The Bantyre Fortune

Sun (Auckland), Volume IV, Issue 993, 9 June 1930, Page 5

The Bantyre Fortune

COPYRIGHT

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL: ARRANGEMENT

ty

FRANK PRICE

CHAPTER I. A GIRL’S FACE “Come in!” The young man to whose brisk knocking the words were a reply obeyed and found himself in a room where four girl typists were busy with their machines. Instantly he removed his hat in a slight bow which included each of them in an act of genial courtesy, but his glance went to a door on his left which bore the inscription: “Mr. Wayne Garfield. Private.” The girls looked up with the casual uninterested air of workers accustomed to interruption from persons with whom they had no concern. In the ordinary way they would take in every detail of an intruder’s appearance with one sweep of the eye and resume concentration on their tasks without missing a tap on the keys. On this occasion there was a palpable break in the clatter of the machines. The suavity of his gesture and the friendly warmth of liis smile seemed to betoken a feeling of homage personal to each individual and there was a moment of absolute silence during which four pairs of eyes were fixed on him with open admiration. Then the girl whose seat was nearest the door on the left gave a warning cough and the clatter of the keys was resumed while she waited with an inquiring tilt of her eyebrows for him to speak. “I want a word or two with Mr. Garfield.” His voice was as pleasant as his appearance, soft and deferential and seeming to carry a hint of laughter. “Have you an appointment?” The question sounded very business-like to him, but he was not in a position to know what difficulty she had in keeping so. “No, bu ” ‘Then, I am afraid ” she broke in, only to be interrupted in her turn, insistently but without a trace of rudeness': “There wasn’t time, you see. I have only just discovered he is the man I ought to interview, and as the matter is pressing I came right along at once.” “Perhaps if your business is important ” she began hesitantly. “It is!” he assured her. His smile seemed to be taking her into his confidence, though a whimsical glint in his eyes puzzled her. “If you tell me what it is T will ask Mr. Garfield —or, if you prefer to write it down ?” She offered him a sheet of paper. “I don't think so.” He dismissed both suggestions with a wave of the hand. “I must explain it personally. But if you will take in my card I’m sure it will be all right.” She received the scrap of pasteboard doubtfully, and glanced at the inscription. His name, it appeared, was Mark L. Seymour, and the address given was that of a celebrated West

End dub renowned for its exclusiveness. She knew it well by repute, and there was increased interest in the t look she gave him. He answered with that friendly smile again, and she capitulated. “Please take a seat, Mr. Seymour.” she said. “I won’t be a minute.” She knocked on the frosted glass and disappeared. Mtu'k Seymour sat down and watched the typists with an expression of polite interest. He was amazed by the rapidity with which their fingers flew over the keys, but did not know enough about their art to see anything unusual in the frequency with which they resorted to their erasers under his scrutiny. The girl returned after a very brief absence. “Mr. Garfield will see you,” sh'-> said. “Thank you.” He passed into the inner room. It was a solidly furnished office with another door in the opposite wall. At a large, paper strewn table sat a tall, cadaverouslooking man, whose pale, expressionless eyes, peering from cavernous hollows under sandy brows, and thin, colourless lips did not impress him favourably. He thought he had never seen a living man who so nearly resembled a deathshead and the symbol of the pirate’s bloodstained calling, with all its 'associations of cruelty and terror, sprang instantly to his mind. But not allowing his thoughts to influence his conduct, b«» said affably; “Good afternoon, Mr. Garfield ” “Afternoon, Mr.—er —Seymour.” The nama was read in a harsh, croaking voice from the card which lay on the table. Mr. Garfield had a foun-tain-pen in his clawlike fingers and had evidently been busy with a pile of papers. “1 hear you have something important to say. I shall be glad if you will be as brief as possible.” “I’ll come to the point at once. There is a vacancy for a clerk in these offices and the choice of a man for the job rests with you.” “How did you hear that?” the question rasped. “The post was advertised under a newspaper box number, and only applicants chosen for interviews could know it was ours.” “Quite. I happened to run across j man who was turned down in an interview, and he told me.” “Well, what then? You are not applying for the job, 1 suppose?” The question was sarcastically intended, but Mark Seymour accepted it without, a quiver. “That is exactly what I am doing.” “You are?” Mr. Garfield sat back and his brows came down, sending his pale eyes into deeper and more ominshadow. He took up the card and read what was on it. “Are you trying some sort of a joke? The men who work for us as junior clerks don’t usually give expensive West End clubs as their postal addresses.” “I shall not give that as mine when the current year’s subscription has run out,” said Mark, and there was a

tinge of sharp regret in his tone. “But I don’t see that my address can in any way affect my qualification for the post.” “What is your qualification for the post? Have you had any business training? Can you give references?” The questions were snapped at him rapidly. “I am afraid not as to business capabilities. As a matter of fact, I have had no experience of office work.” “What work have you had experience of?” There was -a pause while the applicant considered his answer. All expression was banished from his face, for he had taken an instinctive dislike to Mr. Garfield and only the prudence taught by dire necessity prevented him from showing it. Presently he shrugged his shoulders Slightly. “None that you would call work, 1 suppose. But everybody has to learn, and I have had a decent education — Eton and Oxford ” “Ha, yes! I know the kind of thing! Greek and games and snobbery!” Mr. Garfield’s manner was vicious with a hint of malicious envy. “And if you came to us you would be prepared to exhibit those qualities of command over people of an inferior type that our great Public School and University system is famous for creating! Well, that isn’t what we want in a junior clerk, thank you! And we haven’t time to teach what we do want. There are swarms of business schools and colleges who do that. You ought to be aware of that, even if such humble matters are not mentioned at Eton and Oxford!”

“Is it really necessary to be offensive, Mr. Garfield?” asked Mark quietly. “Offensive? AVhat do you mean? Are yon trying to teach me how to deal with an impostor who gets into my office by false pretences ” “I used no false pretences!” “You claimed to have important business.” “I have! It is most important that I should get work.” “To you, perhaps. It is not of the slightest importance to me. There are thousands of trained men looking for jobs in London today. If they all had the impudence to thrust themselves into my office as you have done there would be a riot calling for the police to deal with. But there is a commissionaire downstairs who will deal with you if necessary!” Mark’s face flushed at the implied threat and his fists clenched but he controlled himself. “'You are making a mistake ” he began. “Not half so much of a mistake as you made when you wormed your way in here hoping to make a fool of me and sneak a job from men who w-ere serving their apprenticeship when you were playing games at Eton or running up bills at Oxford!” Mr. Garfield broke in angrily. “My work is waiting—and the door is behind you!” He turned to liis papers. Mark Seymour stood irresolutely for a moment. He had gone white to the lips and his eyes flashed ominously. Suddenly the door behind Mr. Garfield was burst open and a short, heavily-built man with a round, rosy face surmounted by a perfectly bald head came in quickly. ■ “She is coming, Garfield!” he exclaimed with a note of excited exultation in his voice. “She’s ill a taxi now ” He was checked by a quiet look from Mr. Garfield and became aware of Mark’s presence. “I thought you were alone!” His voice tailed off into a curiously childish petulance. “I shall be in two seconds,” said Mr. Garfield, fixing a* scowl on Mark. “This—gentleman is going now.” Mark glanced from the cherubic countenance of the newcomer to the death-mask face of the man at the table, but the anger and humiliation he felt were too intense to allow him consciously to take note of the strange contrast between them. He could only realise that his attempt to find work had failed, as many previous ones had done. He turned on his heel and went out by the way he liad come without another word. He passed through the outer office, ignoring its occupants and unconscious of their interest, and made his way from the building with tingling nerves and throbbing veins. As he earner out into the street a taxicab had pulled up at the kerb and a girl -who had alighted from it was paying the driver with her back to Mark. “She’s coming, Garfield! She’s in a taxi now ” The words he had scarcely seemed to hear and the quick, warning look

by which they had been stopped-were thrust into his mind by some mysterious trick of memory and he paused, asking himself if this w-ere the “she” of whom they had been speaking. The girl turned as though to enter tile door from which he had emerged, and he stared at her with a quick intake of his breath. The emotions roused by his interview with Mr. Garfield were blotted out instantly and he stood, oblivious of the fact that he was blocking her path, drinking in the beauty of her face with avid eyes. CHAPTER 11. UP AGAINST IT. -Seeing her way obstructed by an entire stranger, the girl hesitated, an indignant frown puckering her smooth forehead; then, realising from his expression, that Mark Seymour’s regard was a tribute rather than an insult, the suspicion of a smile crept round the corners of her lips and a sweet, warm colour came to her cheeks. He only stared the harder. Beautiful as she had been before, the flush and the smile seemed to increase her loveliness a hundredfold and for the space of a couple of seconds he was wrapt from all consciousness of his surroundings or of anything but her face. Then suddenly his senses were recalled by a discordant confusion of sounds and jarring events.

There were hoots from motor horns, grinding of brakes and startled shouts. Tearing his eyes from the girl, he saw a boy on a bicycle swerve from under the bonnet of a lorry and mount the pavement directly behind her. With a leap Mark caught the handlebar and swung rider and machine aside. He felt a sharp pain above his left knee as the lamp bracket on the front fork scraped liis leg, but the wheel missed the girl by a hairsbreadth. The boy dismounted and hurried away as if afraid he might be called to account f6r what had happened. “Thank you!” Mark realised with a thrill that the girl’s voice xvas as charming as her face. “You saved me from a nasty accident.” “Don’t mention it.” He raised his hat, fighting against an idiotic impulse to tell her how beautiful she was. “It. was nothing.” “But it was!” she insisted seriously “If you hadn’t acted so promptly 1 should have been knocked down and —Oh!” She stopped, looking downward. His glance followed hers, and he saw with dismay that the boy’s lamp bracket had played havoc with the left, leg of liis trousers. A rectangular piece of cloth hung forlornly over his knee, exposing a jagged tear in mauve silk underwear beneath. “The devil!” he exclaimed, grabbing the flapping fragment and holding ii in place. “I’m so sorry!” said the girl sweetly, but with a gurgle that sounded annoyingly like suppressed laughter. “If I can do anything—perhaps a safety pin——” “Good Lord, no! It’s beyond that!” lie groaned. “I couldn’t walk home with my bags held together by safetj r pins!” “Then ” She looked round, seeking inspiration. The taxi which had dropped her had been held up by traffic and was only now about to drive away. “Stop!” she cried to the man, and turned back to Mark with lier hand on the cab door. “You had better take this.” “Of course! That’s the way. Allow me.” Their hands met for an instant as he opened the door, and a shiver of ecstasy ran down his spine. Her lips were so near and the temptation to kiss her so great that liis head buzzed. “Where to, sir?” asked the driver. Tile simple question brought Mark to earth with a crash. He mumbled an address in Kennington. jumped into the cab and pulled the door shut. The girl stooped to the open window. “I’m frightfully sorry and tremendously grateful,” she said. “I haven’t said half enough. Another time—if .1 had your address ” He snatched out his card-case. (To be continued tomorrow.)