The Big Fellow by Vance Palmer

Author:Vance Palmer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ligature Pty Limited
Published: 2021-11-13T03:39:10+00:00

Chapter XVIII

What’s come over the Big Fellow?” Donovan’s fellow Ministers were asking. “Has that last story about the Floretta mine got under his skin? Or is he thinking of giving up the game and buying a couple of racehorses? These days you can hardly get more than a grunt out of him.”

In spite of the light tone in which their comments were couched there was concern at the back of them, for now that Wardle had decided to remain in London, Donovan was definitely installed in the leadership; and though some of them had grudges against him, resenting his brusqueness and air of authority, they were acutely conscious of how much they depended on him. What other man among them had his gusto, his reserves of energy, his power of bringing the conflicting forces of industry together? Certainly not Geyl, with his slow mind and his flat-footed methods of debate; for all Geyl’s dull capacity as an administrator he was essentially a figurehead, set up chiefly to prove that the Ministry did not wholly consist of one religious group. He had once been a lay-preacher: he was ready to emphasize his origins by occasional outbursts against the liquor interests, starting-price bookmaking, bikini costumes on the beaches, and the tendency to make Sunday a day of sport.

Donovan’s appeal was quite different. When he rose to his feet in the House they could feel confident that no matter how devastating the attack on the Government had been it would not only be met but repulsed. Even the men who opposed Donovan enjoyed listening to him. Starting in a low guttural voice he would seem to be digging up words with difficulty from a limited store, till gradually a flow of feeling was tapped and they poured from him with the violent rumble of steers through a stockyard gate.

His slowness in taking charge of a situation had always been part of Donovan’s power. As chairman of the Central Executive he had been accustomed to sit in heavy silence, letting the men around him air their opinions and not showing by the flicker of an eyelid what was in his mind. Impassive, apparently thinking of something other than the matter in hand, he watched the face of each speaker in turn, leaning back with his chin on his chest and his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat, listening, not listening. Then when the debate was flickering out he leapt suddenly to life. With an emphasis that seemed to spring from dammed-up sources of feeling, he slammed down his arguments one by one, his eyes flashing, his fist thumping the table. Invariably he carried all before him.

It was a technique he had learnt from Lambert, his first leader. He had perfected it till it had become as natural to him as his high-chested walk, his sudden engaging grin, and the thrust of his chin in debate. It had swept him to many personal triumphs, both in caucus and in Cabinet meetings.

But now that the new session had begun, the pugnacity and initiative seemed to have leaked out of him.

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