BILLY AND THE GLAD GIRLS.
(By Empedocles). I'm only writing this about Billy because something to-day has recalled it to my mind, and he is not likely to see it, as he now sojourns somewhere in Ceylon with a beautiful half-caste Ceylonese, whom he married fourteen months ago. What I'm going to tell you happened six or seven years before he was gathered into the dusky arms of his consort, and went to feed upon kisses and cocoa-nuts on a tea station about four days' march from Colombo. As a matter of fact, Billy was always awfully susceptible to female charms, and when we were juniors together on h very conservative paper in a certain Australian State, he used to shirk his assignments wickedly to take pretty girls to afternoon tea, or to see the moon rise in the public gardens. He took one for a row once, on a most delightful stretch of the harbour—but that's another story. Anyway, Billy preferred laughing eyes to mothers' meetings, and al fresco outings to reporting the proceedings of prosy municipal councils, or flower shows. And it therefore necessarily fell to my lot to cover sundry of his engagements in the literary line, as well as my own, in order that he should not fall fou! of the chief. It was about this time that the opera came to town, and with it came some glad girls, whose limbs were recherche, and whose eyes danced in the light like champagne in the glass. Through a strange series of happy circumstances, most of the men were on gallery work, for parliament was in session at the time, and it was left to the "cub" reporter to do the first night at the opera. Our office did not carry a musical and dramatic critic on board. We all took a turn at "doing" music, whether we knew anything about it or not, and as the advertisements were usually large, the notices were always brilliantly appreciative. This*is the way with some newspaper offices in Australia, although I believe it is quite unheard of in New Zealand. Anyway, on the first night Billy saw a divinity with yellow hair and the usual pearly teeth, and with claret-coloured hose peeping out from a delectable salad of lace frilling, edging a brief skirt of moss rose. It was a case of love at first sight. Thenceforth newspapers were far from Billy's mind, and he revelled in the glories of his newly-found glad girl. I have the first notice of that opera by me as I write. It contains a wealth of detail atbout one member of the cast, and nothing else. The stars were all eclipsed by she of the wine coloured stockings, for Billy let his heart and pen run riot and filled a column with a tender and graphic description of the charms of the onejgirl, and there was little else said. That girl appeared to have all the dimples, graces, and charms of the whole of the goddesses in mythology rolled into one. Bill's examination was thorough. The theatircal entrepeneur called round at the office after the notice appeared and burnt with fierce choler. He demanded to know what the editor meant by sending a blatant ass to report a first-night production. The newspaper seer, however, could only take the theatrical person's word for it, because there was no one in authority on the paper who knew really much about footlight reports; and the reporters themselves enjoyed to joke too utterly to say a word. The chief did mention to Billy that something seemed wrong, but Billy explained so lucidly and at such length that the chief rang him off with a "well-yuu-seem-so - decided - that - I-dare-say-you-are-right" sort of air, and resumed an article calculated to raise the hair of the Premier of the day. But all this is really by the way. Billy saw a good deal of the Glad Girl? one way and another during the fortnight's searfon. They disturbed the virgin serenity of unknown nooks on dreamy summer afternoons, when rehearsals were done, during which he praised "the dear starlight of her haunting eyes," and searched diligently and successfully for her prettiest dimples. At night, after the show, Billy took her to sup. Once I went with them at his express wish. Clitheroe was there, I remember, and two girls of the baliet. Jerston wanted to come with us but Billy considered he was too young, and persuaded him to go home to bed in order that be might take his (Billy's) assignment at a 'presbytery meeting in the morning. Billy said that he was afraid dissipation might be bad for Jerston under the circumstances, and argued that the moderator might see the specs before his eyes if he stayed out late. I concurred. The glories of that supper must not be written. Full particulars are not available, as they say in the papers. Anyhow, I am not sure now that I remember them. Suffice it to say that we supped both wisely and well and welcomed the red sun god with blithesome caroMing. As we toddled home Billy said we were like the people of the mist. It certainly was foggy; I suppose that was was what he meant. It is so long ago now. The end of the season came, and the company, including the Glad Girl took a steamer at midnight, the last performance, on their way to New Zealand. Billy was there to bid an
affectionate farewell. I was there, J too, and most of the others. We sat ; in a cabin built for two —seven of us all told—and drank wine and tasted ruby lips. She of tne claret hose was , inconsolable in her grief at parting from Billy. Then somehow the pro- j pellor commenced to churn and the i ship slowly moved off from the wharf. ! We rushed on deck and made wildly j erratic jumps from the taff-rail to the shore. We did not wait to say good-bye—-all except Billy. One man jumped short and fell overboard. He was unnoticed but managed to climb under the pier, where he sat all night through the darkness. He said it would not have been so bad if he had had a fishing line. I was ashore with bruised shins and bleeding nose from my fall, when Billy and the Glad Girl came bounding up the saloon companion. It was too far for Billy to jump, so we sang "God be with you till we meet again" in dulcet tones, and struck matches in token of farewell till the steamer dimmed in the offing. Billy had been shanghaied. Four days later I received a cable from him despatched at the Bluff. He was taking the next steamer home. When he arrived he found his place was filled. So he drifted about for a time, and then I lost sight of him. Two years after I heard from him. He was in a place with a most unpronounceable name, somewhere in India, and wrote joyously about the Glad Girls of the East. Then I lost sight of him for nearly five year?. One day came a letter from Ceylon. He had been working on a tea plantation, in which he had acquired the largest interest through his marriage with the daughter of a Parsee, or someone. Billy was as enthusiastic as ever, and said his bride was a gem of the first water. He wrote twelve pages of a description that baffled me. It was wildly heroic. He said that he had found they did not quite understand European ideas of love-making in Ceylon, and that his wife's father had become insistent. Besides the tea plantation was quite a commendable concern. He had met the girl of his heart at last and sacrificed Christus for Budda. His note ended with a tinge of his old folly. "I am still always on the look out for another Glad Girl, dear old chap" he wrote "there must be plenty about." The foregoing is brought to my mind by a marked notice in a paper bearing a Ceylon post mark which reached me this morning. It reads "Strethren. —At the plantation, Umbrajoh, Ceylon, on 29th April, 19 —, the wife of William Strethren, a daughter. Both doing well." Billy had gotten himself another Glad Girl.
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/KCC19100928.2.11
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King Country Chronicle, Volume IV, Issue 298, 28 September 1910, Page 3
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1,391BILLY AND THE GLAD GIRLS. King Country Chronicle, Volume IV, Issue 298, 28 September 1910, Page 3
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