Skinflint Dyer's Christmas Eve

Pukekohe & Waiuku Times, Volume 3, Issue 259, 24 December 1914, Page 4 (Supplement)

Skinflint Dyer's Christmas Eve

in tho original will old Roger Dyer liad d< vised Ins fortune to the creation of a Trust for assisting aspiring young ru-n to commence business oil their own account. The trustees were empowered to advance loans at a modest rate of interest to those applicants who complied with certain clearly-defined conditions. Roger intended iiis £20,000 to be a perpetual monument to his memory. He was no philanthropist. Behind his back acquaintances referred to him contemptuously as "Skinflint Dyer." At the time the scheme was in making lie was screwing rents out of slum property. Hospitals, research, and rescue work did not appeal to him. He had rubbed his skinny hands together in glee when the idea first entered his scheming brain. It was good business. The fund would grow. He framed the rules clearly and concisely, and presented the entire scheme to Peter Kenworthy, his lawyer, with grim satisfaction. Tha will was drawn up. signed, and attested. Dyer's Trust never got beyond the planning, however. This is the tale of how the £20,000 came to be otherwise applied. It is rather a human story, with a note of sadness, perhaps, but it ends rather abruptly on Christmas Eve. Of the Christmas Day that followed, anothei chapter, in which there would be tar more smiles than tears, could be wi itten. , . „ . The first link in the chain of circumstances which eventually resulted, in the burning of the will might be trued to a call at the offices of Kenworthy, Brewster, and Stone on a certain typical November morning. Peter Kenworthy, the senior partner, was a very busy man. Consequently, when the clerk announced that a. Miss Pattie Brow nelow wished to see him on a. matter of ungency, he had, without lioking up from his papers, merely hunched his shoulder s and shot out : "Dunno the lady, Tubbs. Turn her in to Mr. Stone.

One minute after the disappearance of the clerk ho was jerked up from his desk by a double kno9k on his door, a protesting voice outside in the anteroom, and the abrupt entrance of the caller herself. 113 was conscious of the look of blaii'i astonishment on the pallid face of Tubbs at the unwarrantable intrusion ere the door closed; and then, as the girl turned, he rose to his feet with his lips a tight line. , m , , , "Madam!" he snapped. The protest died at that, and he stared, for the moment nonplussed. The girl she could not have been more than eighteen—stood b ythe door looking at him with something of trouble, something; of surprise, in her clean grey eyes. The clerk told me you were disengaged," she said, simply. "I could not understand why you would not see me tor a few moments after coming so tar. There was no implied reproach in the softly-spoken words, but Peter had the uncomfortable sense of being rebuked. He looked at the serious girl through his round-lonsed spectacles, taking in every detail of her appear- i ance —the slim figure costumed neatly in some dark blue material, the white coton gloves, the music-case—and, with a little bow, he indicated one of the leather-covered chairs. He found Himself murmuring apologies. "A busy man, young lady. My partners invariably interview clients Mr. Stone would have answered, I think, - quite as well as myself. V very busy man, Miss—l did not catch your name. Ah! Brownelow. " . , For some reason he stared again fixedly at her face before res nr 111,4 his> Schooled to mask his he g.uc* no hint that the name had aroused ' interest. At first sight of her he had been vaguely conscious 0 ia reseinolanc. to somebody he had once known-whom he could not place. The name suj jiied the clue. Unconsciously Ins gaze tra\elled to a certain black japanned box amongst a score like it against the iaither wall, a box which bore the inscription in white painted letters, "It. Jty-

There were papers in that box concerning tho name Brownelow—papers referring to something that had uened many years before, something that had embittered old Roger Dyer s life. _ . The picture of that other face, as when h e had last seen it nearly twenty years before, recurred in his mental vision. Now that he saw her closely, the resemblance struck him as remarkable. As he polished his glasses lie was as certain that this sweet-faced girl was tne daughter of tho woman lie had known as ho was sure of her presence. < Twenty years before Roger Dyer s only daughter had" eloped with the man who had won her heart. In defiance of lier autocratic father's will she had gone away with the good-looking but impecunious music-teacher. Walter Brownelow. Until that day Dy?r had been very proud of his beautiful gii'l. Ho had denied her nothing. For her lie had given lavish entertainments. Ho intended ner to marry well. The blow had embittered his life. Ho had disowned her utter-

]y. For nearly twenty years Peter had not seen the woman who had chosen her lover for better or worse, but her faco had not been forgotton; and now, after this lapse, he saw it again in hex daughter's. "Tho name was unfamiliar, ho said, in a gentler tone. "That must bo my excuse, young lady. Will you tell me why you came to see me? The girl leaned towards him, clasping and unclasping tho music-case m nervous tension. "I've been trying to read your face, she confessed. "I think you're kind. Peter slowly replaced his gokl-rimmod glasses and regarded her with a queer, non-committal smile on his round, red face. "I am a busy man, young lady, lie remarked, dryly. "Yes, T know." she said. ''l will tell you. We live —father, mother, and I in one of your houses —liosoleigh Avenue, you know. Just lately we haven't been able to pay the rent, and Mr. Terry has told us we must find it in twentyfour hours and then quit. When I explained to him how it was —that father was ill, but that when he was able to resume his teaching we should soon wipe

off the arrears—lie declared that be had

no option. Tho matter was not in his hands; he was only tho agent responsible for eollection. T asked him the name of his principal. Jfe declined to tell me, but I got it out of one of the clerks at his office, and I've come to you. Father is blind, you know. He teaches music. but for some week's he tins been laid aside. There has lieen nothing coming in except the little I have earned bv my singing and lessons. T thought if you knew you would not lie so hard as to turn us out." She broke off with a weak smile. The old lawyer, with immobile face and fin-ger-tips together was staring beyond her as if ho had not heard. "A few months' rent mems nothing to you." she added, presentlv. "To us, just now. a little grace would mean everything." Peter turned to his desk and took ii[» a quill pen. twisting it in his fingers, "Do T nnderstand you sing—professionally-?" he asked.

(Copyright.)

"Yes," she answered, "I got engagements under another name through th<> agencies occasionally for concerts and At Homes. To-morrow night 1 am singing at a restaurant." " Would you come and sing for me cn Saturday?" inquired Peter. "I have a few friends coming to dinner. - ' "I would sing anywhere if it means money," she replied, smiling. "Things are pretty desperate at present, and just now there is on one else to earn You will let us owo for a time, won't you?" "As to that, the house is not mine. It belongs, with other property, to a client to whom I have to account for all the income frcmi his estate." "Surely a man, r.cli liks that, would extend a little leniency if ho knew?" she said. "Tell me his name, and I will go to him." "I think we will not ask him," Peter remarked .

Tho girl sprang to her feet and crossed to him with lier hand out. "Oh, I felt sure you would consent,'* she confessed, with a little laugh. "You look—fatherly. This is good of you. Freed from this r.iillstone, we can battle through." " Does your father or mother know or this errand?" asked Peter, gently. "Oh. no." she replied. "Mother is noli very strong, and dad mustn t li« troubled just now. I look after things." " Very capably, I'm sure," said Peter, smiling at the flushed face. He fished a card from his case and held it out to her. "You won't forget Saturday? We'll expect you at nine o'clock." "Oh, but this is splendid!" she do* dared, gaily. "I came in fear to see a fancied ogre. I never expected to make a good friend." When she had gone he walked slow,Jv back to his desk. For quite a long time he sat staring at the tin box inscribed "R. Dyer." Life was made up of strange incidents. This was yet another instance. He was not unduly affected by the irony of this plea for a little leniency from the girl who was Skinflint Dyer's grandchild ; but it came to him, as" he sat. that perhaps, after all. the Trust would not materialize. Had anyone twitted Peter with being a sentimentalist he would have denied the preposterous charge with a shrug or a smile. There were lame dogs however, who could have supplied convincing proof that for all his stern demeanour the old lawyer at heart was very human. iubbs for instance, would have told a tale of a daughter who had lteen snatched back from declinj by an anonymously-sent ten-pound note, which had meant, a month by the sea The note had followed the stammered plea of worry after a wigging by his master for some omission. Tubbs, who was not the man to blurt his troubles, had no doubt of the identity of the donor. The thought of this brave-hearted girl fighting the wolf held Peter in silent musing. He was alone. lor once the mask was off. . "You've missed something. Peter Kenworthy," he muttered, with a whimsical smile. "A girl like that " He would have derided the charge of sentimentality; but not from selfish motives had he lived his life until sixty years a'bachelor. The pictured of the one woman who had died recurred in his vision, to bring again the sadness of regret. "What a nuisance spectacles are. muttered Peter, as he vigorously applied Irs silk handkerchief to the lenses.

* * * * Tn the comfortable dining-room of his suburban house Peter Kenworthy sat with his head resting 011 his hand in pleasant reverie. It was Christmas Eve. Outside, the silent, white-shrouded roads were glistening under a brilliant moon. Peter was waiting the coming of an expected guest. Since that raw November day when the intrusion of a sweetfaced maiden had meant the first link in the chain. Peter had been moved to take a hand in the forging. On tho occasion of his little dinner, when she had sun< r to his rriends. he had been surprised and delighted at- her triumph. Her vo:co proved to bo a contralto of wonderful richness and purity; she sang as a finished artiste. Further acquaintance had but served t-o strengthen respect and admiration for her. Shrewdly ho had drawn her out to tell him of her home life. 'I he thought of this invitation as a means to tho end had struck him as a ation while Koger Dyer was discussing with him some development of the projected Trust. At the end of the discussion, when Roger had risen to go. with a word as to a further appointment, he had smilingly stayed him. •'Look here; why not come and talk it over 011 Friday night at my placer ho had said. "It's Christ-mas Eve, and I can promise you a bottle of a good year and afterwards, if you will, a fight over tho chessboard.''

"1 dine out, Roger had snapped. ungraciously. " "Quito informal/' Peter had persisted. "Wo could have a l-ong chat free from the distractions of the office, and you owe nie revenge for that last game. iff you have no other engagement " What time do you dine:'' rapped out Roger, harshly. "Seven o'clock," answered Peter. " You'll "

"Expect mc!" The brusque acceptance cut short his further insistence. That was the way of the invitation; and now Peter sat before his fire thinking of what should come of it. lie was aroused from his pleasant musing by the jarring sound of a motor-car as it puiled up before his house, and as, ushered by his man. Skinflint Dyer appeared, ho roso with hand outstretched to meet him.

The contrast between the two. as they stood face to face for a brief moment, was striking—Peter, pink-faced, whitehaired, and of generous build, looking the very pattern of a lino old Engli-Ji gentleman; Roger, with cadaverous, hawkelike face, the colour of old parchment, hard-mouthed, and steely-eyed, looking as if h : s stooping body had shrunken in the braided black that had done him service since middle ace.

''An infernal night to drag an old man nut!" snapped Hogor, with lower lip protruded, as was his habit when m a Mack mood. "A dozen times to-day I repented of the promise." " I knew you'd eome," said Peter, genially. " 1 had your word for it. Once given " Tito crabbed old man waved aside the conclusion and strode to the glowing (ire.

"Koine people will pretend to find a source of pleasure in tlr.-. snow and freezing air," he croaked, cynically. "You'll seo such, hlue-gilled. red-nosed, telling each other it's seasonable. Christmas, it would seem, is a time when unpleasant weather is welcomed. Thev take no stock, these prating tools, in tho toll such weather exacts. Christmas! Think vou they pause to analyse tho word? What dies it mean to the unthinking crowd in these days? A licence for self-indulgence ad waste." Peter shook his head 'n smiling dissent.

"Theres' pother side to the picture."

he remarked. quietly. "I like to think of the spirit of good-will and human fellowship. You can't deny that, you know. A hundred thousand charities, a million little acts of loving kindness, would cry you down. I like to picture the happy family gatherings in the homes of the old folk, the laughing faces of the children, the giving ot presents, the sending of geetings. the handshakes after bitterness—all the gladness and jollity of the festival. But let's discuss the fare. It will prove more palatable and profitable. About the Trust, now " The ensuing discussion took them through the several courses. In any development of its possibilities the hard old man was keenly interested. He had spent many hours drawing up the rules that should govern it. As Peter had shrewdly surmised, it had been the opporunity of this discussion that had brought him out, and. dissembling his real feelings, he became again the lawyer, listening, commenting, approving, suggesting. "An object worthy of all praise," he declared. "I can hardly imagine a fortune applied to better purpose. "Praise!"' croaked Roger. "No lying epitaph for me, mark you, Ken worthy. 1 have no pretensions of benevolence. In my lifetime I have amassed a certain amount of money by wisely using my funds. I am nearins: the end. but thk will go on indefinitely, the accumulation growing over larger the more the money is used. It is a scheme for which a man would wish to live on. I bequeath no sums to charities to lie riddled by overfed officials. I give it to no fools to be melted. I cannot take it with mo-—-Why do yen smile?" he broke off irritablv.

"I was tickled at the thought that in certain cases I know, if that were possible, it would still have a like fate. ' answered Peter. "Give me your opinion of this port?" Roger sipped the wine and set down the glass. It was something new for Kenworthy to joke. Ho did not relish the jest. "1 don't altogotner fathom you. Kenworthy," he said harshly. " I've regarded you as a business man first and last, but to-night you've shown a new side. Why did you never marry ?" Peter set down his glass in turn._ At the question his face had gono curiously set.

"Tho reason would scarcely interest you," he answered, quietly, as he rose. "Shall we set the inen?'^ Roger lifted himself stiffly from tho table and crossed to the easy chair by the fire. . . "Egad. Kenworthy" ho eroaked. with a wry"smile. " I'll not intrude longer if you'd rather l>e playing Santa Claus." Peter laughed at that. " 'Man in his time plays many parts, ho quoted. Ho did not add that the role was not now to him; that half a, hundred little cripple mortals in a certain hospital had been talking for days of the expected visit of "Farver Chris'mus," who never failed to come with his wonderful bag every Christmas morning. Peter had gauged the natureof the man exactly. Life had become hitter to him. He "saw no good in humankind. His one interest was money. And so.'as lie set the chessmen he laughed aloud, as at a joke while the pathos of the hospital ward, with the doubl-o row of bods and the excited little faces, was in his heart. Behind him his soft-footed man was clearing the table. The laugh was still in his eyes as he turned his head for a moment and caught the swift, significant glance. Tho man set the decanters close hand and silently withdrew. As he_ made his first move. Peter heard him in the adjoining room replenishing the fire, and looked up at tne clock.

Not liy any homily or neighbourly duly was Skinflint Dyer to he moved. He trusted in a surer appeal. Parkinson quite understood Ins instructions. The plan would not miscarry. No man was quite dead to soul. Hard and embittered through ingratitude or the wreck of mortal hopes as he, might be, deep in the heart some affection lingered dormant. Hatred and uncharitablenesa might rule his existence, but no man could live his years without his_ secret moments of regret. Peter believed that, even of Skinflint Dyer. The next hour would prove him wholly right or foolishly mistaken. Either linger Dyer would leave his house a mortal enemy, or he would put outh i>U and o.s to a friend. The issue lay in bis faith in the touch of nature, and en it lie had staked with the confidence of a player who holds the winning card. "The old safe opening." he said, smiling. "I have learned from experience to treat you with respect." Roger bared his teeth in a mirthless grin. "In my (lay I was accounted a strong player." lie owned. "The game has alw'ays appealed to me as typifying life. A game of generalship in which a slip may mean disaster; a pitting of the wits in a pitched battle, manoeuvring for position. attack, and defence; the easy vanquishing of the weak, the unexpected counter against the rash, the steady development that at last forces reluctant resignation. So it is in life, one against the other, the weakest to the wall; success for the man who is quick to seize opportunities." "Tho analogy is imperfect," Peter protested, quietly. "Tito like that is not to all. my friend. There is nothing of tho helping hand, of sympathy"Egad!" ejaculated Koger. with a harsh laugh. " A white-haired lawyer talking like a milksop child of sympathy! The po.Ne is humorous.' Peter smiled and moved li.s piece. From tho inner room he had caught the sound of a gently-closed door. The issue would soon be ill the balance. "Sympathy!" The ejaculation came stridently. "Of what we : g'nt is sympathy when advantage offers? Is the helping hand remembered when interests clash ? Tho turn served, nothing is easier forgotton. Onus the poor man envy the rich:-' Every man is for himself: civilisation lives on its fellows Tho outburst ceased abruptly, as if a heavy hand had been clapped on the hard month. Set-faced, with head aslant. Roger sat for a space as if turned to sono; then from his lips issued a grating whisper. Kenwoi thy—what's this?"' In the inner room someone was soilly playing the pn lude of a song. " A little whim." laughed Peter, rubbing his hands. " A little agreeable surprise. A young 'protegee' of mine--a professional singer with a uloriotis voice —is going to '-.ing to us." "Chess needs to be played _ withoutdistraction." snarle 1 Roger. " I he whim was child sh "

The protest died on his tongue. As tho voice of the singer came to him in the opening words of a well-remembered song ho was on his ieet, staring wildeved at the closed door.

What's tlrs?" he whispered, hoarsely. "Kenworthy. what infernal trick i H this voii've put i<P°n me?" "Trick? You're dreaming. <>hl friend." laughed Peter. "The .singer is a voung (rill uho has come here to earn a guinea *'

"A firl." he muttered. "A voiltl" girl! 15v my life Kenworthv. when I heard that voice, that .song. I thought

Peter, whose turn it was to move, niado no attempt to resume the game. Ho did not answer. As if under a spell, ho cat smilintrly staring at vacancy. Across tin table old Skinflint THer faced him with dropped jaw, as if the

wonderful thrall of tho singer had rendered him inert. I mil the last note died tho two bat motionless and silent. Then, with a harsh laugh, Roger swept the P'eccs troin the board. " The game is over ior me!" he cried. " Divided attention will not do for chess,"

" Why. no," agreed Peter. "1 had not rightly gauged her power. 1 imagined the singing would prove an agreeable aceompairmont." Ho crossed the room as he spoke, and threw open the inner door. From where he sat Roger saw the singer at the piano slowly turn her head. At sight of Peter she rose from tho stool and came towards him with a little laugh. Tho greeting died on her iips as sho gazed at the grey-faced old man who. with mouth agape and staring eyes, was on his feet gripping the table before him for support.

Why—l thought 1 was entertaining a party." s he said. " No; just wo two old fogies." laughed Peter, with her hands in his own.

Tho girl laughed with h.m. as :f his geniality had set her again at ease, .in 1 advanced to tho fireplace. Roger Hired at her fixedly and licked his dry lips. In form and feature she was the liviij, image of his daughter as -lie h. d bcci in her happy girlhood. " Who -who is this?" lhe quest'en rame in a cracked whisper The girl looked at th 1 questioner in startled wonder. At a little ,o>s, fdio turned and gazed at Peter, who quietly crossed to her side and toon her iiriui again. "Pattie," ho said, very gen'ly. ' Jet mo introduce you. This gentleiiinn and you should l>o the best 'if fiien ls. I think he knows you already. Can you not guess who ho is? " " Wo have never met," she confessed. Peter was back at the inner door. "Permit me," he said, with his hand out in tho approved fashion. "Miss Pattie Brownelow —Mr. Roger Dyer. "Dyer—Roger Dyer!" cried the girl, starting forward. "Why—that was my mother's name. Are you ' What Roger sa ; d in reply Peter did not hear. Something of a hoarse murmur ho caught ero the door closed behind him. Tl.at was all. The. rest could be safely trusted to this maiden. For the next half-hour he did not venture to intrude. But when they went out together a shaking hand came slowly up and gripped Irs own : and, as he, stood with a queer mist in his vision, the girl, with a tender smile in her eyes, lifted her sweet face to his and kissed him. . ..

"A happy Christmas. Pattie," lie murmured. "A happy Christmas, old friend." It was absurd, of course, but he tanrod that old Skinflint Dyer had been crying.

HINT TO UNCLE. Miss Mary Gardon. at a luncheon in Chicago, said, apropos of Christmas: — "To secure nice Christmas presents there's nothing like a delicate h'nt or two. "I know a Philadelphia girl whose uncle, having grown rich from a Western mine, proposed to visit her at Christmas for the first time in seventeen years. Sho wrote to the old gentleman: —

" 'lt will be glorious t° see you again, dear uncle. 1 will meet you at Broad Street Station on your arrival at Christmas Eve. But 1 might not r.-cogn:se voit after all these years, and so I think Jt would be best for you to hold, for purpose!; of identification, a long string of pearls in the left hand, and a bit of fur such as an ermine-lined sable stole, for example—in the right.

BABY'S MONEY-BOX. It. was Christmas Eve. A beautiful woman sat staring dolefully at the embers of tho iire. "Christmas Eve." she murmured, "and no money to buy baby a Christmas gift." Slowlv her eyes wand-Ted round the room until, with a guilty start, they rested on something standing on the mantelpiece. It wa>< the baby's money-box. Her hands clutched the chair convulsively. •■Ji 1 only dared! she murmured. "But what would John say 1 For a few moments she stooddebating the awful question in her mind, and then (die took the box in her hands. "John need never know.'' she whispered. Then, with guilty face, she broke open the box and emptied oil to tho table n collection of—tin tack-, nails, etc. John had Wen there iie-t.

CONSTANT CHRISTMAS. The sky can still remember The earliest. Christmas morn. When, in the cold December, Tho Saviour Christ was born. And .still in darkness clouded. And si ill in noonday l'ght. It feels its far depths crowded With angels fair and bright. No star unfolds glory. No trumpet wind is blown, But tells the Christmas story In inn-ie of its own. No eager stnfo ol mortals, Tn busy field or town. But sees t'he opened petrels Through which the Christ camp dew 11. 0. never-failing splendour! I), never-silent song! Still keep the green earth tender, St'il keep the gray earth v-troiig. Still keep tho brave earth dreaming Of deeds that shall be done. While children's lives come streaming Like sunbeams from the sun.

O. angels sweet, and splendul. Throng in our hearts and sin™ The wonders which alien 1 ■ t Tho i.f the King. Till we. ton. boidly pressing Wlief- once the 'shepherd trial. Cl'inh nethh'l'.etn'fi Hill of Massing. And lm<l tbe Son ot God. PI 11 L'd PS l!l{OOKS. Tin lady's young daugntor. at t!:e Christina- party, was ni;:<b> to -ii do.yn and electrify tile assembled gue.st< w':li lier t'.ew liieco. "Now. toll me. Heir . sa'd the fus<y mother to the groat artiste, "hen her daughter had tin'shed. "what do yen |hink of u;v daughtt r s ~yeeni:on .- ".Madame." "l:o replied, deliberately. " 1 think it would he a capital idea. After a somewhat hilarious Christmas Dav a man called up b s .mi lieiore ii was light and told him to go and harness ijio I ho voung man obeyed. but did not take a bght with him. It s,, happened that tho n'Jit before had been verv frosty and an old cow had straved into the stable and drivi u the donkey out. Tliink'ng th • vomm man a long j into ab- .the 1a i her went to ascertain the causo of the delay. "Jack, what are you doing? he called w lmn he found the stable in darkness. "Why. I can't get. the collar over the donkey's head." replied Jack. "His ears ate frown!"