The Clay Dreaming Read Online Free

pudding will be in the eating.” Hah !’ He threw the paper down, where it joined others piled at their feet.
    ‘Johnny Mullagh is our trump card,’ said Hayman. ‘And there’s you, of course.’
    Lawrence ignored the compliment. Crossing to the empty fireplace, he took up a dog-eared pocketbook from where it lay on the mantle, beneath a massive mirror.
    The compact and well-worn room they occupied formed an antechamber of sorts to the quarters allocated to the remainder of the team. Communal lodgings seemed to suit the Aborigines best. Rather than split them into twos and threes to lodge with various households, Lawrence and Hayman had elected to keep everybody together under the one roof – even if it meant that of the local inn.
    The players were either getting themselves ready, or dozing within. Should any of the Blacks quit their quarters, to venture downstairs or outside, they would first be required to pass through this room – and that accorded with Lawrence’s preference. The arrangement afforded greater security, and laid to rest at least some of his crowding fears.
    ‘Thomas Hughes writes about cricket,’ he said. ‘Here, what do you make of this?’ Lawrence located one of his many scribbles in the margins. ‘A schoolmaster says, “The discipline and reliance on one another which it teaches is so valuable, I think, it ought to be such an unselfish game. It merges the individual in the eleven; he doesn’t play that he may win, but that his side may.”’
    Lawrence brandished the book, his cherished copy of Tom Brown’s Schooldays . ‘Should I try reading some of it out to the boys?’
    Hayman laughed. ‘The Gospel According to Tommy Hughes, is it?’ he said. ‘You square-toes. Old Blow-hard! Now you’re being ridiculous! Our “boys” they may be, but still, they are grown men.’
    South Norton picked at a piece of lint marring the pristine black of his jacket. ‘I think Tom Brown quite correct in its sentiments,’ he said.
    Hayman was undeterred. ‘You know as well as I do, Charles,’ he said, ‘that when it comes to unselfish behaviour, there’s precious little we can teach them.’
    Lawrence bowed his head and mumbled something unintelligible. He looked up, searching the face of his colleague.
    ‘Do you think they will?’ he said. ‘Behave?’
    South Norton sprang from his chair as if flea-bitten. ‘When you came to my house that first morning,’ he said, ‘I had no notice of what time I was to expect you… So, when you all walked in, straight after breakfast as I recall, you, or rather your wild gentlemen, caused a good deal of excitement.’ He moved to gather up his topcoat and hat. ‘We served a little light refreshment,’ he said, ‘and my two young daughters were brought into the front parlour to inspect the Blackies. You two were, I think, occupied elsewhere…’
    ‘I was in London,’ said Lawrence, ‘sweet-talking Burrup and the S.C.C.’
    Filling the far doorway, William South Norton chuckled awkwardly. ‘The little ones were not at all frightened, you know.’ He spoke to Charles Lawrence directly, with all the kindness he could muster. ‘Nor had they reason to be… And now I’m afraid I must leave you,’ he said. ‘So much still needs sorting for this evening! Bring your lads over for seven o’clock, prompt. Adieu !’
    The clatter of South Norton’s exit lapsed into brooding silence.
    Hayman huffed, ‘You don’t have to make a song and dance over every little thing, Charley.’
    ‘No,’ said Lawrence, ‘that’s your pigeon.’
    Bill Hayman whined, perplexed. ‘They know how to dance the way the ladies like,’ he said, ‘waltz, polka, you name it. They know their way around a pack of cards…and they’re bloody good at billiards.’ He recalled with a twinge how Johnny Cuzens had fleeced him at the tables in Gravesend. ‘Back home,’ Hayman said, ‘they acted perfect gentlemen.’
    He coughed.
    ‘Most of the time.’
    Charles Lawrence