While the Billy Boils
Copyright© 2024 by Henry Lawson
She Wouldn’t Speak
Well, we reached the pub about dinner-time, dropped our swags outside, had a drink, and then went into the dinin’-room. There was a lot of jackaroo swells, that had been on a visit to the squatter, or something, and they were sittin’ down at dinner; and they seemed to think by their looks that we ought to have stayed outside and waited till they were done—we was only two rough shearers, you know. There was a very good-looking servant girl waitin’ on ‘em, and she was all smiles—laughin’, and jokin’, and chyackin’, and barrickin’ with ‘em like anything.
I thought a damp expression seemed to pass across her face when me and my mate sat down, but she served us and said nothing—we was only two dusty swaggies, you see. Dave said “Good day” to her when we came in, but she didn’t answer; and I could see from the first that she’d made up her mind not to speak to us.
The swells finished, and got up and went out, leaving me and Dave and the servant girl alone in the room; but she didn’t open her mouth—not once. Dave winked at her once or twice as she handed his cup, but it wasn’t no go. Dave was a good-lookin’ chap, too; but we couldn’t get her to say a word—not one.
We finished the first blanky course, and, while she was gettin’ our puddin’ from the side-table, Dave says to me in a loud whisper, so’s she could hear: “Ain’t she a stunner, Joe! I never thought there was sich fine girls on the Darlin’!”
But no; she wouldn’t speak.
Then Dave says: “They pitch a blanky lot about them New Englan’ gals; but I’ll back the Darlin’ girls to lick ‘em holler as far’s looks is concerned,” says Dave.
But no; she wouldn’t speak. She wouldn’t even smile. Dave didn’t say nothing for awhile, and then he said: “Did you hear about that red-headed barmaid at Stiffner’s goin’ to be married to the bank manager at Bourke next month, Joe?” says Dave.
But no, not a single word out of her; she didn’t even look up, or look as if she wanted to speak.
Dave scratched his ear and went on with his puddin’ for awhile. Then he said: “Joe, did you hear that yarn about young Scotty and old whatchisname’s missus?”
“Yes,” I says; “but I think it was the daughter, not the wife, and young Scotty,” I says.
But it wasn’t no go; that girl wouldn’t speak.
Dave shut up for a good while, but presently I says to Dave “I see that them hoops is comin’ in again, Dave. The paper says that this here Lady Duff had one on when she landed.”
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