NOVEL

Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette, Issue 359, 26 March 1903, Page 2

NOVEL

' Bnggs has made a queer mistake, sir,' eaid he, lying on the mahogany stand. ' He's been and Bent yon a complete suit cf rough corduroys, sir—a regular groom's suit, it looka like Some fool et a shopman must hare shifted the labels of your parcels on to this when they were waiting to be sent oS. Shall I pack 'em up again, ait?* 1 Don't be at so much trouble, Jervis,' said Mr Graythorpe. ' You're behind the times. Haren't you heard that this is the very latest style ?' •Lor* no, sir,' replied Jervis. 'Lateßt style, sir P Why, these is what a dandified proom might wear/ 'And you haven't had your eyes open for the past five years, Jervis ? Haven't you noticed that jour dandified groom is the ideal that wo've all had before U3 bo far as dress ia concerned ? Ob, yes : we hope to catch him up some of these days, bo far m ' is ordinary clothes are concerned. Of course, it would be tc o much to expect to get all at ence into his trick of tjiat' his scarf; but that will come in time, 1 daresay. We must be patient. Em° wasn't built in a day. No, you needn't wa\t. I think I'd like to try these on without assistance; I mast get accustomed to doing Bometl ing for myself.' ' Very good, sir,' s«d Jervia, without moving a muscle. He went to the door, then glancad back at the corduroys, wheeled, and made a rapid exit. He had reached the ground floor before he burst into a laugh with his hand over his mouth He did not thai it safe to let himielf fret sooner 'Some more larks he-'B hup to,' murmured Jervia; and from this form of expression, ic mi«ht not be too much to assume that he had, in days gone by, become aware of some other larks on the part of his master Bat when Jervia hsd disappeared Gerald bepan to ex*mine with some degree of earnestness the garments which lay neatly folded oa the stand. Corduroy was the vary durable material cf which the suit waa composed—a coarse gray clo hj, very similar 10 that which seems to find favour with under grooms who have aspirations if not aspirates. He examined each article, including tke neat leggings, and thea gave a laugh. As he took cif the bmoking coat which he was wearing, and substituted for it the crduroy jacket, he laugted again, surveying himself in the mirror. He did not seem at all ill-pleased at the result of the change, and soon ke had adopted the other articles of the suit in place cf th?.> e which he was wearing, even fixing on the made-up scarf—blue, irith Urge white spots, and a horse-shoe pin—and buttoning on the leggini. a. He had scarcely completed his toilet w' en the sound of the latest burlesque Bcng, whistled irith taste and feeling, came from the stairs, with the obligate of a man's tramp. Geraid throw open the d or of his dressing-room and jarktd one finger towards his forhetd, as a tall, goodlooking man appeared in the lobby, and cried, •Hallo! Already?" ' I be/ your paidon, fir; are you looking for Mr Graythorpe?' said Gera'd. • Veny sorry, sir, but Vb jnst gone 'hour, sir. Any mesage, bir, written or oral, I'll put lfcto 'is 'and, sir.' * Bravo !* crii d the o her—his name was Charlie Ashby, aid he held a commission in the Household Cavalry. ' Bravo! you look very little inferior to a low type of stablemaH out fcr a 'olidiy.' ' Your flattery is cloying,' said Gerald. •You tail k I'll do F* ' Come into the light until I a good look at you,' said Charlie, leading him back to the dreesing-rcom, ai d into the full blaza of the electric light. After turrung him about, and examining hits critically, Charlie shook hiß head. •Nothing like it, my fceastj,' he s-.id. ' You'd have eo chance in t» at rig ou*"-.* ' H*ng it all, wasn't it jou who eujrgesUd he lig <ut?' crud Gdrald ' Weren't yon cock-aur<= of the c.stuai6 of the respect*bid dmkey chair boys of NeHhercombe ?' •Yea; but they don't as a rul s have their costume-; bnilt by Hriggs, of Savilia how,' said Charlie. My dear boy, you

[PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL AEEANGEMENT.] SALLY, By F. Frankfort Moore, [ALL BIGHTS EESEBVED.

lave gone to the East Ead for your corduroys, asd have bought them there second hand.' •I believe I'd go even that length,' said Gerald. * Bat I'd rather not, if it would be possible to avoid it.' •If you're in earnest, you'd shrink at nothing,' said Charlie, earnestly. ' Never mind; perhaps these togs will do after all. .But you look so like a gentleman.' •I'm very sorry,' murmured Gerald. ' It's my misfortune rather than my fault. I'm not to blame.' ' I don't say tbat you are, only—take off that coat for goodness sake.' Gerald meekly obeyed, and Charlie grasped the well-cut garment, and, rolling it up into the compass of an Association football, took a drop kick at it, and sent it into the grate. Then he picked it up, and sent it flying into a corner of the room. For about five minutes he made some excellent practice with the improvised football. He was clearly in good football form. Gerald watched him with but a languid measure of interest. Few men wou'd be inclined to be so pathetic when sn athlete was subj acting their newly-made garment to such vigorous treatment. 'lf s very kind of you to take all that trouble on my account,' he said, while his friend was breathing hard as he untied the knots of the sleeves tbat bound the coat together into th j compact form of a football. •Don't mention it,' replied Charlie. •If I'm to stage-manage this little business I'll see that it's done properly. There now—that's near the sort of coat that you must wear, if you wißh to succeed.' He threw him the coat. It had aged considerably daring the past five minutes —the most cctiva five minutes it wonld be likely to have, however chequered a futnre might ba in Btore for it. It had now the appearance of a garment that had been worn by a not over-careful msn for half a dozen years. 'Ttank you. Am I expecttd to put it on ?-' said G, raid, lifting it on the point of one foot ' Certainly, if you have still a mind to carry out your notion of a disguise,' replied Charlie. • Yes; the unmistakable lock of Briggs and Company has now been knocked out it; all that you'll have to do now is to shave off that moustache of yours, mmple your hair a bit, bay a email cap, and keep from washing for a wee* or ao, and you'll pbss muster. I'll guarantee that if the mater wes as long sighted as she now is short sighted, ehe'd fail to identify you.' 'Oh, you're sure that's all you'd recommend me to do ? You know you've only to suggest something else, and I'll see that it's done. Think now if yon haven't forgotten something—a chap's memory ia apt to be treschercus in regard to Each trifles as—ab, shaving off a moustache, I think you said. You wouldn't rtcommend me to shave my head, would you ? You've only to say it, ycu know. Charlie laughed. 'No j I wouldn't recommend you to shave your head—only rumple it, and keep it in a constant state of rumple,' said he ' Yes, and it would be no harm if you were to drop your cap accidentally at Regent Circus and see that half a dozen 'bases pass over it. It will then be fit for use. Now, give me a brandy and soda; my exsrtioES on your behalf have made me a bit rocky. Ah, G rry, old chap, it's not masy ifknds that would take so much trouble to help you.' ' No,' said Gorald; ' I'll be banged if there's another that would make a football of a new coat of mine for several minutes, and then suggest the advisability of my shaving off a moustache that has been my most intimate companion for the past five years. Never mind, I'll stick at nothing: the moustache will go in the morning. Let me paas another evening in its company. Don't ba too hardhrtuttd.' ' I wiah you'd chuck up the wh la business and keep your moustache,' siid Charlie, as they went downstairs. * I fcuow that I'm getting myself into ths

deuce of a row with ray people on your [ aciount; and, upon my soul, Flossie isn't worth all the bo'her, I know her and have known her rather intimately for the past nineteen years, and I can assure you that Bhe's just as worldly as they are made.' Gerald smiled—the smile of the lover who hears the young woman of his choice referred to in the brutal language of a brother. v Will you have brandy or whisky P' he esquired. • I think after all I'll bave whisky— Irish,' said Charlie. Gerald turned the soda-water Byphon into a tall tumbler containing a glass of Irißh whisky and handed the result of the blend to his friend. It is to be hoped that every one knows Nethercome, that moßt delightful of Devonshire resorts—when not too many holiday-seekers make it the centre of their explorations. But as in England, the entire population take their annual holiday i« the month of August, one has only to avoid Nethercome during this month in oider to drink its delights to the full, and to run no chance of meeting at every lovely spot the ' star comique' who makes three clear and well-defined toilets in the course of the day, and sings intolerably dreary songs in the pavilion every night for the benefit of the August visitors. One of the charms of the place is to be found in the undulating character of the roads, whether along the cliffs or further inland. At Nethercombe, if one moves at all, one is either going uphill or downhill. Now to the young and active these hillwalks are altos ether delightful, but the elderly and inactive regard them at first with graduvlly lengthening faces until someone who has been there before says: ! ' Oh, we shall have donkey-chairs.' Then the faces that were lengthening become suddenly curtailed, and the owners of these faces lift their eyes to the hills without misgivings. Hills, they believe, were made for donkeys, and donkeys were made for hills by a wonderful provision of nature, and si all's well. The donkey-chairs at Nethercombe are numerous and mostly these equipages are well appointed. The animals are led by elderly women, by elderly men, and by such young men as do not consider that the guiding of a donkey is an employment unw- rthy of a man with fully-developed | muscles. It is not on record that a donkey ever jeopardised the safety cf a passenger by running away. Just a week after Lieutenant Ashby of the Blues had partaken <"f that simple and p pu'ar refreshment in the rooms of his friend the Honourable Gerald Gaythorpe, the ranks of the donkey- c! air drivers at a certain part of the little town were augmented by a youth with a handsotse, clean-shaven face, and here and there a smut upon it as if he had not had too much time to spend at his toilet. His suit of corduroys was considerably the worse for wear, and his cap was undeniably bad, as was also the tie that he wore. His boots of untanned leather had passed the first bloom cf youth. The new-comer was, in fact, as like a well setup donkey chair driver as might be seen anywhere along the coast He appeared with a neat little carriage and a well-groomed donkey quite suddenly one morning, greatly to the annoyance of the other occupants of the same rankthat is to say, the same donkey-chair ' rank. He was plainly a stranger, and it was—with some reason—asserted by the drivers who were native-born, that for a stranger to come and try and take the ; bread out of their mouths was a great hardship. The old women were most vehement in their protests, and many of. ■ them reached the ears of the new comer, ' who was leaning against a lamp, flicking . the dust off his boots with the whip that he carried ' Djn't you mind 'em, young man,' said a voice at his elbow in the most melodious Devonshire, just as he was beginning to weary of the strong language that was being directed against him ' Don't you I mind 'em. It's a free country j there's room for all. It's not a bad donkey, that cf yours.' The new comer turned round and saw beside him a young girl with the 1 pleasantest brown face that he had ever 1 seen. It was—yes, he could not but ack- | nowledge it—a handsome face. She was tall aad beautifully made, he also saw, ' although the dress of a donkey-chair girl | was not oalculated to show her figure-to ' any particular advantage. , yt's very good of you to Bay so.' said he, with a ■'mile. ' Still, you know, there's ; something in what these old ladies eay: i I'm a sort of interloper—-In fact, a re--1 gular interloper, ain't I?' i • You don't look as if you'd been i, brought up to the business, sir,' said she; her eyes were now turned upon the , greund. ' No; I wasn't. But for that matter, I ' don't suppose that anyone is born a ; - donkey, chair driver,' he remarked. ' I wasn't,' she said. 'My mother didn't always drive a chair, sir.' ' ' Why dc you call me, ' 6ir' ?' he in- | quired. 'Do you call the other boys, 'sir* ? \ ' I've seen too many folks about here ■ not to know the difference between a | donkey-chair boy and a gentleman,' she ■ said still looking down. 'ls your name Johnson ?' came an in- . terrupting voice—the voice of the hall '. page of the chief hotel of Nethercombe. ' j answer t) the name of Johnson,' said , the new donkey-driver. ' Come along then; you're the chap that ! someone recommenced to two of our • customers. Look sharp now, a upid.' , 'You infernal young—ab, all right} , I'll look sharp.' b The donkey-driver looked at first as if he wss about to give the hotel page such [ a thrashing as he had never received in , all his life, but he suddenly checked [ himself, and went jbo Mb donkey's head. Then he turned to the girl, sayinar, • I beg your pardon; but business is , business, isn't it ? We'll meet again, I L hope' l ' It's quite likely,' said she. , He did his best to encourage his animal I into a trot, tut his success was not pronounced. He turned his head after a [ moment or two, and saw that the girl was , leaning against the lamp watching him. He nodded to ber, and raised his whip in a coachman's salute. • Look here, my boy,' he said to the pag e i who was whistling one of the melodie 8 ! that the last ' star comique' had left ' behind him—the month was September, t and the ' star comique' had departed. ' ' Look here, what's the name of that l gr'?' ? ( To be continued )