in the place that he had a continual grin on his face. Ricky was a bit concerned that it would be too much for Tom and thought that he would look for a boy to help him.

  Tad didn't turn up the day he was expected, and Ricky was quite worried but half way through the next afternoon there was a yell and a 'hoy' and there he was. He was full of his adventures and insisted on sitting Ricky, Tom and Will down to listen to what had happened to him.

  "I've had such an adventure, you'd never believe, Ricky," he said, his eyes shining. "We've been held up and shot at by bushrangers, and Mr Handley is hurt and I have to write the story up and everything."

  "Now, hold hard, Tad, get your wind and tell us. Is Mr Handley hurt badly?"

  "No, not badly, he was shot through the shoulder and we had to leave him with the doctor at Penrith. The doctor said he would be all right. But he can't write and so Mr Hughes told me that I am to write the story up. Isn't that great?" Tad asked.

  "Yes, it's great," said Ricky and Will together, "but tell us what happened."

  "Well, I'll tell you about the bushrangers first, will I?"

  "Yes, don't keep us in suspense."

  "Well, you saw how crowded the coach was when we left, Rick. Everyone seemed to want to go to the goldfields but hardly anyone was travelling back in this direction so, not long after leaving Bathurst we had the coach to ourselves. It was much better than going up, which was awful. It made me feel sick. The driver said that all the people on top made it top-heavy and it swayed like mad. But on the way back, we could spread out a bit and it was more comfortable. Well, just as we got to the bottom of the ranges just near Emu Plains, there was a shot and the coach pulled up. Three men were riding hard at us and leveled guns at the drivers. I must admit, I was scared and Mr Fraser didn't look too happy either, but Mr Handley pulled a pistol from his pocket. Can you believe it? I wouldn't have thought he would own one, let alone shoot with it. He pulled the trigger but it apparently didn't hit anyone, but the bushrangers
got mad and shot him. Gee, he bled all over the place."

  "What happened then?"

  "Well, the bushrangers yelled at us to get down, but Mr Fraser told them that he would have to attend to his friend, and he knelt down and started to fix him up. They told him to hand over his wallet and then fix Mr Handley and he did that. The drivers were sitting on top with their hands up, and the bushrangers could see that they didn't have anything and neither did I, they looked around to see if we were carrying gold and when they didn't find any they just wheeled their horses and went off into the bush. As they were galloping away one of the drivers jumped down and grabbed his gun off the ground and shot towards them. We think he hit one, but they didn't stop. Then Mr Fraser got his bag out and tore up his nightshirt and bandaged Mr Handley up as well as he could. I'd been holding a handkerchief tight over the wound. He lost a lot of blood. We got him fixed up and told the driver to go as fast as he could. We got to Penrith after such a long while, at least it seemed like it and found a doctor there. He has arranged to have him looked after."

  "I do hope he is all right. I like Mr Handley," said Will.

  "The doctor said he would be, as it hit high and didn't go right through, but we helped the doctor while he pulled the bullet out. I didn't like that, but I stuck it. Poor Mr Fraser couldn't look and had to go out and get sick."

  "Good lad," said Ricky.

  "Well, someone had to, there was no-one else. Besides," added Tad sheepishly, "I realised that I would have to write the story up and I was so excited that I didn't think much about what the doctor was doing."

  "What a mercenary brute you are, Tad," said Ricky.

  Tad was full of more stories about the diggings, and how they had to go to Mr Hughes and tell him. Mr Hughes had been most concerned about his reporter and was sending Mrs Handley out in his own coach to look after her husband and bring him home when she could.

  The diggings held no lure to Tad. He thought it was a very poor place. When Will asked him if he saw any gold he pulled a tinderbox from his pocket and in a screw of paper he pulled out a small piece of gold as big as a pea.