A CASUAL MEETING. NO. I.

Te Aroha News, Volume VI, Issue 368, 15 May 1889, Page 6

A CASUAL MEETING. NO. I.

It was a bitter afternoon in January, and the casuals wbo A &tood outside Sh Mary's Workhouse, waiting for tho hour afc which they would be admitted, were blue with the cold. Thoy huddled closo together for warmth, and crouched against the wall for shelter, but the north win 1 found them out and S enteel itV wrath. upon^bhem. , There Cvoro i.ot moiothan a dozen outcasts in tho group as yefc, for it was on y four o'clock, and there were two good hours before the little door would open and tho needy and the hungry ones would be allowed to enter the shelter provided for them by the parish authoiities. There was very little conversation. It wasm't the weather in which, folks cared to open their inuuths more than they could help. The men had their ragged coat collars turned up about their necks, and their hands thrust deep into their trousers' pockets. Tho women — thero were only two, both old and grey and weather beaten had rolled their arms up in some mysterious way in their thin dirty shawls, and Icept their chins well .down "to protects.t heir throats from the rtutor-liko slashes or fcho'icy gusts that swept round the corner and spent their fury on the workhouse- wall. ■ For over affenour, gaunt and grim, with almost expiefesionless faces, these .poor wretches stood and waited against the workhouse wall, and hardly a sound broke the' dreary f-ilence that reigned over the dc?olate scene. As the clock struck five, a further contingent of casuals joined the group. 'Three men came up together in the listless pauper fashion, and silently took their places. But behind them walked a man who didn't shuflle, who didn't even stroll, but who absolutely stepped out in a bold independent fashion ; and who, instead of slinking up' t6 tho wall ' and crouching againnt it, looked. the assembled company up aud dou n, then put his hands in his pockets, whistled to himself and began to march up and down like a sentry on duty. This man at once attracted the attention of the other casuals. Their listless appearance vanished, and it was evident that they were interested in the new comer. The>' 'took Ms measure' quickly. 'He ain't a rog'l-ir,' said one man to his next door neighbour. 'No,' was the -reply, ' looks like a gentleman, millingtary man, I should say, by his walk.' The new comer saw that he was being critici s ed, ami thought it was a favourab'o opportunity to be agreeable to his comrades in misfoitune. ' What time does this place open ?' he asked. 'Six o'clock, fcir," replied the man who had suspected tho -'stranyer of being 'millingtary.' Tho 'sir,' was involuntary, bub it d:dn \, seem to sound at ail unusual to the per&on addressed. 1 Decent tort of place, ("his ?' he asked. " ' Not so bad an some; of J em. You ain't tried many, 1 suppose; iyjgfc?^ s ' No, I oan't say I have.' 'I thought not. Well, I'll give you a tip as may be useful to you. If you slept in a casual ward in London fast night, don't say po. Sdy you slept somewhere as is cutside the meterypolertan airier, as they call it.' 1 Oh, why am I to say'that?' ' Why, ens it you say that you slept in a casual wnid last night, as is inside tfh'o meterypolertan airier, thgy-can* keep you heie three days afore tfiey- let you go.' See?' - ' ' '.. <V-, - * ' Oh, tha'*s it, is it ?' repl"ie&>;the ' millingtary ' casual. ' Thank .yotvftjyfriend, for the hint. Fortunately, I shan^have to tell *a story, becaute i didn't sleep in a casual ward last night.' ' P'raps you ain't never' slept in one afore?' l 'Quite light — this is my first experience. ' ' But it won't be your last,' exclaimed atall, well-built, middle-aged man, who had taken no previous narfc-in/ihe conversation. ' Tho casual system is arranged- for endur-* ancc. It keeps a man when it gets him. Once accept the hospitality of the parish authorities and you're their guest for life.. That's my experien.ee, and I've had a good long one.'" The man who was making his first experiment in carnal life looked hard at the now speaker, and his glance wa« returned.' Both men knew what the other casuals only gues°ed,' that they were gentlemen ; that is to say, men of superior social position and education. The ' new ' casual 'carried his credentials' not only in lus face, but in his general t bearing. lli-< clothes were old and weather, beaten, but they were well cut, and he had evidently once I een measured for them. His hands were soft and small (no uncommon thing in casuals, as many of thorn' never did any work in their lives but thab required by Lhe workhouse regulations) ; | they were also clean (a great rarity among casuals). His featutes, too, were refined,' and ab the first glance would have said, ' Thi-» is a young fellow of good birth, who has gone to the bad.' How much to the bad you would have guessed by his clothes; and the fact that be was waiting to be admitted to the casual ward. His age wa3 more difficult to give than his social status. He might have been anything' between twenty and thirty. The ' old ' casual was a different stamp of man. Tall, squarely built, with a fino, dark brown beard and a mass of wavy hair that still showed how black it had been, by" the dark patches that yet remained among the grey. His face was deeply lined, and showed the undoubted marks of drink and dissipation. 'This is a man who has lived his life,' yon would say. 'He is probably not more than forty-five, but he looks, sixty.' A little before six, the door was opened by the porter, and the casuals trooped 1 into the yard together, and then entered the" office one by one to- answer lhe stereotyped questions to have their answers registered according to law. The 'two 'gentlemen' found themselves in the office together. ,Tho elder one stepped up to the officer's desk with a lcadiness .which could only come of a, perfect familiarity with the usual routine.^ * Your name ?' 4 John Harwood.' . • * Age ?' ' * Forty-six.' > 'Trade V John H.arwood shrugged hie Bhoulders and answered 'Clerk.' * Where did you sleep last night V 'Watford.' '.Where o>o you going ?' -••Bla'ckhef-bh.' * Gpfc any money ?' - John Harwood put his hand in his pocket and pulleti^out a penny, which the officer >

took, according to the rule that al^money 1 louridfon^asnal shall b&given üß:biXu B : biX hi" 1 - Tlio formula having been gone through, John Harwood stepped outside, took his mug of 'skilly' and the square of bread' placed on top of it, and passed into the room where the ea vale take their supper provious to having their baths and going to their cell. But ill hiking his supper from the tray outside he managed to linger long enough to hear the ' new ' casual's answers. 1 Your name ?' 'Edward Darvell.' • Age ?' ,v, v , p 'Twenty-four.' ' Trade ?' •> ' I have none.' The looked up and scanned the applicant professionally. • Humph !' he said* ' a gentleman I suppose.' ' I was, but you can put mo down what youjlike.' • Where did you sleep last night?' 4 Bow Street Police Station.' Again the officer looked up. 'I was charged with being' drunk and disorderly and locked up all-night. To day the magistrate dismissed me. Do you want to know all about it?' 'No. Where J are you going?' ' r iod knows. I don't,, unless it's to the devjl.' " * '" ' -' ' I can't write that,' paid the officer, though he had mechanically 'begun to write 'The devil,' in the space assigned to 1 Where going to.' ' Say- somewhere else.' ' Very, well ; say Gravesend.' ' Got any money?' ' ' ' Nob a rap.' .. , , j 'That'll do.' The' officer pointed to the door, .and Edward Darvell passed out and was going into the opposite room without taking his gritel and bread from the tray. '.Here you — ' shouted the porter in charge of the refreshment?, ' don't you want your supper ?' 'Oh, thank you,' sai"d Darvell, turningback, ' I didn't know — I'm —er — not used to the ways of the establishment yet.' He took the mug of thick steaming liquid and the hunk of bread, and went into a narrow, bare room, and sab on a form with a score of other casuals ; and it watn't till the gruel and the bread were gone, and he felt that he could do with a steak and a pint of beei, that he remembeted he had had nothing to eat since the frugal broakfast that had been supplied to him in the prison cell. On an opposite ftfrm to him sat the man i who had given the name of John Harwood. They wtro bpth called to take their hot bath at the name time. As they vent along the pas-age," Harwood whispered to him, ' We shall both be discharged to morrow after w'e've done our task. I shall get through my oakum before yon, because I'm us.cd to it. But I'll wa t outside till you come. I want to have a talk with you.' 1 ' All right,' paid Darvell, ' that's an appointment. Good ni^lit. ' It was all new and strange to Edward Darvell, and the novelty was quito a relief. He almost found himself laughing as he got out of the casuals' bath and found a coarse check shirt and a pair of slippers waiting for him to put on. And when he had got into the little hard bed in the nanow cell in which all casuals are now confined, he fait that if he could only h^ve had -a pipe he should have been quito comfortable But a pipe was impossible under the circumstances, so he turned over on his tide and made up his mind to go to sleep. 'By Jove,' he said to himself, as he punched the bed to make it a little better ; 'if it weren't so beastly low it' would be funny. Ned Darvell, son of the richest man in Cuiuberland."afHanced husband of the prettiest yirl in England, gentleman, and idiot, you are going to have a "jolly good .night's refit in the casual ward of St. Mary's ' Workhouf-e. and there'll be nothing to cay t to morrow for bed or board, and it this bed • isn't both together I should like to know what it is.' Five minutes later Ned Darvell was fast asleep, and his dreams would doubtless have been pleasant had not a gnawing I hunger brought on a nightmare in which he was being hunted over a precipice by demons, while a lovely girl in white muslin and a straw hat stood.-by and kept wr nging her hands, and crying out 'Ned, dear Ned, come back, come back, I- love you ,and you alone, and no other man shall ever 1 be. my husband.' f It wa a long past eleven the next morning before Edward Darvell had picked the regulation amount of oakum, for ifc was his first attempt at that,delightful occupation, and he was awkward at it, as all beginners are. But he got through the task at Jast. and was not at nil sorry when he' found himself once more a free man, in the open air, ' the world before him whereto choose.' The weather, by one of those sudden freaks, of the English climate, had changed suddenly from cold to warm, and the sun had even put on a good humoured smile, and the young casual actually began to whittle as he left the workhouse gates. He hnd quite forgotten the appointment marie the previous evening with his new acquaintance, but he remembered it directly he saw that gentleman, with his hands in his pockets, lolling against a -poet at the street corner, and evidently waiting for him. ' Well, my lad !' exclaimed the man who had givep "the name of John Harwood to the work-house official, ' how v did you like the casual ward ?' 5 , ' 'Oh, it wa«n't so -very -#wful,' replied Darvell, ' but I didn't caro about the oakum.' 4 Where are you going to now ?' ' Goodness knows, I don't. >v - 4 Haven't you any friends ?'. - 'Plenty ! but none I should, care to call upon in this condition.' ' You seem a decent sort of young fellow, andjl'm always sorry to see a decent lad and a gentleman, as I know you are, come to this. I'm a perfect stranger to^you, and I daresay my appearance isn't calculated to inspire confidence, but 1 wish you'd tell me what has brought you to this. I might be'j able to help you.' N'?d Darvell looked at his new acquaintance. John Harwood was a geritleman, or at any rate a man who had been,, well educated and had mixed in good sriciety-you could tell that in a minute by his bearing and his manner, of tally ng. "'* *' *- • Well,' said/Ned, '"if you particularly want to know what brought me to this, I'll tell you. My evil genius.'' ' Male or female,;?/ , ' Male ' The only person of the softer sex who has any influence over me is my , good genius. My evil genius is myself ' ' Humph ! ' Was ifc~ drink or gambling?' 'Gambling. Here's the 'story in a nutfbell, My mother died when I was a boy* My father never cared^ about me. He is, a selfish man, utterly wrapped up in himself and h\s property. •He mride iWan allowance which w^jrd 1 beggarly one, ( 'and I got' into debt before 1 knew where I \vat». After I left college I got in with rather n fast set of men, and I went the pace, as 'all youngfellows do. Then came settling: day, and I couldn't settle, so I went to my father. He bullied me and insulted me, and wo had a I row. I spoke my mind; and, he didn't like 1 it, and the end of it was that I flounced oufc

of thejiouse. . 1 went to the, men J. owed, money to and told them it. was, a .debt of. honour, and every shilling should be paid' if they would give me time. Then,, l sold; off what few things I 'had at my chambers, took a cheap lodging- and tried to get a berth as a clerk. Nobody w.ould have me, for I write a fearful, hand, and am generally a very useless sort of person. That was two , months ago. ivly money gradually went,, and,- then to pay my landlady I sold my clothe?, all I, could spare, and then, by degrees, I camo down to this. [ * The night before last, having had nothing to eat all day, I met an old friend, who insisted on my having a drink with him. I was hungry, but he never suggested anything to eat. I was down in the mouth, and I suppose the drink got into my head. At any rate I got into a crowd round two men fighting at the corner of the street, , and a policeman came up and shoved me .about, and I lot out, at him, and he ran me in, for being drunk and disorderly. When "1 came out I thought, having tried the police-station, I might as well try the casual ward. My landlady is a good soul, but 1 owe her rent now, and I don't think* Vl\ let her in for any more.' • And what do you propose to do now ?'. , 1 Wait till to-night, I suppose, and then piok some more oakum tor a bed and breakfast. What are you going to do ?' 4 Well, I want to get to Highgate to-day. I've an appointment with a lady up that ' way, and I want to keep it if I can.' Nell Darvell looked at the ragged casual and laughed. It seemed so" droll for such a poor miserable wretch to .-talk about having an appointment with a lady. 4ls she young and pretty"?'' he said with an involuntary smile. ' v - " 4 Yes. She ys quite' young a^d very pretty.' 7 4 Well, old follow, two afe company and three are none under such circumstances. So I suppose we must say good day.' 1 Not at all. I want you to come with me.' - - 4 Whatever for? 1 4 Ne» er mind ! Will you come. You'll be doing me a great service.' ' You arc going to Highgate you say?' « Ye?.' ' Ned Darvell hesitated. The young lady to whom he was engaged, Bella Martimer, lived at Highgate. Her mother's house — the house where he had once been a welcome visitor, was on the High Road. Suppose he should be seen by any of her household, seen under the weather and out at elbows, and in company with a tramp ! He didn't relish the idea at all. 'I have friends at Highgate.' he paid. ' I don't care to be seen in the neighbourhood in this condition.' ' We needn't be seen.' replied his friend. 4 My appointment is in Highgate Woods, a lonely place at this time of the year, and we can get there without goinsr by the main road. Will you come?' 'Well, if you patticularly wish it, ye?, but I don't see what assistance I can be to you.' 4 I'll be candid with you. I want you to keep the appointment in mv place.' 4 1 don't understand you.' * ' I will explain. The young lady lam to meet simply brings me an answer to a letter which I wrote some days sitrce. It may be a written one. Whichever it is, &he will give it to you if you say that I am unable to be there and that you have come~as my "messenger.' 4 But why shouldn't you go yourself ?' 4 Because I have an idea that the girl may be watched. On two occasions when we have endeavoured to meet we have been unable to do so, as the girl was followed from her home. If she were seen with me the result to her would be disastrous.' 4 But if she is. followed and seen with me,' said the young man, 4 purely that would be to her disadvantage..'. , z .~~- . .lohn Hai wood shook his. head. . , 4 No,' he said, ' yqu are not. what I am. I give yon my solemn oa.th -that no harm ra.n x come to that girl if she is seen meeting you. Come, will you help me ?' -..,;,-,■ « The words were spoken so earnestly; and> Harwood appeared so aivxious,..that Darvell, i who had always found it. difficult -to say 4 No ' when pressed, conquered his scruples,; and, making up his mind that there could be no harm in seeing this -curious epieode out, agreed at last to the arrangement, and the two casuals set out in the diiectionof Highgate. Arrived at the corner of Wood-lane, the two men parted, Harwood pointing out to his companion a public house further up the road where he would await his return; and Darvell going on to Highgate- Woods, the ,spot in which the rendezvous had~ been ar- , ranged. 1 Follow the public footpath through the wood till you get -to the stile at the end, near which there is a sign-post, on which it says, 'To Muswoll Hill' - At three o'clock a young lady will come to this stile and wait.' 4 How shall I know her ?' 4 There are not likely to-be many people there at this time of day and' this season of the year. And you will seeat once if she is expecting some one. All you have to say is 41 1 come from John Harwood. He cannot come him&elf,"' and she will give you the message I am waiting tor. You will bring it to me at the place I have indicated.' 4 It' 3 a queer business,' , thought Darvell,. 4 but I suppose the man, like myself, is well connected, though down in the world. Probably this is his method of communicating with a relative who keeps up the acquaintance against the wishes of the family.' Ned Darvell found the path through Highgate Woods easily enough. The wood was perfectly deserted and he had it entirely to himself till he reached the "stile. There was no one there, so hesot down and looked aboub'liim. The view was a glorious one. Befoie him lay the northern Heights of London, and to the left, on n lofty eminence, the Palace- crowned Hill of Muswell. He fell into a reverie and had forgotten all about his mission, so absorbed w&s he in thought, when the sound of a light footstep behind him recalled him to the. situation. . > He turned and found himself face to face with a young lady, deeply veiled. As he turned, the young lady uttered a cry of astonishment. ' Ned !' she said. Ned Darvell could hardly believe that he was not dreaming. Before him stood l^e^le Mortiiier, his sweetheart, the one woman of all others that he did not wish to meet in his present pitiful plight. , • ' -> ' Bolle,' he exclaimed, 'I — I — didn't expect to see^you-'here. 1 ' , ' Oh, Ned, my poor Ned, how ill you look. I didn't know it was so bad as this.' 4 Don't look at me, Belle, dear; don't pity me. It's all my own fault, and — I—lI — I dares ay it will all come right by-and-bye.' 4 But, Ned, you must be cold wijbhout an overcoat, and you look ill and hungry. I thought you were going to get some employment.' 4 I've tried, Belle, but I haven't succeeded yet. But don't talk about me. Let us talk about yourself. . Are you well, dear — well and happy?' , • ' , t Belle 1 hesitated. 4 How can I bo happy, Ned, now I know what has happened, to you ? Oh,' Ned^ I'm sure if your father knew' 1 you had come to this ;' ( ! . .. ' , v - Ned shrugged .his shoulders; , _ .

'My dear Belle, he would say ifc served, me rjght, 'and I; dare say itf, does. -, There,, my darling, don't you fret". 'I'" have had* rather .a, rough .time .of,it, but the experi-* ehce won't be thrown away. ' I shall get; myself right >et. The next t'me yon see) me 1 shall be looking very different to. this.' 'K^a.'paifl the girl softly, 'you won't mind what r™. (, o i n g to cay, dear ? Won't' you Jet .me- .lend y o U a little money? I have some put by, you k«i O « v> an( j > Ned held up his hand. r ' Belle, if you love me, don't talk to *« A like that. Ibs going to be a hard fight for me' I know ; but I'm never going to borrow a penny again, anrl certainly not of you. Come talk about something else. What brings you here ?' . - Belle blushed, and then the blood left' her cheeks and they went white as death. ' I can't tell you, Ned,' she said. - Instantly the truth flashed across Ned Df»rvell's mind. Belle — his Belle, was the pretty young lady who had an appointment with the casual from St. Mary's Workhouse. Bewildered, confused, .horrified, Ned hardly knew how to frame his nevt question. ' Belle,' he stammered, * you are here to give, a message to a man, who was to have met you at this stile at three o'clock !' ' ' Oh, Ned, how do you know that ?' cried the girl, the blood rushing back to her cheeks again. 1 1 am here to receive that message ; the man does not caro to come himself, and has sent me instead. He fold rae "that you would understand everything.' ' What !' exclaimeci the girl, in genuine astonishment. 'My father has sent you to me ' ' Your father ! Good God, Belle, do you mean to say that tho wretched, broken [ down tramp I have just left is your I father »' ' Yes. - Oh, Ned, it is a painful story. I should ncer have told you— it is our family srciet, and a terrible one it has been. But you know ifc now and perhaps it is best ' \ Ned gave an involuntary shudder. He forgot that he was little better than a tamp himself for the time being. He only thought of John Harwood, the man he had made ' pals' with in the casual ward of St. Mary's, and asked himself how such a man could be the father of his beautiful, innocent, delica'e Bolle. • 1 am here for a message you have to give this man, Belle,' he said, hoarsely. 1 Let me have it and go.' . ' Ye°,' replied the girl, sarfly, ' I had forgotten that. ' Tell him, Ned, that Hush !' There was a sound of crackling branches in (he wood. Instantly the words of John Harwood came to Ned's mind, ' I have reason to beliove the young lady may be followed.' Before he had time to ask Belle a question, a lady, who had evidently been hiding among the thick trees of the wood,- came out into the open. Ned recognised her at once. It was Mrs ivJortimor. 'So, Bolle,' she said, 'this is. why vyou &teal,oui. 80 quietly .without saying a word to me. Where was the necessity for' this eecresy ? I have never forbidden you to see ,Mr'Dar veil ?' ' ISfo, mother, but I — — ' Mrs' Mortimer looked at Ned. 'Oh, Mr'Daneli,' she said, 'how sorry I am for you. . It quite shames me to pee you like this. You are a very foolish young man. The idea of a young fellow^ in .your .position, with your prospects, masquerading in this way, and -going about like a tramp !' - .. - 4 1 assure you, Mrs Mortimer,' stammered Ned, ' that I'm not masquerading.'' ' Oh, nonsense, of. course you are. It's . too ridiculous. I had no idea you were going to be absurd enough to neglect your ' wardrobe and go' about in this ridiculous I fashion, and you really look-as if you hadn't had a decent meal for a week. Belle, we , must insist upon Ned 'coming back home "with us and staying to dine.' Ned -looked down involuntarily at his Gostume. ~ i «.'',• - • Really, my dear Mrs Mortimer.' he said, , I couldn't, indeed I couldn't. Whatever would the servants think ?* ' They'll think as 1 do, -that Mr Edward Da well has been making himself ridiculous. Come, Belle, add your commands to my en- _ treaties.' .Belle looked at her lover piteously. ' Come,' she j?aid. And as the elder lady turned away, she whi«peted, l I can give you the message then. 1 Darvoll was on the horns of a dilemma. He had no message to take back as yet, and he was eager to know something more of Belle's father from the girl's own lips. I He had always understood th-it Mrs Mortimer was a widow ; that- her husband had died many years ago abroad., The incidents of tho day had come upon him as a startling revelation which had utterly bewildered him. i ' Harwood will wait,' he thought ; ' he won't go till I come back," and I may as weli take him all the information £ can. Besides, "for ( ,Belle's sake and my own I ought to know a little more about him.' ' Come, Mr Darvell,' said Mrs.Mortimer, bieaking in upon his cogitation ; ' we are waiting for you. If Belle and I are not ,a«hamed of. you, I'm sure you needn't mind what the servants think.' • A quarter of an hour later, Edward Dar-, veil was seated in the big dining-room of the Laurel*, Southwood Lav\n, Highgate, and Viv John Harwood was getting -extremely anxious about half a mile away, and wondering ,\vhat had happened v to detain his messenger so long.

{To be. Continued.)