LIFE'S MOVING ARMY.

Dominion, Volume 7, Issue 1867, 29 September 1913, Page 8

LIFE'S MOVING ARMY.

THE UNPOSTED MISSING. CLIMPSES BY THE WAYSIDE. [BY MBBZ MIRE.] "And so that was the doctor's diagnosis ?" Tho frock-coated business man absently nodded his head. From his friend on a city-careering car he had just sought that curious consolation j that conies from giving a confidcnce. The tale: told, he was now in a brown study, seeking down the words of the "surgeon's summing-up for any gleam in its grimness. If the physician had been non-committal on any point ho was at least too firm on the one —an operation . was necessary. " You'll probably bo laid up for a couple of months," the measured tones of the doctor's words ■ again struck dominantly on the memory. As the car slid round on its way to Goldie's Brae the unfolding beauty of Wellington Harbour in tho early morning vista ran parallel with the words of that sentence. From the rain-laden clouds the smooth waters wero taking mellowed reflection; a misty'haze was sweeping across tho distant hills; just caught at times by a fugitive sun shaft. Round the harbour entrance a small Bteamer was turning, wharfwapls. A scow had just left an anchorage -'if Thorndon and with loosening sheet was stealing out, triangular widening ripples in her wake.

There was the joyoushess, the; Hope of Spring in the air. Now catching his eye were the budding trees in full promise of their later glories ; here and there a fruit tree was drawing an early, draft on the wealth of the Bank of Blossom. Down the Grant Eoad pathway rudely healthy schoolboys were contestmg a sprint race with the car; lialloa-ing lustily as the electric vehicle left them hopelessly behind.' Certainly he had done right in telling tho doctor that he would not undergo the operation; that he had enough willpower to otherwise fight tho battle. It was not cowardice. Could he forsake that workaday world? Doctors were not infallible. "You'll have to do so, sooner or later"—those wero his mcdical consultant's final words, and they jarred and jangled in his thoughts still. . .. v Let it be later then. Never before did there seem to be such a magnetism about the morning bustle of the Quay. Strong was the set. of tho tide of humanity. What an exceptional joyousness in the bright ribbons- 'and hattrimmings of the young business women; how especially blaso tho city clerk, as cigarette loosely held, ho hopped off the car.' This was all commonplace, doubtless. How many hundreds of times had ho been swept inwards and outwards with the daily ebb and flow? Little appeal indeed had it made to him on occasions; rather a scornful gib© at the drabness of it all. But it was Life —the fullness and the freedom of it. And to be asked to forsake it willingly I

Tlioro were probably those who, rankers in the previous day's inarch to Work, had fallen out through misfortune. But the main army still moved on. It did not miss them. For him who falls by the 'wayside thero is too often but little sympathy; perchance only a passing remembrance to a few that he, like them, was once a tiny cog in a mighty machine. Lifo! 'l'ho clatter of the tramcars; the honk-konk of the motor-horn; the staccato sputter-sput of the motor-cycles exchango even these grating elements of everyday existcnco for the quietness of the sick room? If heeds must, well then, let it bo later!

Tho minister*was earnestly chatting to tho man seated alongside him on a form in Ward X of the Public Hospital. It was a toiler who, after an ail-out struggle with a relentless Fate, had been compelled to let go his grip of the handles of his trolly on the waterfront nnd seek refuge. "They don't give me much chance," ho was telling tho parson, "but I'm not a-givin' in. i would'nt care if it wasn't fer the missus and tho kids. Tho rent was overdue, and they had to sell the things and the landlord made them gQt out. The missus's got a room in Te Aro —not in your district now, but I'd like you to got your good wife to call and seo 'em." ,

The minister, spoke at parting, but the other, grateful for the comfort of the words, merely said that he was "up against it, but wasn't a-givin'

The prize was too precious to cease struggling in the contest —Life—the gift of living.

Some days he would too clearly recognise tho unequalness, the odds against him iri the conest. Then ho would seek solace and distraction in doing small tasks about tho ward —helping thoso who were loss able than he to help themselves. At other times when his malady was granting him some respite from pain he would spend an hour or so in the bright mornings searching among the uncultivated nooks and crannies of the Hospital grounds to collect a. posy of marigolds or gthcr vagrant flowers to help decorate tho . ward.

He doubted though, he would say, if when he got better whether he would bo able to take up his work on tho wharf. The nail .of tho. foundry and brickyard whistles at morning, noon, and night was tho most poignant reminder of his inactivity. !Tlio stricken man would occasionally 'take an odd fancy that some untried remedy would do him good, and to his pleading for a trial the Medical Superintendent would sympathetically, listen and ofttimes humour his mood by permission of tho request. All for Life—anything that might providentially ronew strength,, the clutch, of tho failing .grip. Tho will there was —a never-languishing optimism that all would yet be well. Once more he would become a cog in the machine —he would claim again his heritage—his placo. in the kingdom of work.

In the meantime though, there were ever the "Missus and the kids" to think of. Alike a strength in his battle and a weakness. One day he heard that tho Missus had reached tho last 'sixpence: the next morning's mail brought him a letter, enclosing a pound note, from some anonymous friend indeed. The joyful surprise that he was able to give the Missus that visiting day 1 It Mas 3j3 worrying to him as the disease that she and "tho kids" should suffer, und want. To all others it was apparent that the battle had been well-nigh, fought, and lost. The prize of Lifq was fast slipping away. To the toiler though much of the hope that springs eternal rfemaiucd.

"Sometimes," he Baid one evening after a treatment which for a timo would vitalise him and relievo him of much of his torment, "I think that I would givo five pounds for something to finish it all. But now I'd shoot tho man who offered -it to mo. . . . But," he wistfully concluded as riv factory whistle shrieked its close of day paean, "1 don't think I'll bo able to do labouring work again." And brave, willing, whilom ranker in that ever marching army, he wasn't. Fate had numbered him to bo among the missing.