CHAPTER I.

Otago Witness, Issue 2892, 18 August 1909, Page 90

CHAPTER I.

Thei c was an expression of deep thought on Jack Gordon's usually serene countenance as he stood on the hearthrug in. * what is popularly regarded' as the Englishman's ityp'ical attitude — legs wide apart, hands thrust negligently in trousers pockets, and pipe in mouth. Glancing at him a keen student of human nature would probably have judged— and judged correctly— that he was in the throes of a severe mental struggle; and further, might have deduced—also correctly—that the - force of circumstances was impelling him towards a course of action from which his better nature revolted. Presently an expression of grim determination settled on his face. " Hang it all! I'll do it!" he murmured in a fierce whisper. To avoid any possible misconception it may be explained that the deed he contemplated, and which after earnest deliberation he had" decided to put into action, was not a crime of a very heinous nature — at all ©vents, not sufficiently so to bring him within reach of the mighty arm of the law. As a matter of feet, though the momentous decision had only been arrived at aftef^ much heart-search-ing*, Tie had merely decided to write a Christmas ode to send to his sweetheart..

When a healthy and presumably sane individual makes up his mind to write poetry he has usually some cogent reasoa for so doing, and it is only fair to Gordon to state that he could plead mitigating circumstances, for assuredly in his normal frame of mind the idea of do'ng any such thing would never have occurred to him.

It was the old, old story For so.me •time he had been paying considerable attention to Mary Wdlson, a pretty housemaid in a villa in the outskirts of the town, and during the past few months he had been accorded the privilege o!" acting as escort to that charnrng young lady on her night out. The .intimacy had not yet developed into a regular engagement — they were simply " keeping company," to use that expressive and at the same time delightfully vague term, — but it had reached the stage when the young man -was beginning to look forward to the time when for him lodgings would be a thing of the past. But, alas! the course of true love never yet ran smooth. The evening previous to that on which we introduce him to our readers was Mary's night out, and Gordon, as had become a matter of - established ciistqni, had met her at the usual place at the usual hour.

As they ©trolled slowly along the young man observed that the girl seemed unusually preoccupied and^ reserved, and treated has affectionate advances with pettish in3ifference. With jealous fear -he questioned her regarding this change. For a time she refused, to answer, but at length, in somewhat petulant tones, she burst out : "Oh, .Jack; I wish you weren't so — so commonplace." "Commonplace? What do you mean by commonplace ?" " Why can you not do something — something great, I mean. Write poetry, for instance?"

" Poetry? I thought that was rather a low-down job." "That's all you know about it! Oh, how I love poetry. If you could only write like Mr Jones — that is — I mean "

She stopped short, and in pretty confusion attempted to change the subject, but the .young man caught her up in jealous alarm.

" Mr Jones! Who the dickens is Mr Jones? You never told me anything of him. Who is he?"

" I shan't tell you unless I like," retorted Mary defiantly. With a coquettish toss of her head she added : " Surely you don't imagine you are the only person in the world who has a fancy for me?" The young man stopped short and gripped her tightly by the arm. " Mary, I want to know who Mr Jones is," he exclaimed, with a determined glitter in his eye. " Oh, all right. Don't get into a temper, stupid. After all, there is no reason why I shouldn't tell you. Mr Jones is a gentleman who has come to our house several times to see the master about fire insurance — at least, that is what he says, though he never seems to be very much disappointed it finding nobody but me to speak to — and he is such a nice man. He is bo handsome, and talks like — like I don't know what. It is grand to listen to him. You just ought to hear him. He says he is not what he seems — that though he is compelled to follow a commercial calling to satisfy the ignoble needs of the flesh, he haa" »n unconquerable yearning towards

higher tilings. He means to be a great poot." " I'd yearn him if I had him here," muttered Gordon viciously. " I wonder you listen to him, Mary. The fellow's an impostor." ' Indeed he is not! He writes just lovely poetry.- The last time he called he said I was a — a source of ddvine inspiration to him, and next morning I received a letter — at least, not exactly a letter, but a piece of poetry. If you'll promise to be good I'll dhow it to you." Opening her purse she extracted a folded scrap of paper, which she handed to the young man. Batting -within the friendly circle of Jaght cast by a stoeet lamp Gordon unfolded the paper and laboriously read the con/tente. "What do you think of it?" inquired Mary, as he handed it back to her. "If yon ask my opinion, I think it is a lot of tommy-rot. What on earth does the fellow mean by 'Twin diamonds sparkling in a liquid fire?' " "I think that is just a beautiful expression," returned Mary with a simper. "He is referring to my eyes, of course." "Oh ! he- is, is he? I wreih I had the beggar here! I'd snake his twin dSaanojidß sparWe, I reckon." "Don't be hasty. You are simply jealous because you can't write anything like it."

"Can't I? If I couldn't rarite better poetry than, that I'd eat my ha* — blessed if I wouldn't."

Realising that he was getting really angry, Mary, who, -although a consummate flirt, was at the same time possessed 1 of no little tact, deftly changed the' subject, and the conversation turned to a less dangerous topic. Nevertheless, as we have 6een, the taunt rankled in Gordon's mind, and the following evening, after much cogitation, he determined to make good his boast amd write a piece of poetry himself. . • . . »

About tihree hours later, when the young man's landlady entered his room to inquire if he dtesired any supper, she found him seated at the table gloomily surveying a sheet of foolscap. Around him torn-up fragments of paper lay littered in all directions.

"Dearie me, whit in a' the warld are ye daoin'? You're no prepaorin' for a paper chase, abairly?"

I'll clear up

"No, I've been writing, tibis mess afterwards. " Witfh a disconsolate sigih he surveyed the sheet which lay in front of him. True, be had succeeded in writing"- a poem, but deep down in his heart he was bound to oanfese tfhat the result was not eniiTdsy, sattusfactary. He felt that he would like to have the judgment of a third fwurty , passed upop it before submitting it to t!he critical eye of hie sweetheart. Happy thought! Why not read it to Mre M'Whirter.

Witlh renewed hope be returned to his Landlad

y"I — I say, Mrs M'Whirber," he began ■artfully, "I'm sure you must have been awfully good-looking -when you were a girl. You must have had plenty of sweethieairts."

"Laud sakes ! What's the laddie talkin' aboot?" With a comnLacenit smile she added: "Sweethearts? It disnia become an anild body like me to speak o' those things ; but I had my share, at ony rate."

"Did — ddd any, of them ever write poetry to you?" "I'd. like to have catohad them at it, that's a'," returned^ Mrs M'WhifW, decidedly. "If ony o' them had onything to say that couldna be said in quid honest prose he was welcome to keep it for a' I oared. Na, na; na fangled tricks o' that sort for me. Whit wey wi« ye speirin'?" '

Gordon sighed drearily. Apparently no encouragement or assistance was to be looked for from Mrs M'Wihirteir.

"Oh! simply out of curiosity," he returned languidly. "I was just wondering, that's all. I don't think I'll mind my supper to-n|ght."

"I'm afraid it's not very, jpoodj," he sighed, when he was once more ailone. "I had no idea it was so difficult to wi-ite poetry. I wonder how it sounds when its read aloud?"

To test the matter be picked up the manuscript, and in a somiewthat luguibriou& whimper recited it for hie own, delectation.

We might quote, but refrain. It was his first attempt, and he was in love. Under these circumstances ■it is only charitable that" the erasing finger should be permitted to pass over his effort.