SHORT STORY.

Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette, Issue 410, 17 March 1904, Page 3

SHORT STORY.

• Whsbe are you going P said somebody* »3 he slunk out towards Che hatnek. 'Oh, oat he returned, with what a variety artist would call a good imitation of a person wishing to appear blamelessly forgetful of something he remembered quite distinctly. 'Well, see that you don't stay out long. Bemember what it is this afternoon.' He tamed like a stag at bay. 'What is it this afternoon? 1 he demanded viciously. 'Ton know very well/ •What?* ' See that you're here, that's aIL You're got to be dressed* •I will not go to that silly dancing class again, and I tell you I won't, and I won't. And I won't I' he yelled, excitedly. •Now, Dick, don't begin that all over •gam. lou've got to go.' 'Why?' • Became it's the thing to do.' 'WhyP • Because you must learn to dance.' 'Why? 'Every nice boy learns.' •Why?* 'That will do, Eichard. Go and find your pumps. Bow, get up 60m the floor; you must expect to be hurt, if you pull so. Come, Bichud! Bow, step crying—a great boy like you! lam sorry I hurt ycur elbow, but- you know very well you aren't crying for that at all. Come along!' His eater flitted by the door in an engaging deshabille, her accordion-pleated sknt held carefully from the floor, her hair in two glistening blue-knotted pigtails. A trail of rose-scented soap floated through (ne halL 'Hurry up. Dick, or we'll be late,' she called back sweetly, secure in the knowledge that if such virtuous accents maddened him still further, no one could blame hoc 'Oh, you shut up, will you!' he marled. But she passed on, and a patient monologue from her brother's room indicated the course of events there. 'Your necktie is on the bed. No, I dent know where the bine one is—it doesn't matter; that is just as good. No, you can not. You will have to wear one. Because so one ever goes without.' 'Many a boy would-be thankful and glad to have silk stockings. Nonsense—your legs are warm enough. Now, Bichard,how perfectly ridiculous I There m no left and right to stockings. You have no time to change. Shoes are a different thing. I don't know why. 'Brush it more on that aide—no, you - can't go to the barber's. You went last week. It looks perfectly well. I cut it? Why, I don't know how to trim hair. Anyway, there isn't time now. It will have to do. Stop your scowling, for goodness' sake, Dick. Have you a handker- • chief? It makes no difference, you must " carry one. Yes, they always do, whether they have colds or not. I don't know why. 'Your Golden Text! The idea! No, you cannot. You can learn that on Sunday morning. This is not the time to learn Golden Texts. I never saw such a child. Now take your pumps and find the pluahbag. Why not? But them in with Bath's. That's what the bag was made for. Well, how do you want to carry them? Why I never heard of anything so silly! You will knot the strings. I dent care if they do carry skates that way —skates are not slippers. You'd lose them. Very well, then, only hurry up. I should think you'd be «ah*mfd to have them dangling round your neck in that way. 'Mind you don't dance with Buth every time. Take another little girl. Yes, you must. I shall speak to your father if you answer me in mat way again, Bichard. Men don't dance with their sisters. Because they don't. I'm sure I don't know why.* He slammed the front door and strode along beside his scandalised sister, the pumps fiopyjpg noisily on his shoulders. She tripped along contentedly she liked to go. The personality capable of extracting pleasure from the hour before ' thembsfflad hia comprehension, and he scowled fiercely at her, rubbing his silk stockings together at every step, to enjoy the s'range, smooth sensation thus produced. This gave him a bow-legged gait that distressed hia sister beyond words. ' I think you might stop. Everybody's looking at you I Please stop. Dick Pendleton j you're a nasty, mean thing. If you jump in that wet place and spatter me I shall tell papa—you will care, when I tell him, just the samel* She pursed up hex lips and maintained a determined silence. He rubbed his legs together with renewed emphasis. Acquaintances met them and passed, unconscious of anything but the sweet picture of a sister and a brother and a plush bag going daintily and dutifully to dancing school; but hia heart was hot at the injustice of the world and the hypocritical cant of girl*, and her thoughts were busy with her indictment of *»"»» before the family tribunal—the hoped he would be sent to bed. He jumped over the ttoehoM of the long room and aimed his cap at the head Of a boy he knew, who was studiag on One foot to put on a slipper. This destroyed his friend's balance, and a cheering scoffle followed. life assumed a more hopeful aspect. But only for a moment. A shrill whistle called the boys and girls out in two bunches to the polished floor. Hoping against hope, Dick had clung to the thought that Mxra Dorothy would be ill, that she had missed her train—but no! there she was, with her shiny, high-heeled sappers, her pink skirt that polled out lika a fan, and her silver whistle on a chain. 'Beady, children! Spread out. Take youx lines. - First position. Now.' Tim man at the piano thundered out the flat bars of the latest waits, and the business began. Their eyes were fixed solemnly on Miss Dorothy's pointed shoes. They slipped and slut and crossed their legs and arched their podgy insteps; the boys breathed hard over their gleaming collars. On the right side of the hall thirty hands held out their diminutive skirte at a graceful angle. On the left, neat, black legs pattered diligently through mystic evolutions. The chorda rolled out slower, with dramatic pauses between, sharp clicks of the castanets rang through the halls a Hue of toes rose gradually towards the bomontat. whirled more or leas steadily

The Little God and Dicky.

behind, bent low, bowed, s!i Wlt^ a flotfer oE ***** «»unied the first position. Kil^ri" 0 ' thteel ?**> *■* **>«*! Sliaa, elide, crosßj one, two, three!' . There are those who find pleasure in the aimless intricacies of the danoe; selfrespecting men even have been known to frequent voluntary assemblies devoted to mis nerve-racking, attitudinising futility. Among such, however, you shall seek in vain in future years for Bichard Carr Pendleton. Miss Dorothy's silver whistle shrilled. ' Get ready for the two-step, children!' A mild tolerance grew on him. If dancing must be, better the two-step than anything else. It is not an alluring dance, your two-step j it does not require temperament. Anyone with a firm intention of keeping the time and a strong arm can drag a girl through it very accsptably. It was Dicky's custom to hurl himself at the coloured bunch nearest him, and to plunge into the dance. • Oh, look I Did you ever eee anything s> BweeU' said somebody. Involuntarily he turned. There, in a corner, all by her■e'J, a little girl was gravely performing a dance. Ha stared at her curiously. For the first time, free from all personal connection with them, he discovered that those motions were pretty. She was ethereally slender, brown eyed, brown haired, brown ekinned. A little fluffy white dress spread fan-shaped above her knees; her ankles were bird-like. The foot on which she poised seemed hardly to rest on the ground; the other, pointed outward, hovered easily —now here, now there. Her eyee were serious, her hair hung loosely. She swayed lightly; one little gloved hand held out her skirt, the other marked the time. •Dicky advanced and bowed jerkily, grasped one of the loops of her s%Bh in the back, Btamped gently a moment to get the time, and the artist sank into the partner, the pirouette grew coarse to sympathise with clay. 'Don't they do it well, though! See those little things near the door!' he caught as he went by, and his heart swelled with pride. • What's your name ?* he asked abruptly after the dance. 'Thethelia,' she lisped, and shook her hair over her cheek. She was very shy. 'Mine's Bichard Carr Pendleton. My father's a lawyer. What's yours?' ' I—l don't know I* she gasped, obviously considering flight. He chuckled. Was there ever Bach engaging idiocy? She didn't know. Well, well 'Pooh!' he said grandly, 'you must know.' She looked hopelessly at her fan, and shook her head. Suddenly a light dawned in her big eyes. •Maybe I know,* she murmured. 'I guethlknow. He—he*th a really thtatel* ' A really state ? That isn't anything—nothing at all. A really state?' he frowned at her judiciously. Her lip quivered; she turned and ran away. 'Here, come back 1' he called, bat she was gone. 'Beady for the cotillion, children!' and Miss Dorothy, her arms full of long, coloured ribbons, was upon him, The inarch began. Dicky, linked to a tomboy in white duck, had fought for a place behind bis late partner, and as they clambered into adjacent chairs, he nudged her violently ana whispered, 'l'm going to choose you!' She smiled shyly. 'All right,' she said. Miss Dorothy approached with the favours. Dicky aat primly, looking at the ceiling. As he had expected, a broad streamer fell into his lap. He leaped to the floor, seized Cecelia by her skirt, bustled the tomboy, as in duty bound, within the purple leash, and beckoned to the next girl in the row. They arranged themselves three abreast, and he drove them, to the inspiring two-step, across the room, in line with two others similarly equipped. On the return trip they were confronted by three bands of prancing little boys, and as they met in the middle, with a scramble of adjustment, the steeds paired off neatly, 'Now, you choose me,' Dicky commanded, as they scrambled into the chairs. ' All right,' she said again. : He slipped into the broad blue ribbon she held out to him at arm's length, and cantered cheerful 1 * before her, her slave for ever. How lightly she floated on behind them! Not like that tomboy Frances, who chucked at her team as if they were horses, and nearly ran them down; Cecelia swam .like thistledown in their wake. 'That will do for to-day,' said Mies Dorothy, gathering up the ribbons, and they surged into the dressing-rooms, to be buttoned up and pulled oat of draughts and trundled home. She was swathed carefully in a wadded silk jacket, and then enveloped in a hooded Mother Hubbard cloak. Dicky ran up to her as a woman led her out to a carriage at the curb, and.tagged at the ribbon of her cloak. ' Where do you live P' he demanded. Her hair was under the hood, but eke hid her face behind the woman. 'I—I don't know,' she said, softly. The woman laughed. * Why, yee, you do, Cissy,' she reproved. • Tell him directly, now.' She put one tiny finger in her mouth. 'I—I live on Chethnut Thtreet,' she called, as the door elammed and shut her inHis sister amicably offered him half the plush bag to carry, and opened a running criticism of the afternoon. * Bid you ever Bee anybody act like that Tannie Leaoh? She's awfully rough. Miss Dorothy spoke to her twice— wasn't that dreadful ? What made you dance all the time with Cissy Weston ? She's an awful baby.' ' She's the prettiest one there!' he said. Her sister stared at him. •Why, Dick Pendleton, she is not! She's so little—she's not half so pretty as Agnee, or—or lots of the girls. She's sush a baby. She puts her finger in her mouth if anybody says anything at all. If you ask her a single thing she does like this: •I don't know—l don't know!' He smiled scornfully. Did he not know how she did it? Had he not seen that adorable finger—those appealing eyes ? ' And she can't talk plain! She lisps.' Hsavena! Was ever a girl bo thickheaded as this sister of his! Brains, technical knowledge, experience of the world, these he had never looked to find in- her; but perceptions, feminine intuitions—were they lacking, too ?

~ l should like/ he said to his mother the next morning, *to go and see her.' 'Well, you can go with me to-day, perhaps, when I call on Mrs Weston,' she assented. opposite to her on a hassock that afternoon, their mothers engaged in chatting across the room, his assurance completely withered away. There was nothing whatever to say, and he said it, adequately perhaps, but with a sense of deepening embarrassment. She took refuge behind her hair, and they sat and stared uncomfortably at each Other. 'And he has never condescended to have anything to do with little girls before, so we are much impressed.' It was his mother's voice. Oh, why did not the hassock yawn beneath him and swallow him up! To discuss him as if he were a piece of furniture ! He wished he had not come. Why didn't she speak ? If only they were out of doors; in a room with pictures and cushions a man is at such a disadvantage, 'lf you'll come over to my house, I'll show you the biggest rat-hole you ever saw—it's in the stable!' he said desperately. It was a good deal to do for a girl, but she was worth it. •Oh! Oh!' she said, and her eyes widened. ' Maybe you can see the rat—he doesn't often come out, though,' he added honestly. She shuddered and twisted her ringers violently. 'No! No^^-^-Jflßsnn^aJ^, ' 1-1 h?jjm IhadtcJ FrigM looked '^M emile. V TheisM they ch9 She M desper:M sheH this w^| <IM you k-B SbeJ Sheß ,Y<M 'ObM Uncle 9 name imj 'WeM their tfl HMPWRMMPV A fellovTtold me ' '^^^ 'Oh! Oh! Oh!' She shuddered off the hassock, and rushed to her mother, gasping with horror. «He thayth—he tbayfch— * wordß failed her. Broxen sobs of 'Eli! Oh, Eli!' filled the parlour. He was dazed, terrified. What had happened? What had he done? He was shuffled disgracefully from the room; apologies rose above her sobbing; the door closed behind Dicky and his mother. Waves of rebuke rolled over his troubled spirit. •Of all dreadful things to say to a poor, nervous, little girl! lam too mortified, Bichard, how do you learn such dreadful, dreadful things ? IPs not truf»,» 'But. mamma, it is! It truly is. When they are little a man bites them off. Peter told me so. He puts his mouth right down——' 'Bichard! Not another word! lou are disgusting—perfectly disgusting. You trouble me very much,' He retired to the clothes-tree in the side yard—there were no junipers there—and cursed his gods. To have made her cry! They thought he didn't care, but oh, he did! He felt as if he had eaten a cold, grey stone that weighed down hia stomach. The cat slunk by, but he threw nothing at her, and his neighbour's St. Bernard puppy rolled inquiringly into the hedge, stuck there, and thrashed about helplessly, but he said nothing to frighten it. He thought of supper—they had spoxen of cinnaman rolls and little yellow cußtardß —but without the usual thrill. What was the matter ? Was he going to be ill ? There seemed nothing left in life. He regarded going to bed with a dull acquiescence. As well that as anything else. It might be eight o'clock now for all he cared, (To be concluded next week.)