Heart of Gold.

Auckland Star, Volume LIX, Issue 228, 26 September 1928, Page 20

Heart of Gold.

By C. M. MATHESON Author of "NUT IN THE HUSK," etc. etc.

CHAPTER XVII. Meanwhile Jim Lacy pursued his hapless career in the London streets. The day on which he had thrust Doreen aside, he had touched the depths of the black despair which lav like a shadow over his mind. The shock of seeing her so abruptly, of hearing her cry out his name, had given him no opportunity to consider how he should act. He had, sometimes resolutely and sometimes despairingly, fought all memory of Doreen from his heart and brain, only to find her drift back again, creep to his heart, enshrine herself once more in his memory, as soon as he released his efforts. His movement against her that day when she met him in the street was

automatic. He thrust at her, as, in his dreams, in his thoughts, he thrust at her image. She had immediately turned and hastened from him, and the crowd had hidden her from his sight. He, realising what he had done, stood a. moment in horror and shame, almost ready to go after her and explain and beg her forgiveness. But—he wished to be rid of her. Also—could she ever torgive him for what he had done? All that had gone before, all his aloofness, had not seemed any unpardonable fault in her eyes. He knew by the glad

note in her voice when she cried his name that to her he was without sin. But then—she did not know all. She did not know what he had done. She still believed in him, but, if she knew, could she still possibly believe V Jim went on his, way, sick at heart, ashamed, more than ever despairing.

''She'd never come back to me if she knew," he told himself. "If che knew she wouldn't have stopped and called 'Jim' to me like that. And she's finished with me now that I've pushed her away." '"She looked all right," he continued ill order to find excuse. "She's pampered and petted by those Scotley people. They all think the world of her. They believe she's innocent."

He had thought he no longer desired Doreen; he had striven to set her away; but in memory she clung to him; she vyas "closer than breathing" to him. Now that, surely he had alienated her completely and irrevocably, he more ardently than ever longed to see her again. Jim was, in good sooth, the sport of the gods.

He made his aimless way through the town. When a chance occurred to him to earn a few shillings, he earned them. He found a week's work at Covent Garden while the porters were on strike. When urged to desist he retorted: "All right, you wait till you're down to your last bob. Then you'll know." That week at the big market was twice distinguished; in the first place, hS enjoyed' it. The wagons and lorries that arrived before dawn, or as the miraculous dawn was breaking, laden with fruit and vegetables and flowers, brought with them an atmosphere of the countryside. Many of the drivers were country men. London, while the work of provisioning the market went forward, was quiet and fresh; its inhabitants asleep. Even the night birds were gone at this hour. The air was clear, cold fiften, and dew lay on the roofs. Dew in London! Jim hail never thought it possible. Then there weve* the other habitues of the market. It did not take long to know them well. The flower women with their clever knowledge of the wares that would sell, their cheery talk; big, fat, blousy women, handling the blossoms with an extraordinarily light touch. Jim had no time to "strike up a friendship" with any of them, but he did not pass them without noticing them. During his days of penurv he had seen much of the dark side of London life, and much of the witty and iridescent side. These flower women belonged to the latter class. They were the people who lived in stuffy "rooms, who had some comfort, who went home in the evenings to a savoury meal of fish and chips and beer or a bloater and a cup of tea, and slept noisily,, and woke at dawn or earlier and made their way here to choose their flowers while the blossoms were at their freshest and best. And spent the hours of their days at their pitch in Piccadilly or its neighbourhood, seeing life pass by. Jim had a fancy for these women. He decided that when the strike was over and, with it, his temporary job, he would seek one or two of them and listen to whatever they chose to tell him. That week at Covent Garden was the commencement (though he did not know it) of the regeneration of Jim. He indeed sought out one of the flower women some time after, and talked to her, lounging against the railings of the tube entrance in Trafalgar Square. Piecemeal he told her something of his story, without revealing his identity or his connection with the Doreen Mallory murder trial. Talking to her was easier than carrying a burden of silent and unhappy thoughts. He also accepted her offer of a doss in her room whenever he wanted it. "When I'm flush I'il be there," said Jim. "You come when you like," she said. "Vi'lut Mergson me nyme is. They all know me in those rents. Do you know Southwark 1" "Not very well." ; She gave him directions. "You drop in any time you like." Jim had a friend. He had turned the corner from despair and had moved one step back to kindliness. Tentatively a few days later he made his way to Southwark, and in the maze of streets, found the tall building where Vi'lut Mergson had her one room. The key, she had told him, was on the narrow ledge above the lintel of the door. She had promised to leave it there for his convenience. She had laughed when he had said she might be burgled. "There's a fat lot to burgle, I don't think," she had said. Jim found the room, as he expressed it, "choked with things!" A miscellany of articles seemed to be piled everywhere. An extraordinary quantity of old clothes hung from the door and from pegs in the wall. The atmosphere of the room was stifling, the window close shut, the whole place stuffy with dust. He drew back fastidiously* Better the open air, the homelessnesa of his life than this. He pulled the door to again, locked it, restored the key to its hiding place, vi'lut Mergson was a good sort, a heart of gold, but he could not accept her offer to use her room. He had thought to please her by making his way there. He had thought to find a very different tvpe of apartment in which he could boil a kettle, wash and shave and <rest.

He saw her again. She asked him. "Have yer looked up my room yet?' ''Yes, he said. "I went there yesterday." "Did yer ? I didn't see yer'd disturbed nothink." '*1 wouldn't disturb any of your things," he told her. "No? Weli, yer go agvne. Go whenever yer likes. I won't be along till seven or later. Yer've got the whole dye." "Ihank you." Then lie felt he ought to show her more gratitude. He said: "It's very good of you, Mrs. Mergson." "Oh, go along," she replied. "Go along with yer." Presently moving away, Jim squared his shoulders and drew himself up. He was not down and out yet. The letter had come from Wain a few days ago, care of the Oxford Street post office. Wain said if Jim Lacy cared to come out, there were other jobs going. The Britisher had the pick of all the jobs worth taking. True, there was a pretty fair crowd, even in Brazil, after anything that came along, but a lot of the fellows were wasters. Wain said he knew Lacy was all right, despite recent events, and, anyway, he knew his job. "You come, old chap," lie added. It was this letter and Mrs. Mergson's friendliness that gave Jim his iirst lift out of the rut. As he moved away from the flower woman 011 this afternoon in September, he again told himself he was not down and out yet; he had "put up" with more than enough of hard times. He meant, now, to pull himself free; get up again, make something of life. Strange the process of thought! Strange the reaction of events, of suggestion! Jim could be homeless but he could not accept the life of the hardworking poor. He could not give his days to labour, to seeing crowds of people pass him by in the pursuit of pleasure or business, and at the end of the day, return to a mean room, to discomfort, to shiftlessness. His work must bring him some worthwhile reward; otherwise he would not give his time to working. With his thoughts occupied with regeneration, with the finding of a foothold from which to climb, Jim temporarily succeeded in forgetting Doreen. Exalted, he paced the streets thinking over possible plans. A steady job first j of all—any sort of job so long as it was as permanent as he required, so long as it would keep him decent. He possessed a few shillings. He turned them over in his pocket', considering them; something to eat to-night; to-morrow, breakfast— the best meal he could afford, a wash and shave, a clean collar, and a boot clean; he had never yet made anv effort to seek out a job, he had gone from hand to mouth day after day. Now he would go the rounds, line up with the other applicants. He would get in,somewhere. P (To be continued daily.)