Tommy's death on the
simple life."
"How are you on tools?" queried Wally.
"Using tools? Pretty fair," admitted Bob. "I took up carpentering at
school; it was always a bit of a hobby of mine. I'm no cabinet-maker, if
that's what you mean."
"You don't need to be," Wally answered. "Up where I come from--we were
pretty far back in Queensland--we hardly ever saw real furniture, the
stuff you buy in shops. It was all made out of packing-cases and odd
bits of wood. Jolly decent, too; you paint 'em up to match the rooms, or
stain 'em dark colours, and the girls put sort of petticoats round some
of the things."
"We began that way," said David Linton, with a half-sigh. "There was
surprisingly little proper furniture in our first house, and we were
very comfortable."
"Couldn't we begin, sir?" asked Wally eagerly. "This wet weather looks
like setting in. Bob can't do much on the farm. If we could get out
a few odd lengths of timber and some old packing cases from the
township--"
"Heavens, you don't need to do that!" exclaimed their host. "The place
is full of both; packing-cases have been arriving at Billabong since Jim
was a baby, and very few of them have gone away again. There's plenty of
timber knocking about, too. We'll go over to the farm if you like, Bob,
and plan out measurements."
"I think it's a splendid idea, thanks, sir," said Bob slowly.
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