“THE ARREST.”

Rangitikei Advocate and Manawatu Argus, Volume XXXIII, Issue 9065, 4 February 1908, Page 3

“THE ARREST.”

A SHORT STORY.

(By Herbert Jameson.) The scene was the Searies’ drawing room in Belgravia; the time, 7L afternoon. He and she sat m attitudes on stiff drawne room chairs, planted fully two rards apart. Sofa m background—a l ®‘This S Thursday,” Hilda Searle ras saying, “and it’s only the third ime that you’ve been here this Harold Tringham shrugged his boulders in expostulation. “My dear girl,” he replied in his iest literary manner, ‘do try and nnreciate the full; he case. Here am I, a young lovelist, with my way 'to make. ?hat way can only be made by .work —• iard intense, persistent work. Bat b’s work to an end—marriage. Six icnths ago in a rash moment ” ‘“Oh, Harold, not rash !” “In an inspired moment, then, I ot, engaged—to the best girl in the rorld.” “Oh, Harold I” “Don’t ask me to repeat that oithet, for I simply shan’t. I reiice in our engagement; it’s quite 18 best thing in life that has hapjned to me yet, not even excepting ie publication of my first novel. I ould love to pass every hour, every inute of the day with you. ” “I should be a horribly selfish girl I insisted on that. I only want in to take me to the Queen’s Hall mcert to-night. ” His face fell. “That, as I said before, is wholly ipossible. ” “But why?” 1 “The most vital chapter of my jw novel is at my fingers’ ends, I ust write it out this evening, or it ill be gone by the morning. ’ ’ “Couldn’t you manage it after the mcert?” “No, because I am not a journalb, but a literary man. I never burn idnight oil; I never could. Hilda, ease!” he added, imploringly, (ting the approach of tears. “I don’t believe you love me a t,” she sobbed. “Darling!” Not a bit! It’s only that wretched ok of yours you care about. I pe that every publisher in London fuses it, and that it never gets to print. I should like to do just mt you told me Carlyle’s servant 1 with one of his fusty old manudpts—pitch it into the fire.” Harold Tringham’s eyes widened horrified surpise. Such heresy im loved lips was truly awful, ie girl was beside herself, mad. j rose in dignified protest. “Hilda!” he said. “I think we d better end ” But he got no further. What he shed to end—their engagement or ly the present painful interview—is left obscure, Hilda’s mother, icreetly heralding her approach by sough, opened the door a couple of ;hes. ‘I don’t want to hurry you, Ida, but the dressmaker says she n’t wait any longer, as it’s now at five o’clock, and her husad ” ‘l’ll see you to-morrow,” said ingham, jumping at the chance of ape. :he Searies were at breakfast next rning. Tom, a young gentleman seventeen, who had just started iiness in the ctiy, and behaved e a Croesus on £25 a year, combed his family quartet. ‘You’re looking pale, Hilda, this rning,” said Mrs Searle, more for i sake of saying something than ierwise.

[The gale kept me awake,” said Ida curtly. Finch was perfectly true ; but the e she really referred to had not ed beyond the restricted area of drawing room. There had been peace after that storm. She had [ what Tom would have called a )tfcen”SJnight. ’he men folk, as usual at breakb, were not communicative. Mr irle crunched toast noisily, readsteadily the while through the ling articles of the “Thunderer.” n devoured kidney and bacon, icting snippets in. the “Daily wler” by way of mental refreshed. Father and son, it is needi to say, whole-heartedly despised another’s newspapers. Suddenly n’s knife and fork clattered on i plate. His eyes were glued to (paper. Oh, I say, here’s a go. Just en to this !” ir Searle rattled his paper testily. My dear Tom, these.interruptions most aggravating.' How can I 3ibly read my newspaper if you fist at intervals in shouting out races from that rag?” pm hid his excitement under asted indifference. (All right, pater, only you’d be •ully interested in this. You see about Harold Tringham. ’ ’ nimation suddenly appeared "in ae inanimate faces. A paragraph ut Harold, the rising literary u, and Hilda’s fiancee! Did not Searle pass all such paragraphs nd the first-class smoking carriage the mornings? Did not Mrs >rle learn all such paragraphs by •rt and retail them in Belgravia wing rooms? Had not Hilda sady started a large scrap book, which all such paragraphs were iugly posted? Oh, what?” exclaimed both ladies a breath. You read it out, Pater,” said n, handing him the newsapper. Ir Searle’s initial impulse was to use any personal contact with the l g.” but his curiosity got the ter of him. He fixed his eye--ses more firmly on the bridge of nose and read aloud: ‘Harold Tringham, a novelist, i arrested in Holborn at a late lr last night for being drunk and )rderly. Ho will be charged at v street this morning. ” or a second or two there was :n l silence, whilst Tom watched sensation he had caused. Then da’s head went' down on the Is, and she broke into convulsive s Piug. Mrs Searle flew round table to her assistance. Mr He rose. He had not realised the 5. nature of the paragraph until got half way through it. But f even his fancy waistcoat was with agitation. “Tom,” he tied, “how dare you giveme'such J mg to read? Just look at your sister!”

up with streaming ‘Father, say it is not true !” ■*°. of coarse, it isn’t true, iPa-” shouted Mr Searle. “Tom, [tiictly forbid you ever to have E_P®per in nay house again. ” I but it’s true; I know it’s r> sobbed Hilda, “and I’ve |ea him to it. ”

Mr Searle addressed his wife. “My dear, hadn’t you better tak* Hilda up to her room? She’s not quite herself. This is most distressing. We—l must consider what is best to be done. Dear me, this has quite spoilt my breakfast. Tom, you might, at any rate, have had sufficient consideration for your sistor ~ —* * “But what could I do? The thing’s happened. ’ ’ „ “What could you do? / Anything but what you did do—giving me the newspaper to read aloud. You might have torn off a bit of the paper, written on it, “Oome out of the room at once, ’ ’ and then quietly passed it to me. Then you could have shown me the newspaper outside, and we could have “discussed what was to be done. As it is, you splutter it out, and—that’s right Hilda, you had better go to your room. You’ll be all right |soon.” He closed the door behind his wif« and daughter. “Oh, dear, this is really very discreditable. It will reflect so much upon us. ’ ’ “Then you don’t think it all gas?” “There must be a modicum of truth or—l never trust these people with artistic temperaments. They’re always going wrong in some way or other. But what a mercy we’ve found out the man’s secret vice before Hilda married him. Now, let me see! I’ll go to the office, open the letters, and then straight to Bow street. Business must not be neglected, but ” He went out into the hall. At every turn one was reminded of the disaster. There was no'one to brush his hat, and he had not'the heart to brush it himself. He could hear the women’s voices upstairs, his wife attempting to soothe by painting Tringham as black as possible, and Hilda upbraiding herself in a shrill treble. For had she not, by her cruel speeches the previous afternoon fofeed Harold to drown his troubles in drink?

Mr Searle left the house with bowed head. The extravagance of taking a cab to the city was, of course, pardonable. To face seven other people in a railway carriage, each fully aware of his future son-in-law’s delinquency, was, naturally, impossible. Mr Searle slunk into his office. The Daily Howler was the organ that’most of his clerks derived their opinions from. Why, the very juniors would be posted up in the terrible scandal. A few minutes later he left the office with the laconic annoucement, ‘ 1 Back in an hour. ” He hired a hansom and told the driver to take him to Bow street Police Court. He shivered as the words passed his lips. As a respectable. law-abiding citizen he hated the sordid atmosphere of police courts. If Tringham were remanded, he wondered very much whether he would be expected to furnish bail. He jumped out of the cab and made for the entrance. A big policeman barred the way. “Sorry,sir; Court full. ’’ “But I have business.” ' “Sorry, sir; must carry out my instructions.’ 5

Mr Searle turned and walked a few paces away, his eyes on the pavement. Then somone clapped him on the shoulder. He swerved round and faced—Harold Tringham. Taken hr complete surprise, Mr Searle did the last thing in the world he had intended to do. He wrung Tringham furiously the hand. “My dear boy, so delighted to see you!” ‘‘ So you have been here after me, too, have you?” “I was passing,-and—how did you get off?” “Get off? You don’t suppose I was ever in, do you? Shall we move on? We’re blocking the pavement. I suppose you read the item of news in the Daily Howler. ’ ’ “Tom did. ” “The whole thing has been a case of mistaken identtiy. ” “I knew it from the first.” “It has all come about through my helping a man who had got into low water through drink. He’d been touting, you see, for small stationery orders, and out of charity I gave him an order for fifty visiting cards. Last night the fellow was taken up hopelessly drunk in Holborn. The only clue to his identity were those wretched visiting cards, which chanced to be loose in his pocket. The authorities read the name,, and naturally thought they had arrested me. I’ve just been'to explain everything to the Magistrate, but, fortunately, little explanation was necessary/ The man was sufficiently recovered this morning to give his own name. ” “My dear Harold! I knew there would be a perfectly easy explanation. ” “Thanks. How's Hilda?” “ Er—naturally a little distressed at the lie. ’ ’ “Poor girl! I’ll go and see her at once. Where are you bound for? The Oflice?” “Er—no, home. I’ll go with yon. Hi—cabby!” The third cab that morning. But Harold was worth it —now. Arrived at the house, Mr Searle entered first. To his relief, the ladies were still upstairs. He might yet prepare them before “I’ll go and call them,” he annouced. Harold toyed with a spaniel in the drawing room. The door was flung open and Hilda sprang into his arms speechless, fortunately, her mother was behind her to supply the words. “Our only consolation, dear Harold,” she said-, “was our faith in your complete innocence. ’ ’