Chapter XXVI: More Letters

One week’s mail brought seven separate letters from the “German Sausage Land.” It had evidently been a safety-valve for the excited lad to actually seal and post a letter every day, although he was aware the mail service between his longed-for native land and the “wretched foreign hole” where he sojourned would not put itself out of the way to deliver them in any hurry.

Mrs. Wise opened the budget and placed them in serial form, for Alf had at last after earnest entreaty fallen into the habit of putting the date and the name of his abiding city at the head of his letters.

“_Wiesbaden,_
“_May 7th_ (ran the first).

“Are you listening, all of you? Well, if you can’t understand take
the letter up to an asylum and they’ll explain it. I’m just as mad
as mad, and so would you be. I’m nearly dead sure we’re coming.
Grandfather said first she could go across the river to Homburg and
she could drink some water there and that would cure her, but she
fainted again this morning and she looked jolly bad, I can tell you,
and he said he’d see.

“My scrimmy, haven’t I just had a day of it! First of all I cut down
to the shops to get you all a present each, I’d got a sovereign to
spend.

“I got heaps of things with it,—pincushions and thimbles and books
for the girls and a big drum for Freddie and a collidescope affair,
and some jolly good marbles for Weenie and some chocolate for her and
a pipe for the Pater and a knife for Weenie. Well, it took me nearly
all day plugging down to the shops and lugging home the parcels.
Then there was supper but you bet I didn’t want any. I just cut
up-stairs and packed up everything. It took me nearly all night; it
was jolly hard to make everything go in and the drum takes up a lot
of room. It’s one o’clock now and I’ve just finished. I won’t be able
to have a bath in the morning, I’ve packed my shirts and things in
the bath-tub thing that’s like a portmanto, and they haven’t got a
bath-room in this house.

“Do you remember I said I’d never bathe in a scrimmagy mean little
bath like that when you bought it? but you’re jolly glad to; whips of
the places where we stop they haven’t got any bath-room. Won’t I have
a fine old splash when I get home! I’ve got my travelling suit on and
I’m not going to get undressed at all, so I’ll be ready to start in
the morning,—you never know when you’ll have to start. As soon as I
wake—only I shall never go to sleep—I’m going up to the doctor’s to
ask him to read in the shipping what day a ship goes from Hamburg.
They have such lunatic papers here you can’t read for yourself and
there are only women here, and they don’t understand ships.

“Alf the Mad.”

“_Same old place._
“_Next day._

“Hurresh, hurresh, hurresh! Ach! Gott! Himmel! (it’s not wicked to
say those words here, even the ladies do). Himmel! Gott! Ach! Ach!
There’s a boat goes on Thursday. The doctor wasn’t up when I got
there, it was only half-past five, but I woke the coachman and he
told me. It’s the _Friederich der Grosse_. Ach! ach! Gott! I’m nearly
off my head. I’m going to pack up again to-day, it’ll make the time
go, and I squashed things up a bit when I was hurrying last night.
Then to-morrow we’ll be in the train, and next day off. Tra-la-la,
tra-la-la, Hurresh!!

“Alf the Madder.”

“_Wednesday._

“Dear Mother,

“Everything’s up. I don’t care what happens now. I’d just as soon die
as anything. Grandfather said we’d go to the concert, and I couldn’t
help going in my brown suit,—it would have taken an awful time to
unpack another, and he said why, and I said I’d packed the others
up, and he was beastly horrid and snapped me up like anything and
said he had no intention of going at all; he says we’ll go to that
miserable Italy instead. I’m going up to the doctor’s to-night to try
to set him on to him but I know it’ll be no go,—I’ll just have to go
on stopping here always. I can’t believe it was only yesterday I was
packing up that drum and things and now none of you’ll get them. It
was such a stunning pipe too. Oh mother I’ll _have_ to come home,—oh
I can’t go on stopping here,—oh won’t you please write by next mail
to Grandfather and say you can’t spare me any longer. Please don’t
write,—cabel, I can’t wait mother dear.

“Alf.”

“_Thursday._

“Dear old Phillipena,

“Thank goodness Aunt’s getting worse so we may come after all. Of
course I don’t mean I’m glad she’s worse but I know she won’t be any
good till she’s had the voyage.

“I told you she was in love with Volly; well I never thought about
it and yesterday when we were out I told her that young Clinch’s
governess and him were going to be married next month—young Clinch
told me so it’s quite true. Anyroads he wouldn’t have thought of
marrying any one like Aunt; young Clinch’s governess is an A oner,
I’m in love with her myself. Well I’d a nice time of it. Aunt began
to faint and cry and go in hysterics all over the place. The buggy
had taken us up the river and the man had taken the horse out for a
drink so there was only me, and I had to fan her and throw water on
her and everything. She got alright pretty soon and going home she
gave me ten shillings and told me not to tell young Clinch she’d been
crying, she said she was crying because the little gray castle and
the river were so beautiful. But I know better. I told her the best
thing would be for her to come straight to Australia and she’d soon
forget him and praps get married to someone else; there are whips of
men on board ship and they all flirt with somebody. She got in an
awful wax with me and wouldn’t say anything else all the way home.

“Alf.”

“_Same old dirty place,_
“_Friday._

“Dear Mother,

“I went and bought a new toothbrush and a collar and a hairbrush to
day, I just _can’t_ unpack those bags again, I know if I do we’ll
never come. I’m wearing my brown suit all the time but no one has
noticed. I don’t think after all Aunt Helene could have been gone on
Volly; when I was having my lesson she came in dressed fit to kill
you, and she’d made her cheeks all red with dye or something,—my
goodness she did look a fright. And she shook hands and congratulated
him like anything and he told her all about Miss Allison, he’s quite
mad about her. He kept walking up and down and running his hand
through his hair while he talked. He said they were going to live in
a little brown house near the river and that as the gods of music and
love and youth would be under the roof it wouldn’t matter if they
had nothing to eat, and a lot more rot. I don’t think he has any
money scarcely, ’cause young Clinch says his mother keeps begging
Miss Allison not to get married till he’s got more pupils, but a girl
like that doesn’t care about a man’s money and they’re going to be
turned off on the second. Aunt was jolly nice to him I can tell you
and he talked to her as if she was his mother. Then after my lesson
I went out with her and she bought awfully gummy little chairs and
tables and pictures and books and even a piano and sent them round
to the house they’re going to live in. And she met Miss Allison and
said she’d sent a little thing or two, ‘An old maid’s privilege,’ she
said. My jimminy, she is getting changed; she’d have had a fit if any
one had called her an old maid a bit ago. But I must have been no end
of an ass to think she was sweet on Volly; she’d be scratching Miss
Allison’s eyes out instead of sending her wedding presents.

“Alf.”

“_Saturday._

“Dear Mother,

“The awfullest thing has happened. Aunt’s quite dead. She got her
palpitations again last night, but she went to bed as usual, and when
we got up she was dead. I keep thinking I’m dreaming it all, only I
know I’m not because I’ve got her canary in here and she liked it
better than anything and always had it in her room. She brought it
in to me last night when I was in bed and she said she’d give it to
me if I’d promise and swear never to forget to feed it. She said it
woke her up too early in a morning so she had to give it away. And
she brought her sewing things in, and she’d written ‘Little Dick’ on
about six bits of calico and she made me let her sew them into all
my coats so when I put one on in a morning I couldn’t help seeing it
on the lining and remembering to give it its water and food. I had
to unpack my things to get the coats out, but I’m glad now I did.
I wish I’d done more things for her, and oh I do wish young Clinch
and me hadn’t laughed at her when she talked German. I’d talk it
now to _her_ till my tongue fell out if it would do any good. The
doctor was here an awful time and people keep coming all the time
now. Grandfather doesn’t seem to care very much; he’s just sitting
in his usual chair in the salon, and he’s just looking straight out
the window all the time, and he’s drank an awful lot of brandy. The
doctor says he’s going to get him to go to Egypt, he says someone
must look after him and at Alexandrea there’s Aunt Helene’s cousin
and she’s married to a clergyman there, only he’s dead and she could
look after him.

“It’s pretty awful mother to think you’ve been horrid when she’s
dead. I used to hide often when she wanted to go out, and it was
lonely for her plugging down to the river alone. And she used to want
me to practise my things for Vollmar and I wouldn’t and she’d give
me shillings and half-crowns if I would. And I used to be always
laughing over her German,—it makes me feel pretty sick to night to
think how beastly I’ve been. Fraulein Schliessman made me go in and
look at her, and she looks the littlest whitest thing, and her hair
isn’t curled, it’s only just lying quiet and straight on the pillow
and she only looks as if she was very fast asleep, only they’ve put
so many flowers all over her you can’t help knowing she’s dead. I
took little Dick in and let him touch her hand, I knew she’d like it
and the little chap wasn’t a bit afraid and picked a violet out of
her hand. Oh mother I wish some of you were here; it’s awful to go to
bed and think of her being left in her room and no one with her just
because she’s dead. It’s the next room to mine and I feel all the
time I can see how quietly she’s lying and I can smell the flowers.

“Alf.”

That was the last of the packet of letters, and then mail after mail came in and no envelopes with the black round writing on it came to that quiet Australian suburb after long tossing on the great deep. Week after week Phyl and Dolly, Weenie or the boys went up the long hill to the Post-office, one after another sometimes to make quite sure a letter had not been overlooked, to worry the postmistress, to “just see if there was one sticking to the back of the pigeon-hole,” or “to please look if there wasn’t a German letter mixed up with the newspapers.”

Silence, silence, week after week, and all their hearts aching miserably for the poor little homesick lad. Silence, silence. He was in Alexandria now, they told themselves, and pictured him happier, for the cousin had a family of boys. The girls read up all they knew about the Nile and about that particular town, but they could not comfort themselves by imagining him interested in the stupendous age of the place; they knew he would compare the Nile with the Hawkesbury, greatly to the detriment of the former. Phyl almost always went to sleep with wet eyes induced by a mental picture of Alf’s solid, lonely little figure standing solitary against the great Pyramid. Silence, silence!