BEYOND THE CITY

Te Aroha News, Volume XI, Issue 1721, 13 March 1895, Page 4

BEYOND THE CITY

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COrrniQHT, IB9S, BY AUTHOHr ALUAKOE. AM. lIIOMT3 RESERVED. 0 [CONTINUED.] forty years of stern discipline had tr ade him reserved and silent. Yet when ;? t his ease with an equal he could readily assume a less quarter deck style, and he had a fund of little dry stories of the world and its ways which were of interest from one who had seen so many

phases of life. Dry and spare, as lean as a jockey and as tough as whipcord, he .•night be seen any day swinging his silver headed Malacca cane and pacing along the suburban roads with the same measured gait "with which he had been wont to tread the poop of his flagship. He wore a good service stripe upon his ttheek, for on one side it was .pitted and scarred where a spurt of gravel knocked up by a round shot had struck him 30 years before when he served in the Lancaster gun battery. Yet lie was hale and sound, and though he was 15 years senior to his friend, the doctor, he might have passed as the younger man. Mrs. Hay Denver’s life had been a very broken one, and lier record upon laud represented a greater amount of endurance and self sacrifice than his upon the sea. They had been together for four months after their marriage, and then had come a hiatus of four years, during which he was flitting about between St. Helena and the Oil rivers in. a gunboat. Then came a blessed year of peace and domesticity, to be followed by nine years, with only a three mouths’ break —five upon the Pacific station and four on the past Indian. After that was a respite in

the shape of five years in the Channel squadron, with periodical runs home, and then again he was off to the Mediterranean for three years and to Halifax for four. Now at last, however, this old married couple, who were still almost strangers to one another, had come together in Norwood, where, if their short day had been checkered and broken, the evening at least promised to be sweet and mellow. In person Mrs. Hay Denver was tall and stout, with a bright, round, ruddy cheeked face still pretty, with a gracious,’ matronly comeliness. Her whole life was a round of devotion and of love, which was divided between her husband and her only son, Harold.This son it was who kept them in the neighborhood of London, for the admiral was as fond of ships and of salt water as ever and was as happy in the sheets of a 2-ton yacht as on the bridge of his 16-knot monitor. Had he been •untied the Devonshire or Hampshire coast would certainly have been bis choice. There was Harold, however, and Harold’s interests were their chief care. Harold was 24 now. Three years before he had been taken in hand by an ac-

quaintance of his father’s, the head of a considerable firm of stockbrokers, and fairly launched upon ’change.' His 800__guinea entrance fee paid, his three sureties of £SOO pounds each found, his name approved by the committee and all other formalities complied with, he found himself whirling around, an insignificant unit in the vortex of the money-market of the world. There, nnder the guidance of his father’s friend, he was instructed in the mysteries of bulling-and of bearing, in the strange usages of ’change, in the intricacies of carrying over. and of transferring. He learned to know where to place his clients’ money, which of the jobbers would make a price in New Zealands and which would touch nothing but American rails, which might be trusted and which shunned. All this and much more he mastered, and to such purpose that he soon began to prosper, to retain the clients who had been recommended to him and to attract fresh

ones. But the work was never'congen-

ial. He had inherited from his father fcis love of the air of heaven, his affection for a manly and natural existence. To act as middleman between the pursuer of wealth and the wealth"which b pursued, or to stand as-a human baron eter, registering the rise and fall of tbs great mammon pressure in the market,*, was not the work for which Providence had placed those broad shoulders and strong limbs upon his well knit frame. TTia dark open face, too, with his straigh «• Grecian nose, well-.opened .brown eyes and round black curled bead, were all those of a man who was fashioned for active physical work. Meanwhile ho was popular with hi 3 fellow 1 brokers, respected by hi 3 clients and beloved at home, but his spirit was restless within him, and his mind chafed unceasingly against his surroundings. “Do you know, Willy,” said Mrs. Hay Denver one evening as she stood behind her husband’s chair, with lier handupon his shoulder, “1 think sometimes; that i “<.rold is not quite happy.” ‘ ~- T e looks happy, the young rascal,”

&nßvsj m } £j ie admiral, pointing vfith his gigar £ t was a fter dinner, an 1 through French \vinyow j>f_ ..tile dining loom a clear view was'to' he l, a d of the. tennis court and the players, a B et had just been finished, and young Charles •Westmrcott wrw hitting up the bails as high as he could*send them in the middle -of the ground. Dr. Walker and klrs Westmacott were pacing up and down the lawn, the lady waving her she emphasized her remarks, and ty> doctor listening with slanting head niffi little nods of agreement. Against the, rails at the near end Harold was leaning ill Ins flannels talking to Hie two sisters, who stood listening to him with their long dark shadows streaming down the lawn behind them. The girls were dressed alike in dark skirts;w.ff’ > light pink

tennis blouses and pin a banns on thou straw hats, so that as they stood wile the soft red of the selling i.an tiugiu: their faces. Chars. 1 Vy-nu . arid quift.. Tdc mischievous a no daring. ,it was a grou: ■which might lia s h\ sed the dye of s. jiftore exacting critic* than the oid s-iloi.

: “Yes, he looks happy, mother,” he repeated with a chuckle. “It was not so long ago since it was you and I who were standing like that, and I don’t remember that we were very unhappy either. It was croquet in our time, and the ladies had not reefed in their skirts quite so taut. What year would it be? Just before the commission of the Penelope.” Mrs. Hay Denver ran her fingers through his grizzled hair. “It was when yon came back in the Antelope, just before you got your step.” “Ah, the old Antelope! What a clipper she was! She could sail two points nearer the wind than anything of her tonnage in the service. You remember her, mother. You saw her come into Plymouth bay. Wasn’t She a beauty?” “She was indeed, dear. But when I say that 1 think that Harold is not happy 1 mean in his daily life. Has it never struck you how thoughtful he is at times and how absentminded?”

“In love perhaps, the young dog. He seems to have found snug moorings now at any rate.” “I think that it is very likely that you are right, Willy,” answered the mother seriously. “But with which of them?” “I cannot tell.”

“Well, they are very charming girls, both of them. But as long as he hangs in the wind between the two it cannot he serious. After all, the boy is four and twenty, and he made £3OO last year. He-is better able to marry than I was when I was lieutenant.” “1 think that we can see which it is now," remarked the observant mother. Charles Westmaeott had ceased to knock the tennis balls about and was chatting with Clara Walker, while Ida and Harold Denver were still talking by the railing with little outbursts of laughter. Presently a fresh sot was formed, and Dr. Walker, the odd man out, came through the wicket gate and strolled up the garden walk.

“Good evening, Mrs. Hay Denver,” said he, raising Lis broad straw hat. “May I come in?”._.,. “Good evening, doctor. Pray do.” “Try one of these,” said the admiral, holding out his cigar case. “They are not bad. i got them on the Mosquito coast. I was thinking of signaling to you, but you seemed so very happy out there.”

“Mrs. Westmaeott is a very clever woman,” said the doctor, lighting the cigar, “By the way, you spoke about the Mosquito coast just now. Did you see much of the Hyla when you were out there?”

“No such name on the list,” answered the seaman with decision. “There’s the Hydra, a harbor defense turret ship, but she never leaves the home waters.” The doctor laughed. “We live in two separate worlds,” said he. “The Hylais the little green tree frog, and Beale has founded Some of his views on protoplasm upon the appearances of its nerve cells. It is a subject in which I take an interest.” “There were vermin of all sorts in the woods. When I have been on river service, 1 have heard it at night like the engine room when yy.u are on the measured mile, . You can’t sleep for the piping and croaking and chirping. Great Scott, what a woman that is! She was across the lawn in three jumps. She would have made a captain of the foretop in the old days.” “She is a very remarkable woman.” “A very cranky one.” “A very sensible one in somo things,” remarked Mrs. Hay Denver. “Look at that now!” cried the admiral, with a lunge of his forefinger at the doctor. “You mark my words, Walker, if we don’t look out that woman will raise a mutiny with her preaching. Here’s my wife disaffected already, and your girls will be no better.. We must combine, man, or there’s an end of all discipline.” “No doubt she is a' little excessive in her views,” said the doctor, “but in the main I think as she does.”; “Bravo, doctor!” cried the lady. “What, turned traitor to your sex! We’ll court martial, you as a deserter.” “She is quite right. The professions ®re not sufficiently open to women. They are still far too much circumscribed in their employments. They are a feeble folk, the women who. have to work for their 1 bread—poor, unorganized, timid, taking as a favor what they might demand as a right. That is why their case is not moro constantly before the public, for if their cry for redress was as great as their grievance it would fill the world to the exclusion of all others. It is all vetywell for us to be courteous to the rich, the refined, those to whom life is already made easy. It is a mere form, a trick of manner. If we are truly courte"ous, we shall stoop to lift up struggling womanhood when she really needs our help—when- it is life and death to her whether she has it or not. And then to cant abon*-, it being unwomanly to work h» the higher professions. It is womanly | er.ou.gh to, starve, but unwomanly to use tbs brains wlich God has given them. Is it not a monstrous contention?” Tie admiral chuckled. “You are like one <i these phonographs, Walker," said [ he. “You have had all this talked into ■ you, aid now you are reeling it off again. I It’s rank mutiny, every word of it. for

man has his duties ana woman has hers, but they are as separate as their natures are. I suppose that we shall have a woman hoisting her pennant on the flagship presently and taking command of the Channel squadron.” “Well, you have a woman on the throne taking command of the whole nation,” remarked his wife, “and everybody Is agreed that she does it better than any of the men.” The admiral was somewhat staggered by this home thrust. “That’s quite another thing,” said he. “You should come to their next meeting. lam to take the chair. I have just promised Mrs. Westmaeott that I will do so. But it has turned chilly, and it is time that the girls were indoors. Good night. I shall look out for you after breakfast for our constitutional, admiral.” The old sailor looked after his friend with a twinkle in his eyes. “How old is he, mother?” “About 50, I think.” “And Mrs. Westmaeott?” “I heard that she was 43.” The admiral rubbed his hands and shook with amusement. “We’ll find o*e of these days that three and two make one,” said he. “I’ll bet you a new bonnet on it. mother.” CHAPTER IV. A sister’s secret. “Tell mo, Miss Walker. You know how things should he. What would yon say was a good profession for a young man of 26 who has had no education worth speaking about and who is not very quick by nature?” The speaker Was Charles Westmaeott, and the time this same summer evening in the tennis ground, though the shadows had fallen now and the game been abandoned. The girl glanced up at him, amused and surprised. “Do you mean yourself?” j “Precisely.” “But how could I tell?’ “I have no one to advise me. I believe that you could doit better than any one. I feel confidence in your opinion.” “It is very flattering.” She glanced up again at his earnest, questioning face, with its Saxon eyes and drooping flaxen mustache, in some doubt as to whether be might be joking. On the contrary, all his attention seemed to he concentrated upon her answer. “It depends so much upon what you can do, you know. Ido not know you sufficiently to he able to say what natural gift 3 you have.” They were walking slowly across the lawn in the direction of the house. “I have none—that is to say, none worth mentioning. I have no memory, and I am very slow.” “But you are very strong?” .“Oh, if that goes for anything. I can put up a hundred-pound bar till further orders, but what sort of a calling is that?” Somo little joke about being called to the bar flickered up in Miss Walker’s mind, but her companion was in such obvious earnest that she stifled do\yn her inclination to laugh. “I can do a mile on the cinder track in 4:50 and across country in 5:20, but how is that to help me? I might bo a cricket professional, but it is not a very dignified position. Not that I care a straw about dignity, you know, but I should not like to hurt the old lady’s feelings.” “Your aunt’s?”

“Ye 3, my aunt’s. My parents were killed in the mutiny, you know, when I was a baby, and she lias looked after me ever since. She has been very good to me. I’m sorry to leave her.” “But why should you leave her?” They had reached the garden gate, and the girl leaned her racket upon the top of it, looking up with grave interest, at her big, white flanneled companion. “It’s Browning,” said he. “What!”

“Don’t tell my aunt that I said it”—he sank his voice to a whisper—“l hate Browning.” Clara Walker rippled off into such a merry peal of laughter that he forgot the evil things which he had suffered from the poet and burst out laughing too.

“I can’t make him out,” said he. “I try, but he is one too many. No doubt it is very stupid of me. I don't deny it. But as long as I cannot there is no use pretending that I can. And then of course she feels hurt, for she is very fond of him and likes to read him aloud in tho evenings. She is reading a piece now, ‘Pippa Passes,’ and I assuro you, Miss. Walker, that T don’t even know what the title means. You must tmme me a dreadful fool.”

“But surely lie is not so incomprehensible as all that?” she said as an attempt at encouragement.

“He is very bad. There are somethings you know which are fine. That ride of tho three Dutchmen, and *Hervo Biel’ and others, they are all right. But there was a piece we read last week. The first line stumped my aunt, and it takes a good deal to do that, for she rides very straight. ‘Setebos and Setebos and Betebos.’ That was tho line.” “It sounds like a charm.”

“No, it is a gentleman's name. ,Threß gentlemen, I thought at first, but my aunt says one. Then ho goes on, ‘Tliinketli he dwelloth in the light of the moon.’ -It was a very trying piece.” Clara Walker laughed again. “You must not think of leaving your aunt,” she said. “Think how lonely she would be without you.”

“Well, yes, I had thought of that. But you must remember that my aunt is to all intents hardly middle aged and a very eligible person. I don’t think that her dislike to mankind extends to individuals. She might form new ties, and then I should bo a third wheel in tho coach. It was all very well as long as I was only a boy, when her first husband was alive.”

“But, good gracious, you don’t mean that Mrs. Westmacott is going to marry again?” gasped Clara. The young mail glanced down at lic-r with a question in his eyes. “Oh, it is only a remote possibility, you know,” said he. “Still, ox course, it might happen, and I should like to know what I OUirht to turn, uiv baud to ”