The Locket She Gave Me . . .

Free Lance, Volume I, Issue 5, 4 August 1900, Page 14

The Locket She Gave Me . . .

I PASSED it by in my hurry, and then something prompted me to turn back and pick it up. That made all the difference. I often wonder what life would be like if I had not stopped, in spite of the rain, to examine that packet. On reaching home I found that the packet contained money— £sl7 and some odd shillings ; £500 in notes and £17 in gold' There was neither name nor address on it, and so I could do nothing but wait till an advertisement appeared in one of the papers, and hope in the meantime that it would never be claimed. However, things don't happen like that, and two days later the packet was advertised for by a Mrs Perrin, living in Clapharu. I called, and found that Mrs Perrin was a very young woman — not more than five or six and twenty— living in a small house, of the usual suburban type. She was dressed in black, and would have been pretty if she had not been extremely pale and worn-looking. She had a correct list of the notes, and so there was nothing to be done but hand them over and accept her thanks. "But I must do more than merely thank you," she said in some confusion, and fingering a £10 -note nervously. "You must accept something more substantial." Of course I declined, but I might not have done so if she had not been young and pretty. One is always more or less romantic at the advanced age of 21. " But perhaps you don't understand what this means to me," she insisted. " I have lately been left a widow, and this represents my husband's insurance policy. If the money had not fallen into good hands I should be destitute." There were tears in her eyes as she spoke, and I felt inclined to run away. " All the more reason why I shouldn't accept anything," I said hurriedly. " But wait," she answered, " you must at least accept some little keepsake, though I fear I have nothing of any value." She left the room, and I occupied my time in wondering how on earth anybody could manage to lose a packet containing £500. In a few minutes she returned with a tiny locket. "This was given to me by an old friend," she said, " and I treasure it very much, so please accept it as a token of my gratitude." Under the circumstances I could do nothing else, so I fastened it to my watch chain, and there it has hung ever since. Now, I suppose everybody knows what it is to start a run of bad luck. Mine started from that moment. All kinds of misfortunes followed one another — sickness and death of near relatives, a personal accident, innumerable minor disappointments — until at last my bad luck became a standing joke with everyone I knew. Finally, the firm I worked for failed quite unexpectedly, and then, after a couple of years spent in trying to find a satisfactory opening, I did the usual thing — packed my traps and went to the Cape. That was three years after the incident of the lost notes, during which time I had neither seen nor heard of Mrs Perrin. In Africa the same evil genius seemed to follow me. Other men managed to get, at any rate, a footing ; all I could do was to scrape along with the help of the small capital I had taken out. At last I found myself in a mining village called at that time Harmerstown, in honour of the man who owned the chief mine. From all accounts, he appeared to be one of those fortunate creatures who strike oil suddenly. After knocking about the world for a long time without a £5 note to his name, he fell on his feet, and in three years made a clear million of money out of the famous Tor Eeef Mine and some other ventures. All the money I had left was something less than 30s. One day, after a disappointing search for work, I turned into the only saloon in the place, which was scarcely more than a decent shed. It happened to be empty, for the miners had not yet stopped work, so I squatted on a barrel and called for a drink. Just then a man entered of about five-and-thirty years of age, and dressed in the usual hapDy-go-lucky mining style. How it* happened I hardly know, but within five minutes he and I were outside with our coats off. It was entirely my own fault, and the only excuse I can offer is that the landlord served him first, and in reaching for his drink he accidentally pushed against me. I was feeling bitter with constant failure, and said something

rude. He was chaffingly good-tempered, and that roused the devil within me, J and I let go. The affair didn't last long. He was by a long way the better man, and as cool as a cucumber. I was nearly blind with passion, and received a handsome thrashing, which necessitated my being put to bed by the landlord, assisted, to my intense humiliation, by the stranger. Two days later, having patched up my battered features, I hired a horse to ride to a farm twenty miles away, where I was told I might get work, as most of the farming hands had joined the gold-rush. On the road I was joined by my late opponent. It was the first time we had met since the fight, and by this time I had recovered my senses sufficiently to know I had behaved like a bounder. "I'm afraid I made a fool of myself the other day," I said. " I deserved all I got." " Well," he said, dryly, " you didn't exactly shine. The fact is it's a mistake for a man to be ill-tempered in a rough country like this. He runs the risk of getting his head knocked off." It was no good to make excuses for myself, so I held my tongue. After giving me a shrewd look, he said in a more friendly voice : " Why did you do it ? Were you drunk ? " " No— mad ! " I said, briefly. " Been having a rough time ? " " Pretty bad." " We have all our rough times out here, sonnie," he said, kindly. " You mustn't lose your head about it. Where are you going now ? " " To Schmidt's Farm to look for a job," I replied. " I'm going a few miles on the same road," he said. " We'll ride together if you like. But you must promise not to fly into a passion like you did the other day. You gave me a nasty black eye, and I really don't think I deserved it." It was impossible to resist his goodtempered chaff, and I accepted the offer of his company gladly. " I suppose you left a- sweetheart behind you in England ?" he said, with a quizzical glance at the lady-like locket which hung on my watch chain. Of course, I denied the soft impeachment, and told him the yarn about the packet of notes I had found, and how Mrs Perrin had insisted on my accepting the locket as a keepsake. At last we reached the point where he had to turn off. " Well, good-bye," he said, holding out his hand frankly. "We must forget that ' scrap.' Next time we meet I shall have to be very careful not to push you." The next six months passed away in uneventful monotony. I found work on Schmidt's Farm, and if the pay was small, it was better than nothing, and Schmidt himself was not half a bad sort for a Boer. One day I was enjoying my midday nap in the shade of a haystack, when I was roused by the sound of voices, and woke to find the stranger looking at me with a quizzical expression on his face. But now he was dressed in a civilised fashion, and by him stood a young lady in a riding-habit. " I don't believe he recognises either of us," said the lady. " He isn't awake yet," said the man. " Yes, he is," I said, scrambling to my feet, " and very glad to see you." " Don't you know me ? said the girl. " I see you still wear my locket." It was Mrs Perrin ; only, instead of looking four years older than when I first met her, she looked four years younger, and so much happier that I could scarcely believe that she was the same being. "We have only been married six weeks," she said, eagerly, " and you are the first person we have called on since we arrived in Harmerstown." I suppose I was still half asleep, for I felt hopelessly confused. What on earth had the man with whom I quarrelled got to do with Mrs Perrin ? " Don't you remember telling me the story about the lost notes ?" said her husband. " Mrs Perrin and I were boy-and-girl sweethearts, but we drifted apart — worse luck. If it hadn't been for that chance meeting with yon I shouldn't have known she was free again. As it was, I returned to England, re-introduced myself, and captured the best little woman in the world." '• And we owe it all to you," said she, with sparkling eyes ; "and we came here as quickly as possible, because we want to make it up to you." " You are very kind," I said ; " but," turning to him, " who the dickens are you ?" " Mb?" he said, with one of his bantering chuckles. " I'm Bill Harmer, who owns the Tor Eeef Mine, and when I go

back to England you're going to boss my show for me." That was only the beginning of good times, so that when I stopped to pick up that small packet at the corner of Wel-lington-street I was laying the foundation of a tidy fortune. But that's how things happen sometimes — we strike and don't know it.