The Rising of the Court | Page 8

decided sort of pleasure in it--just as
some bushman are great at funerals and will often travel miles to advise,
and organize, and comfort, and potter round a burying and are
welcomed. They had broken the news to old Fosbery when his boy
went wrong and was "taken" ("when they took Jim"). They had broken
the news to old Fosbery when his daughter, Rose, went wrong, and
bolted with Flash Jack Redmond. They had broken the news to the old
man when young Ted was thrown from his horse and killed. They had
broken the news to the old man when the unexpected child of his old
age and hopes was accidentally burnt to death. So the old man knew
how it felt.
The farm was the home of one of Jack Denver's married sisters, and, as
there was no woman to go so far in the night they had sent old Fosbery
to tell her. Folks were most uneasy and anxious, by the way, when they
saw old Fosbery coming unexpectedly, and sometimes some of them
got a bad start--but it helped break the news.
"Well, if he ain't there, I suppose I'll have to do it," thought Ben as he
passed quietly through the upper sliprails and neared the house. "The
old man might have knocked up or got drunk after all. Anyway, no one
might come in the morning till it's too late--it always happens that
way--and--besides, the women'll want time to look up their black
things."

But, turning the corner of the cow-yard, he gave a sigh of relief as he
saw old Fosbery's horse tied up. They were up, and the big kitchen
lighted; he caught a glimpse of a shock of white hair and bushy white
eyebrows that could have belonged to no one except old
Break-the-News. They were sitting at the table, the tearful wife pouring
out tea, and by the tokens Ben knew that old Fosbery had been very
successful. He rode quietly to the lower sliprails, let them down softly,
led his horse carefully over them, put them up cautiously, and stood in
a main road again. He paused to think, leaning one arm on his saddle
and tickling the nape of his neck with his little finger; his jaw dropped,
reflecting and grief forgotten in the business on hand, and the horse
"gave" to him, thinking he was about to mount. He was tired--weary
with that strange energetic weariness that cannot rest. It was five miles
from Mudgee and the news was known there and must have spread a
bit already; but the bulk of the Gulgong and Gulgong Road race-goers
had passed here before the accident. Anyway, he thought he might as
well go over and tell old Buckolts, of the big vineyard, across the creek,
who was a great admirer of Jack Denver and had been drinking with
him at the races that day. Old Buckolts was a man of weight in the
district, and was always referred to by all from his old wife down, as
"der boss," and by no other term. The old slab farmhouse and skillions
and out-houses, and the new square brick house built in front, were all
asleep in the moonlight. The dogs woke the old man first (as was
generally the case), as Ben opened the big white home gate and passed
through without dismounting.
"Who's dat? Who voss die [there]?" shouted the old man as the horse's
hoofs crunched on the white creek-bed gravel between the two houses.
"Ben Duggan!"
"Vot voss der matter?"
"Jack Denver's dead--killed riding home from the races."
"Vot dat you say?"
Ben repeated.
"Go avay! Go home and go to sleep! You voss shoking--and trunk. Vat
for you gum by my house mit a seely cock mit der bull shtory at dis
hour of der night?"
"It's only too true, Mr Buckolts," said Ben. "I wish to God it wasn't."
"You've got der yoomps, Pen. Go to der poomp and poomp on your

head and den turn in someveers till ter morning. I tells von of der pot's
to gif you a nip and show you a poonk. Vy! I trink mit Shack Denver
not twelf hour ago!"
But Ben persisted: "I'm not drunk, Mr Buckolts, and I ain't got the
horrors--I wish to God I was an' had. Poor Jack was killed near
Anderson's, riding home, about six o'clock."
Though Ben couldn't see him, he could feel and hear by his tones, that
old Buckolts sat up in bed suddenly.
"Mein Gott! How did it happen, Pen?"
Ben told him.
"Ven and veer voss der funeral?"
Ben told him.
"Frett! Shonny! Villie! Sharley!" shouted the old man at the top of his
voice to the boys sleeping in the old house. "Get up and pring all