OFF THE HIGHWAY.

Dominion, Volume 6, Issue 1826, 12 August 1913, Page 6

OFF THE HIGHWAY.

AT THE PICTURES, PENALTY OF A BROKEN TRUST. [Br "Mere Mere."] It was all done for tho sako of peace. Perkins had made up his mind the Athletic-"St. Jimmy's" match, but rnero man, it is said, only proposes. It was Mrs. Perkins who intervened on the football intention. A practical recognition of the virtues of vaccination was for tlio nonce destroying her noted equableness of temper, and Perkins, with tho full glories of his afternoon off in prospect, had been briefly' informed that sho oculd bothered with the youngsters that day. - , With tho wistlom of domesticity Perkins did not state a case in his own behalf. He would take tho trio of young Perkinses out rather than accept the alternative ultimatum of "stopping at'homo and minding tho house." Jackie, Sally, 1 and Mary, though, had their little friend Ella round to spend tho day with them, so that it was with a party of four that Perkins ultimately sallied forth. And then a happy thought occurred to him. Sublimo inspiration! Ho would tako tho band of hopefuls to tho WorldWide • Picture Theatre. . That surely would bo a safe and agreeablo anchorage for them for a couple of hours, wh timo lie could have "a look round." Popping tho proposition to his charges they readily accepted tho manner of dismissal—certainly they would be all right at the pictures. . So at the door of the Wiorld-Wido Theatre Perkins explained tho position to tho usher. Business— ahem—required his attention in the city, and would tho usher—(hero Perkins nudged something -into the official's palm) —just seo the youngsters to their seats and he would call back again for them in about an hour or so's timo. "Very well, sir," said'tho usher. Perkins, now free and unfettered as a wild bird—(thanks to that happy thought) —consulted his watch. A quarter past two. Surely 110 reason why ho should not sco some of the match. Ho would not toss up a coin—ho would go to the Park,

It was a slightly conscience : stricken Perkins who stood onco more in explanation to a World-Wide usher at half-past four. Perkins's earlier usher guardian had gone off duty and to the man now on lie lamely said that lie' thought, the youngsters had been seated, near tho doorway. What ages wero thßyp Oh, about seven, eight, nine, and ten—thrCo girls snd a boy. The usher said he would look, and focusing his little lamp along tile near-by seats ho commenced a.search. At last Perkins, peering into the gloom of picturedom iroln the doorway, heard tho usher's voice. "Como along." ho was saying, "there's someone waiting for you outside."

And, after some persuasian, outside trooped a wonder-struck quartet—a shock-headed boy, aiuUthree gaunt girls. "Here's your father," said tho usher, off-handedly bestowing a paternity as lio ushered them out.

They blinked at Perkins, who tfos gazing in amazement at tho shock-headed boy. "They're not mine," he stammtiicd. And the look on tho youngsters was ample corroboration.

"There's about six hundred more of them inside. Shall I bring out another lot?" Tho usher was waxing just a little sarcastic.

Solacing-' the youthful picture-gazers with a coin, Perkins said ho would go in himself. "A needle in a haystack," quoth the usher. Groping along from seat to seat, the dimness almost grinning a grim defianco at him, Perkins, was brought to a standstill by a gruff "Sit down!" Ho sank down. On tho screen was pictured a contented-looking mail— cafe-ensconced and care-free—with puffing cigar and charged glass. Tho 6earcher turned his head away from such a jarring scone. Immediately in tho blackness behind him a volublo woman was prattling away—

"Yes, we're still living at Newtown, and you romember those people I was telling you about tho last timo I saw you, well, they're still living next door. Queer neighbours, I call 'em. Wo never ste anything of 'em, and they always keep their gate padlocked. Even . the rubbish-man can t get in to get their rubbish, and he says to nic, tlio other, day, lie says, that lie's not going to worry about it—if they don't leave it out they can keep it. A Salvation.Army woman, asked me the other day if I knew anything about 'em, and I said I didn't, and I didn't pare either. But you know, every' night I hear 'their gate slam at a .quarter to eleven reg'lar, anil I says to my Tom that I think ho must work at the pictures, but Tom says he doesn't think so. She's just a little mite of a woman, and he's one of those big fat men. All seems very funny to us, but, as Tom says, our neighbours' affairs are nono of ours, and that's' the principle I always goes by. ("That's

.the proper way, too," another voice manages to chime in.) . . . I've been cleaning up all day, and 1 got that feol\ng that I didn't know what I wanted, so I thought I'd- come ouit and get a few oggs, -sorter fanoirtl that I'd like one, and then I thought I'd come in here for a rest. . . ." Perkins ventured to look at tho screen once again, and saw an angry-looking woman Haunting a letter in the previously unperturbed man's face. A comrade in distress—he felt qui to a kindly feeling now towards tho pictured man. Tho sight of tho angry-looking woman, however, pointedly remindod Perkins that he must continue his search. He stumbled past a man who was dozing, arid wended peeringly along the aisle. Never before had ho so envied an owl ■ its peculiar faculty. A kindly-spoken voice sounded at- his elbow—-"Here's a seat, 9ir," and Perkins, who always liked to bo civil, took it. There was much girlish giggling and then a sotto voce dialogue. "Wto had a party last night, and tiiet were-there:, they're enjraged now, and she think's she's done all right. I don't know how he'll put up with her painful relatives though. I thought lio'd rone homo to England and taken his lunch with him, by the way lliey wore talking. . . . 11; aooms right enough, but she's " A small boy in front now jumped up oil his scat. "You see," he excitedly informed Perkins, -pointing to the screen, "he'Ll shoot him! You watch. I've seen it five times already. I've fac-on here sinco eleven o'clock this morning." There was a littlo consolation in this; his own party would still doubtless be Eoniewhe.ro in the theatre. The tragedv over, the lights went up for a few minute?, but the pictmxs were too truly continuous, and the theatre was all too soon for the purposes of Perkins's quest cast once more into tho shadow of night. Limp, worried, and weary, he sought a seat... Was Little 80-peen when she lost her slioop agc-nised by such qualms of conscience? Vistas -of beautiful lake scenery, fights with train wreckers, and the like ran tlioi.r gamut unheeded bv the per-plexed-Perkins. Absolutely distraught— the clock stating a quarter-past six— ho tvhs wandering past the orchestra when lie discovered his lost family gazing raptlv at the picture soreen.

In tlwiir_ greeting they did: not . rebuke, him; did not ove.n sav he was a long time away. Wasn't it good—they had se«m that picture three times. Why hud they shifted? Oh, tlinre wa.s n draught at the door, and he had told them often thny mmt never sit in a draught. What, going home fo peon? Reluctantly they left the theatre—thov had had such a good time. They lilcd 'him taking them to the pictures— Mother never stopped half as long as he had let them. He would take them again, wouldn't lie? ...

Perkins mads but one comment, arid that was to himself. It was "Never more."