SHORT STORY

Sun (Auckland), Volume 1, Issue 39, 9 May 1927, Page 3

SHORT STORY

ON KISSING TERMS By PAUL NUEUMAN “Three mistakes, Miss Springe, in this one report. That won’t do at all. you know what I told you when I engaged you—l pay the price for good work, and good work I must have, or—well, good work I must have.” Two features in this complaint astonished the tall, plain, elderly woman whose lot it was to act as Mr. John Bloxham's secretary and typist. She had gone to bed the night before with a headache, and found it waiting for her in the morning. She was fully conscious that all day her work had been below par, and she felt no doubt that Mr. Bloxham was quite right as to the mistakes. His tone was the first surprise. He was so accustomed to bullying that a single error was usually enough to provoke a raucous growl. Three mistakes ought to have fanned the growl into a shout, whereas his voice was almost dulcet —for him, of course. The second surprise was the curious break in his last sentence. For once he had actually baulked at his favourite threat.

“I am very sorry, Mr. Bloxham,” ■he said. “If you will let me have it back I will stop a bit later to-night and make another copy.”

"What’s the good of that?” he demanded impatiently. "It woWd only make it late as well as incorrect. I’ve I.ad to make the alterations myself, and you know how I dislike sending out untidy documents. Three mistakes! How do you account for them, Miss Springe?”

"I think it must be that I’ve managed to get a rather bad headache.

He saw his chance, and jumped {it It.

"Bad management!” he snapped, "I never have headaches, because I never have the time to spare for them. Just be good enough to remember that. No, don't go. There’s something else I want to £ay. There’s a little matter outside your usual work in which I think I could make use of you. As it is outside your usual work I shall make it worth your while. I never ask favours, and I very seldom grant them. I'm having a few friends to dinner tomorrow week, Thursday, the 12th, bachelor friends most of them, but Sir Andrew Groom is bringing Lady Groom, and I think it will be better that I should have someone here to play the part of hostess. You’ve got lady-like manners, and, dressed up a bit, you’ll pass very well for a distant connection of mine. I’ll give you a cheque for £lO, and out of it I shall expect you to get what will make you presentable in a quiet way on such an occasion.”

Miss Springe’s pale face flushed and *he looked very uncomfortable. “It’s kind of you to make me the Qffer, Mr. Bloxham, but I have had little experience ” “No, of course, you haven’t,” he interrupted, "but I suppose you’ve got some common sense. All you’ll have to do will be eat your dinner and say va & ’ ° r ' no ' wlien anyone speaks to you. id get a real connection, only I cut myself adrift from them all when I was a young man. No young fellow strike out for himself properly with a host of poor relations sucking him down. I’ve no doubt there are swarms °i them by now, and, thank God, I shouldn't know one of them if I met {J® in the street. To-morrow week, *iißs Springe; you’d better leave a bit earlier that day, and come back here e.Dout half-past 6. Now just put those jesters through, and don’t let us have more mistakes.” The next morning Mr. Bloxham received the following letter, written in Pencil;— "17 Marshall Avenue, «4r, "Paddington W. hear Sir,— u * ara very sorry to say that my aaaehe has deevloped into an attack d and the doctor has orme to keep in bed f° r the pre- ' ■ * a *n afraid there isn’t the small- . c . ance °t my being able to come , your Party, and I therefore return > ur cheque with many thanks. v 1 am afraid my absence may put ‘ to great inconvenience, but if you Phone to Miss Josie Bayle, 25 win emon t Terrace, Golder’s Green, she rlio come at once. I know that she is finH»f aSed at P resent . and you will a her a most competent typist. “Yours faithfully, “CLARA SPRINGE.” M . r - Bloxham said when he reUn e<l this letter had better remain ~ u forded. When, however, the first * ° f an^er had spent itself, he an(l nc . e<i at the heavy morning post, a very savage voice rang up vot Bayle - A light, clear, girlish the £. re P 1 i ed * “A flighty minx, I know Ir - Bloxham commented to i n hut his need was urgent, and Belt ls? u Pl® minutes the matter was shout U *'C- ome a t once—at once!” he At ’ and put hack the receiver. j ' cloo,i ’ a g°od hour before he w a , ted her, Miss Bayle appeared. She v erv S , ma .h> light-footed, and evidently chan a s tive> and she was insistently, w aa nin gly pretty! Also her raiment ctlarm ing that, in spite of his sanr ♦ p t r * Alr - Bloxham found it pleahe L a ° lo ok upon. “She’s no good!” ‘Com Urec * him ir If, at the first glance, one ” eS ° ut of * showroom, and a swell th e Slt J lown -” he said, roughly. “Half y ou* r , n . ing s gone already. So You v.**!®* Miss Springe’s place, and a headache, have you, If I k lt>a influenza?" “and ir had . a headache,” she replied, do ♦*■*• n< f w 1* was influenza, I should Th« UV what she’s done.” Q calm indifference o£ her voice

surprised and nettled nim. ° h - y° u would, would you. Well I rtL’, heSe d ? wn - remember that on t eiiWi ** S»ve to repeat any-

as S ured oU hfm. t0 ° ™ teU yOU ” she

incompetent you’d better say so at once.

„ “7’!’ e n won 't say so," she answered composedly. I’m quite ready if you „ f A rL aS he was, he could not think titlnAT - t K? U S te ret ° rt ’ but be S an diche knew ! beat speed ’ the s Peed that most „ MISS Spriner to the ut * fuliy ex Pected a protest, machine „ W * S forth “mlng. The M- n ll merrily, and once or twice Miss Bayle’s clear, confident "Te C s e ’" aC " y Ursed him »n With a

ned ooll '* * eep saying that!” he snappe“- Its a most annoying habit." nf atcaid you were waiting out of consideration for me,” she said. retort‘thn? if nß;ry , srunt was the °nly that he could think of, and for nearly an hour there were no further passages of arms. Then he threw iumself back in his chair. There, ’ he sa id. “ThatTl do for fmir l th Sent 1 m eoin S out now. I’ll look them over when I come back after contract!" 1 Want a copy «* twS

nna‘ ’ a K said ’ wlth 8 careless „ b ” od ’ a ,nd he went out furious, and yet strangely interested in this girl not much more than a child, who seemed '!L! er K indifferent to his importbls temper, and his snubs. a S “ art Sirl. and by Jove she h ,? w to dress ." he said to him?Kii- wen t out. “With a good talking t° now and again, she’d make a clinking good secretary.”

His car brought him back, after an excellent lunch at the Savoy, in a cheerful frame of mind, and quite prepared to administer the dressing-down which he felt sure Miss Bayle would have earned. “If she hasn’t done the Jd- , r ® flected » “I can throw that Right-o in her teeth. If she has, there are bound to be a lot of slips way ” he 11 hear of * Ive got her either

Alas for the deceifulness of dilemmas• „ The wh ole of the work, contract and all was ready for him in a neat pile on his table, and Miss Bayle was calmly warming her toes at the gasnre with a mischievous smile on her resolute little face.

sat _ d °wn and took up his first letter. Then he laid it down and took from his pocket a folded foolscap sheet covered with figures. » *’‘kook at that,” he said. "Cast up the figures and see what you make j 1?!. co ” ie to - I suppose you can do addition.”

She allowed the sneer to pass, took the paper, and studied it for less than a minute.

‘: Thla total’s wrong,* ’she remarked. s 1 make it just a guinea short. Whatever’s the matter?”

He was looking at her with staring eyes and his mouth wide open, his face a picture of amazement and chagrin.

‘How the devil did you do that?” he demanded at last. "Why, I could hardly do it quicker myself.” She laughed. "Oh, I don’t know. A family gift.

I suppose. We’re all of us pretty good at figures.”

He said something- short and sharp, and half apologised for it by a loud cough. Then he turned to the typing and read for a quarter of an hour. And as he laid down each sheet he kicked the walls of his pedestal table well and hard. But she, watching him closely, saw his face suddenly brighten, and her own expressive countenance followed suit. “Look here, young woman,” he ‘said, and his voice was not as rough as he tried to make it, “you’ve been playing tricks, altering what I dictated, the very worst fault a secretary can commit.” Her smile broadened.

“Well, your grammar is rather rocky, isn't it? And it’s only the absolute howlers that I’ve toned down —just two or three.”

His cheeks, never pale, turned a deeper red. but anyone who knew him well would have been astonished at the way in which he kept himself in hand.

“Sit down,” he said. “I want to talk to you. Where were you trained?” “I began at a council school. Then I got a schol ”

“A what?” “A scholarship.” “Oh, yes. Which I had to pay for.” “And a rattling good investment, too.”

“There might be worse, perhaps, he admitted. “Go on.”

“Then I went to a high school and then to a commercial college.” “What did that do for you?” “It taught me my job, and luck did the rest.” “What was the luck?”

“Why, just as I was ready to leave, Lady Robertsbridge sent to the college in a desperate hurry for someone to take down and type really fast. They said I was the fastest available, so I got a fine start. Lady Robertsbridge knows everybody in society, and she was most awfully good to me. It was entirely owing to her that in no time I found myself with quite a classy connection, hobnobbing with all sorts of big people.” “Any dukes among them?” he asked, and though the words suggested a sneer, the tone was positively genial. “No,” she answered gravely, “but I helped the Duchess of Deemshire with her correspondence over a fancy ball.” “You’d hardly call that ‘hobnobbing,’ would you?”

“No, perhaps not. Lord Dearmount’s a pal of mine.” He turned his face awav sharply to hide a sudden grin. The next moment it had vanished.

“Is he, indeed?” he said. “A very useful pal to have. I’m glad you've told me all this, because I can see there’s another little piece of work I can put in your way. I don’t know whether Miss Springe told you that I'm having one or two friends to dinner on Thursday, and one of them. Sir Andrew' Groom, is bringing Lady Groom with him. I want someone to play the part of hostess, and I’d asked Miss Springe to act as a connection — a distinct connection —of mine for that evening. Now she’s got what she calls influenza, so that’s off. What do vou sav to taking her part? I was going to give her £lO. and there’s the •me for vou if you take the job on. You won’t want anything expensive. Pdbr relations aren’t exnected to make a show. You’ll have nothing to do but to listen to the conversation and answer when you’re spoken to.” “I think I understand,” she replied, ‘ and I’ll take it on. It doesn’t sound very difficult, and a tenner’s a tennei -L,ittle swank-pot!” said Mr. Bloxham to himself when she had gone. ••I’ve <v G t her on toast. It’ll be as good as a play to see her when Dearmount yvaiks in. All U;e same," be added.

“I’ll fire that Springe woman and put this young person in her place. That balance sheet business was an eyeopener.”

When Miss Bayle joined Mr. Bloxham in the drawing-room on Thursday evening he could not keep back an exclamation of surprise and admiration. Even for a man he was singularly ill-versed in the science and art of feminine attire. She was dressed in black, and her corsage was cut rather dangerously low, so much the first glance told him. Then he decided that the frock, plain as it seemed, showed off to perfection her dainty figure and the dazzling beauty of her complexion. He stared fascinated at the ring she wore on the third finger of her left hand. Paste, of course, but think of the nerve that could flaunt what, if it had been genuine, would have been a hundred-guinea diamond hoop. For the moment a feeling almost of reverence surprised and subdued him.

Then Sir Andrew and Lady Groom were announced, and another feeling, pride, possessed him as he introduced “my niece, Miss Bayle.” He had privately wondered whether she would be overawed by the grand company into timidity and silence, or excited into forwardness and sraucherie. Once more he was surprised. She showed not the faintest sign of either awe or excitement, but played the part of hostess with admirable ease and selfpossession, and seemed to be enjoying herself thoroughly. For the first time his heart really began to warm towards the girl, as he realised that she promised to turn what he had looked upon as a rather hazardous experiment into a triumphant success. He actually found himself wishing that he had warned her of Lord Dearmount’s inclusion among the guests, and fervently hoping that she would not be too cruelly upset. He thought with a shudder of poor Miss Springe. Even the “ ’flu” was not an unmixed evil! Just as the thought occurred to him Lord Dearmount was announced, and Mr. Bloxham covered himself with confusion by saying very loudly and distinctly, “My niece, Miss Springe.” Everybody looked surprised except the girl, who only laughed as she shook hands with the guest. “Thank you, Uncle Jack!” she said, with a charming smile. “Poor Clara will be tickled when I tell her. That’s what comes of having such a lot of nieces.”

It was not till they were seated at dinner that Mr. Bloxham began to recover himself. Originally he had meant to score off the little typist by pairing her with Lord Dearmount and watching her embarrassment, but she had calmly taken matters into her own hands, sending him in with Lady Groom and asking Sir Andrew to take her in. Dearmount followed, with a K.C. at the Parliamentary Bar on one side and a stockbroker on the other.

From the first mouthful the dinner went well. It was well cooked, well served and the wines were beyond reproach. But something else is needed for a real success, and that something else the little typist supplied. In five minutes she and Sir Andrew were on the best of terms. Then the stockbroker was drawn into their conversation and told a funny story that made Lady Groom, who was a cheerful soul, laugh until the tears ran down her cheeks. That broke down every vestige of stiffness in the party, and Lord Dearmount, who had been rather quiet, was soon capping stories from the committee rooms with the K.C., and delighting his host by a quite unusual friendliness. After dinner Sir Andrew and his wife, Mr. Bloxham and Lord Dearmount, played bridge, while the K.C. and the stockbroker tried experiments with the pianola and the latest and most expensive gramophone. The party broke up early, Sir Andrew being under medical orders to be in by 10 o’clock, the stockbroker living- at Twickenham, and the K.C. having a heavy case to read up for the next day. As the door closed on the departing guests Miss Bayle suddenly remembered she had left her pencil case in the dining-room. It had slipped under the table and it took her a minute or two to retrieve it. Then with a cunning little smile she went back to the drawing-room, only to find it empty. But she heard voices close by and pushing open a half-closed door, found herself in a very snug little smokingroom, where Mr. Bloxham in one huge armchair sat by the fire facing Lord Dearmount in another.

Now all through the evening Mr. Bloxham had been in his seventh heaven, and all through the evening he had ungrudgingly admitted to himself that it was his temporary typist who had landed him there. Her “Uncle Jack,” if at first it had startled him, had afterwards, from hour to hour, given him increasing pleasure as he watched her moving on from success to success. Indeed, for once in his life, he had watched another’s triumph without feeling any desire to claim the credit for it.

But now that the party was practically over, he felt a sudden chill creeping over him in spite of the presence and friendliness of his most distinguished guest. Had he at his age and in his position been letting an artful little minx make an absolute fool of him? Why, if the story got about he would find himself a perfect laughingstock. “Uncle Jack,” indeed! There was no great cleverness in that. It was simply infernal cheek. Would it be easy, would it be possible, to revert tomorrow to the old terms of employer and employed?

The questions had flashed qfiickly into his mind as he looked out his special cigars for his favoured guest. Then another thought followed them, and his eyes brightened again. Here was Dearmount, just the very rod in pickle for the saucy minx. His own stupid mistake had saved her when they were introduced to each other, and for the rest of the evening she had managed to keep away from him.

It was just then that the door of the smoking-room was pushed open, and as he put the box of cigars on the table and sat down again he called out in his most genial tone, “Come in, you don’t mind a little smoke, do you?” She came in smiling, and the smile ought to have warned him. There was humour in it, and daring and a spice of mischief. But he, poor wretch was absorbed in his fatuous plan. “Oh, no,” she answered. “I think I could do with a whiff myself.” If she had shown the smallest sign of confusion or dismay, he might have relented, but her audacity hardened his heart.

“Come and make a third then,” he said very smoothly. “I understand that you two are great friends.” She walked up to Dearmount’s chair and stood for a moment gentlv ruffling his hair with her fingers. Then she perched herself on his knee, leaned back against his shoulder, and kissed his cheek.

“Nunky rather understates the case, doesn’t he, Dick, dear,” she asked. It was well for Mr. Bloxham that his arteries were in fairly good condition. Even as it was, his eyes goggled alarmingly, his cheeks purpled, and the veins stood out on his forehead. His lips moved, but no sound came.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake. Uncle Jack,” she cried, “don’t make such awful faces. Why shouldn’t a girl kiss her fiance in her uncle’s flat?”

Still Mr. Bloxham could find no words.

“Do you mind, Dicky, if I give him one?” she asked.

Mr. Bloxham’s hands flapped wildly, inviting, it might be, or repelling. She evaded them easily, threw her arms round his neck and kissed him heartily.

“There, you bad man,” she cried. “Now you see what becomes of cutting poor relations. If it hadn’t been for dear old Clara being mother’s great friend you'd never have been able to boast that you were on kissing terms with Lady Dearmount.”—The “Australasian.”