The Workingman's Paradise. Джон Миллер

Faith." CHAPTER XII. Love And Lust.

      PART II. HE KNEW HIMSELF NAKED.

      CHAPTER I. The Slaughter Of An Innocent. CHAPTER II. On The Road To Queensland. CHAPTER III. A Woman's Whim. CHAPTER IV. The Why Of The Whim. CHAPTER V. As The Moon Waned. CHAPTER VI. Unemployed. CHAPTER VII. "The World Wants Masters." CHAPTER VIII. The Republican Kiss. CHAPTER IX. Ned Goes To His Fate.

      "On the Flinders.

      "In a western billabong, with a stretch of plain around, a dirty waterhole beside me, I sat and read the WORKER. Maxwellton Station was handy; and sick with a fever on me I crawled off my horse to the shed on a Sunday. They invited me to supper; I was too ill. One gave me medicine, another the WORKER, the cook gave me milk and soup. If this is Unionism, God bless it! This is the moleskin charity, not the squatter's dole. The manager gave me quinine, and this is a Union station. I read 'Nellie's Sister' (from THE WORKINGMAN'S PARADISE) in you last. A woman's tenderness pervades it. Its fiction is truth. Although my feelings are blunted by a bush life, I dropped a tear on that page of the WORKER."

      —FROM A LETTER.

      PART I.

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      THE WOMAN TEMPTED HIM.

      * * * * *

      Ah thy people, thy children, thy chosen, Marked cross from the womb and perverse! They have found out the secret to cozen The gods that constrain us and curse; They alone, they are wise, and none other; Give me place, even me, in their train, O my sister, my spouse, and my mother, Our Lady of Pain.—SWINBURNE.

THE WORKINGMAN'S PARADISE

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CHAPTER I.

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      WHY NELLIE SHOWS NED ROUND.

      Nellie was waiting for Ned, not in the best of humours.

      "I suppose he'll get drunk to celebrate it," she was saying, energetically drying the last cup with a corner of the damp cloth. "And I suppose she feels as though it's something to be very glad and proud about."

      "Well, Nellie," answered the woman who had been rinsing the breakfast things, ignoring the first supposition. "One doesn't want them to come, but when they do come one can't help feeling glad."

      "Glad!" said Nellie, scornfully.

      "If Joe was in steady work, I wouldn't mind how often it was. It's when he loses his job and work so hard to get—" Here the speaker subsided in tears.

      "It's no use worrying," comforted Nellie, kindly. "He'll get another job soon, I hope. He generally has pretty fair luck, you know."

      "Yes, Joe has had pretty fair luck, so far. But nobody knows how long it'll last. There's my brother wasn't out of work for fifteen years, and now he hasn't done a stroke for twenty-three weeks come Tuesday. He's going out of his mind."

      "He'll get used to it," answered Nellie, grimly.

      "How you do talk, Nellie!" said the other. "To hear you sometimes one would think you hadn't any heart."

      "I haven't any patience."

      "That's true, my young gamecock!" exclaimed a somewhat discordant voice.

       Nellie looked round, brightening suddenly.

      A large slatternly woman stood in the back doorway, a woman who might possibly have been a pretty girl once but whose passing charms had long been utterly sponged out. A perceptible growth of hair lent a somewhat repulsive appearance to a face which at best had a great deal of the virago in it. Yet there was, in spite of her furrowed skin and faded eyes and drab dress, an air of good-heartedness about her, made somewhat ferocious by the muscularity of the arms that fell akimbo upon her great hips, and by the strong teeth, white as those of a dog, that flashed suddenly from between her colourless lips when she laughed.

      "That's true, my young gamecock!" she shouted, in a deep voice, strangely cracked. "And so you're at your old tricks again, are you? Talking sedition I'll be bound. I've half a mind to turn informer and have the law on you. The dear lamb!" she added, to the other woman.

      "Good morning, Mrs. Macanany," said Nellie, laughing. "We haven't got yet so that we can't say what we like, here."

      "I'm not so sure about that. Wait till you hear what I came to tell you, hearing from little Jimmy that you were at home and going to have a holiday with a young man from the country. We'll sherrivvery them if he takes her away from us, Mrs. Phillips, the only one that does sore eyes good to see in the whole blessed neighborhood! You needn't blush, my dear, for I had a young man myself once, though you wouldn't imagine it to look at me. And if I was a young man myself it's her"—pointing Nellie out to Mrs. Phillips—that I'd go sweethearting with and not with the empty headed chits that—"

      "Look here, Mrs. Macanany!" interrupted Nellie. "You didn't come in to make fun of me."

      "Making fun! There, have your joke with the old woman! You didn't hear that my Tom got the run yesterday, did you?"

      "Did he? What a pity! I'm very sorry," said Nellie.

      "Everybody'll be out of work and then what'll we all do?" said Mrs.

       Philips, evidently cheered, nevertheless, by companionship in misfortune.

      "What'll we all do! There'd never be anybody at all out of work if everybody was like me and Nellie there," answered the amazon.

      "What did he get the run for?" asked Nellie.

      "What can we women do?" queried Mrs. Phillips, doleful still.

      "Wait a minute till I can tell you! You don't give a body time to begin before you worry them with questions about things you'd hear all about it if you'd just hold your tongues a minute. You're like two blessed babies! It was this way, Mrs. Phillips, as sure as I'm standing here. Tom got trying to persuade the other men in the yard—poor sticks of men they are!—to have a union. I've been goading him to it, may the Lord forgive me, ever since Miss Nellie there came round one night and persuaded my Tessie to join. 'Tom,' says I to him that very night, 'I'll have to be lending you one of my old petticoats, the way the poor weak girls are beginning to stand up for their rights, and you not even daring to be a union man. I never thought I'd live to be ashamed of the father of my children!' says I. And yesterday noon Tom came home with a face on him as long as my arm, and told me that he'd been sacked for talking union to the men.

      "'It's a man you are again, Tom,' says I. 'We've lived short before and we can live it again, please God, and it's myself would starve with you a hundred times over rather than be ashamed of you,' says I. 'Who was it that sacked you?' I asked him.

      "'The foreman,' says Tom. 'He told me they didn't want any agitators about.'

      "'May he live to suffer for it,' says I. 'I'll go down and see the boss himself.'

      "So down I went, and as luck would have it the boy in the front office wasn't educated enough to say I was an old image, I suppose, for would you believe it I actually heard him say that there was a lady, if you please, wanting to see Mister Paritt very particularly on personal business, as I'd told him. So of course I was shown in directly, the very minute, and the door was closed on me before the old villain, who's a great man at church on Sundays, saw that he'd made a little mistake.

      "'What do you want, my good woman?' says he, snappish like. 'Very sorry,' says he, when I'd told him that I'd eleven children and that Tom had worked for him for four