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On the Track-Part17_Henry Lawson(1867-1922)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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went round to offer whateverconsolation appertained



to a damp and dirty nose and a pair of ludicrously doleful yellow eyes.

An Oversight of Steelman's



Steelman and Smith -- professional wanderers -- were making back

for Wellington, down through the wide and rather dreary-looking Hutt Valley.



They were broke. They carried their few remaining belongings

in two skimpy, amateurish-looking swags. Steelman had fourpence left.



They were very tired and very thirsty -- at least Steelman was,

and he answered for both. It was Smith's policy to feel and think



just exactly as Steelman did. Said Steelman:

"The landlord of the next pub. is not a bad sort. I won't go in --



he might remember me. You'd best go in. You've been tramping round

in the Wairarapa district for the last six months, looking for work.



You're going back to Wellington now, to try and get on

the new corporation works just being started there -- the sewage works.



You think you've got a show. You've got some mates in Wellington,

and they're looking out for a chance for you. You did get a job last week



on a sawmill at Silverstream, and the boss sacked you after three days

and wouldn't pay you a penny. That's just his way. I know him --



at least a mate of mine does. I've heard of him often enough.

His name's Cowman. Don't forget the name, whatever you do.



The landlord here hates him like poison; he'll sympathize with you.

Tell him you've got a mate with you; he's gone ahead -- took a short cut



across the paddocks. Tell him you've got only fourpence left,

and see if he'll give you a drop in a bottle. Says you: `Well, boss,



the fact is we've only got fourpence, but you might let us have a drop

in a bottle'; and very likely he'll stand you a couple of pints



in a gin-bottle. You can fling the coppers on the counter,

but the chances are he won't take them. He's not a bad sort.



Beer's fourpence a pint out here, same's in Wellington. See that gin-bottle

lying there by the stump; get it and we'll take it down to the river with us



and rinse it out."

They reached the river bank.



"You'd better take my swag -- it looks more decent," said Steelman.

"No, I'll tell you what we'll do: we'll undo both swags and make them



into one -- one decent swag, and I'll cut round through the lanes

and wait for you on the road ahead of the pub."



He rolled up the swag with much care and deliberation

and considerable judgment. He fastened Smith's belt round one end of it,



and the handkerchiefs round the other, and made a towel

serve as a shoulder-strap.



"I wish we had a canvas bag to put it in," he said, "or a cover of some sort.

But never mind. The landlord's an old Australian bushman,



now I come to think of it; the swag looks Australian enough,

and it might appeal to his feelings, you know -- bring up old recollections.



But you'd best not say you come from Australia, because he's been there,

and he'd soon trip you up. He might have been where you've been, you know,



so don't try to do too much. You always do mug-up the business

when you try to do more than I tell you. You might tell him



your mate came from Australia -- but no, he might want you to bring me in.

Better stick to Maoriland. I don't believe in too much ornamentation.



Plain lies are the best."

"What's the landlord's name?" asked Smith.



"Never mind that. You don't want to know that. You are not supposed

to know him at all. It might look suspicious if you called him by his name,



and lead to awkward questions; then you'd be sure to put your foot into it."

"I could say I read it over the door."



"Bosh. Travellers don't read the names over the doors,

when they go into pubs. You're an entire stranger to him.



Call him `Boss'. Say `Good-day, Boss,' when you go in,

and swing down your swag as if you're used to it. Ease it down like this.



Then straighten yourself up, stick your hat back, and wipe your forehead,

and try to look as hearty and independent and cheerful as you possibly can.



Curse the Government, and say the country's done. It don't matter

what Government it is, for he's always against it. I never knew



a real Australian that wasn't. Say that you're thinking about

trying to get over to Australia, and then listen to him talking about it --



and try to look interested, too! Get that damned stone-deaf expression

off your face! . . . He'll run Australia down most likely



(I never knew an Other-sider that had settled down over here who didn't).

But don't you make any mistake and agree with him, because,



although successful Australians over here like to run their own country down,

there's very few of them that care to hear anybody else do it. . . .



Don't come away as soon as you get your beer. Stay and listen to him

for a while, as if you're interested in his yarning, and give him time



to put you on to a job, or offer you one. Give him a chance

to ask how you and your mate are off for tobacco or tucker.






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