Austin and His Friends | Page 4

began to kick. "No use your starting to run before you know
how to walk. Wooden legs must be humoured a bit, Sir; 'twon't do to
expect too much of 'em just at first, you see. This one o' yours is mighty
handsome to look at, I don't deny, but it's not accustomed to staircases
and maybe it'll take some time before it is. Hold tight, Sir; only a few
yards more now. There! Here we are on the lawn at last. Now you can
try your paces at your leisure."
"You're awfully nice to me, Lubin," gasped Austin, red with
mortification, as he slipped from the lad's arms on to the grass, "but I
felt just now as if I could have killed you, all the same."
"Lor', Sir, I don't mind," said Lubin. "I doubt that was no more'n natural.
Can you stand steady? Here--lay hold o' my arm. Slow and sure's the
word. Look out for that flower-bed. Now, then, round you go--that's it.
Ah!"--as Austin fell sprawling on the grass. "Now how are you going to
get up again, I should like to know? Seems to me the first thing you've
got to learn is not to lose your balance, 'cause once you're down 'tain't
the easiest thing in creation to scramble up again. You'll have to stick to
the crutch at first, I reckon. Up we come! Now let's see how you can
fare along a bit all by yourself."
Austin was thankful for the support of his crutch, with the aid of which
he managed to stagger about for a few minutes at quite a respectable
speed. It reminded him almost of the far-off days when he was learning
to ride his bicycle. At last he thought he would like to rest a bit, and
was much surprised when, on flinging himself down upon a garden seat,
his leg flew up in the air.

"Lively sort o' limb, this new leg o' yours, Sir," commented Lubin, as
he bent it into a more decorous position. "You'll have to take care it
don't carry you off with it one o' these fine days. Seems to me it wants
taming, and learning how to behave itself in company. I heard tell of a
cork leg once upon a time as was that nimble it started off running on
its own account, and no earthly power could stop it. Wouldn't have
mattered so much if it'd had nobody but itself to consider, but unluckily
the gentleman it belonged to happened to be screwed on to the top end
of it, and of course he had to follow. They do say as how he's following
it still--poor beggar! Must be worn to a shadow by this time, I should
think. But p'raps it ain't true after all. There are folks as'll say
anything."
"I expect it's true enough," replied Austin cheerfully. "If you want a
thing to be true, all you've got to do is to believe it--believe it as hard as
you can. That makes it true, you see. At least, that's what the new
psychology teaches. Thought creates things, you understand--though
how it works I confess I can't explain. But never mind. Oh, dear, how
drunk I am!"
"Drunk, Sir? No, no, only a bit giddy," said Lubin, as he stood
watching Austin with his hands upon his hips. "You're not over strong
yet, and that new leg of yours has been giving you too much exercise to
begin with. You just keep quiet a few minutes, and you'll soon be as
right as ninepence."
Then Austin slid carefully off the seat, and stretched himself full length
upon the grass. "I am drunk," he murmured, closing his eyes, "drunk
with the scent of the flowers. Don't you smell them, Lubin? The air's
heavy with it, and it has got into my brain. And how sweet the grass
smells too. I love it--it's like breathing the breath of Nature. What do
legs matter? It's much nicer to roll over the grass wherever you want to
go than to have the bother of walking. Don't worry about me any more,
nice Lubin. Go on tying up your sweet-peas. I'll come and help you
when I'm tired of rolling about. Just now I don't want anything; I'm
drunk--I'm happy--I'm satisfied--I'm happier than I ever was before. Be
kind to the flowers, Lubin; don't tie them too tight. They're my friends
and my lovers. Aren't you a little fond of them too?"
Then, left to his own reflections, he lay perfectly peaceful and content
staring up into the sky. For months he had been fated to lead an entirely

new life, and now it had actually begun. His entrance upon it was not
bitter. He had flowers growing by his path, and