BEYOND THE CITY

Te Aroha News, Volume XI, Issue 1725, 27 March 1895, Page 4

BEYOND THE CITY

■IM

3Y VOTUL

■;is*Y«lo«T # 1«93. ©r AUTHOIW ALWIANOtt. AU •BSSMERVSD. [CONTINtTED.J .

•TMoe at all, pa. You can’t think what a lot I have learned already. I’m to

carry a green light to starboard and a red to port, with a white light at the . jmasthead, and flare up every 15 minutes.” “Oh, won’t it look pretty at night!” criedher sister. . “And I know the fog signals. One blast means that a ship steers to starboard, two/to port, three astern, four that it is unmanageable. But this man asks such dreadful questions at the end of each chapter. Listen to this: ‘You see a red light. The ship is on the port tack and the wind at north. What course is that ship steering to a point?’ ’ The doctor rose'with a gesture of despair. “I can’t imagine what has come over you both,” said he. “My dear papa, we are trying hard to live up to Mrs. Westmacott’s standard.’*" “Well, I must say that I do not admire the' result. Your chemistry, Ida, may perhaps do no harm, but your scheme, Clara, is out of* the question. How a girl of your sense could ever entertain such a notion is more than I can imagine. But I must absolutely forbid you to go further with it.” “But, pa,” asked Ida, with an air of innoceiit inquiry in. her big blue eyes, “what are we to do when your commands and Mrs. W estmacott’s advice are opposed? You told us to obey her. She says that when women try: to throw off their shackles their fathers, brothers and husbands are" the very first to try to rivet them on again, and that, in such a matter no man has any'authority.” ' “Does MrsrWestmaeott teachyou that 1 am 'not the head of my own house?” The doctor flushed, and his grizzledhair bristled-in his anger. “Certainly. She says that all heads of houses are relics of the dark ages.” The, doctor muttered something and stamped his foot upon the carpet. Then without a word he passed out into the , garden, and his daughters could see him - striding furiously up and down, cutting off the “heads of the flowers with a switch. “Ohi you darling! You played your part so splendidly!” cried Ida. - “But how cruel it is! When I'saw the sorrow and surprise in his eyes, I very nearly put my arms about him and told him atL Don’t you think we have done enough?” “No. no. no. Not nearly enouch. You

must not. turn, weak now, Clara. It is so , funny that I should' be leading 'you. It is quite a new experience. But I know that lam right, If we go on as we are doing, we shall be able to say all otu: lives that we have saved him. And if we don’t, oh, Clara, we should never forgive ourselves.”

!-! - CHAPTER X. : ■% WOMEN OF THE FUTCKB. From that day the doctor’s peace was gone. Never was a quiet and orderly household transformed so suddenly into a beer garden or: a happy man turned into such? a* completely miserable one. He had never realized before how entirely his daughters had shielded him from all the friction : of life. Now that they had not only ceased to protect him, but had'themselvea become a source of trouble to him, he began to understand how

great the blessing was which he had enf joyed and to sigh for the happy days before his girls bad come under the influence of 1M neighbor. “You don’t look happy,” Mrs. West-

macott had remarked to him one morn- ; s Jug. “You are pale and a little off color. You should come with. me. for a 10-mile spin upon thß .tandem.” ; ■ “I am troubled about my girls. ” They were walking up and down in the garden. From time to time there sounded from the house behind them the long sad wail of a French horn. “That is Ida,” said he. “She has taken to practicing on that dreadful instrumeiit in the intervals of her chemistry. And Clara is quite as bad.- I declare it is. getting quite unendurable.* “Ah, doctor, doctor?’ she cried, shaking her forefinger with a gleam of her white teeth. “Youmustliveup to your.

principles—you must give ' your daughters the same liberty.as you advocate for

other women.” : “Liberty, madam, certainly! But this approaches to license.” “The same law for . all, my friend." She tapped him -reprovingly on the arm With her sunshade. “When you were 20,

your father did not, I presume, object to your learning chemistry or playing a - musical instrument. You would have thought it tyranny if he had.” “But there is such a sudden change in

them both.”- •• ••• < . • “Yes, I have noticed , that they have - been very enthusiastic lately in the cause of liberty. Of all my disciples I think that they promise to be the most devoted and consistent,' which is the more natural since their father is one of our most trusted champions.” . The doctor gave a twitch of impatience. “I seem to have lost all authority,” he . cried, . “No, no, my dear friend. They are a little .exuberant at having brokeiTtlie trammels of custom. ' That is all.” - “Yon cannot think what i have had to put up with, madam. It has been a dreadful experience. Last night, after 1 had extinguished the candle in my bedroom, I placed my foot upon something ' smooth and hard, which scuttled from under' me. Imagine my horror! 1 lit ■ tho gits and fame upon a well known tortoise which, Clara-has thought fit to in trpduoe in Co the house. I call it a filthy :‘ «U»tom to have such pets.” - - jSrfe Westmaoott dipped him a littb•'courtesy.-; “Thank you. sir.” said she little side Jut ut my I K,0:

“I give you my word that I had forgotten about her," cried the doctor, flushing. “One such pet may no doubt be endured, but two are more than I can bear. Ida has a monkey which lives on the curtain rod. It is a most dreadful creature. It will remain absolutely motionless until, it sees that you have forgotten its presence, and then it will suddenly bound from picture to picture all round the walls and end by swinging down on the bellrope and jumping onto the top of your head. At breakfast it stole a poached egg and daubed it all over the dooi- handle. Ida calls these Outrages .amusing

•'Oli, all will com© tight,” said the widow reassuringly. “And Clara is as bad—Clara, who used to be so good and sweet,,the vety image of her poor mother. She insists upon t.hiH preposterous scheme of being a pilot and will talk of nothing but revolving lights, and hidden rooks, 1 and codes of signals, and nonsense of the kind.” ....... “But why preposterous?” asked his companion. “What nobler occupation can there be than that of stimulating : commerce and aiding the mariner to steer safely into port? I should think your daughter admirably adapted for such duties.”

“Then I must beg to differ from you, madam.”

“Still, you axe inconsistent." “Excuse me, madam, 1 do not Bee the. matter in the same light. And I should be. obliged to you if you would use your influence with my daughter to dissuade her.”

“You wish to make me inconsistent too.”

' “Then you refuse?" “I am afraid that I cannot interfere.”

The doctor was very angry. “Very well, madam,” said he. “In that case I ran only say that I have, the honor to wish you a very good morning.” He raised his broad straw hat and Bfcrode . away up the gravel path while the widow looked after him with twinkling eyes. She was surprised herself to find that she liked the doctor better the more masculine and aggressive he became. It was unreasonable and against all principle, and yet so it was, and no argument could mend the matter.

Very hot and angry the doctor retired into his room and sat down to read his paper. Ida had retired, and the distant Wails of her bugle showed that she was up stairs in her boudoir. Clarasat opposite to him with her exasperating charts and her blue book. The doctor glanced at her, and bis eyes remained fixed in astonishment upon the front of her skirt.' “My dear Clara,” he’cried, “you have torn your skirt!” His daughter laughed and smoothed out her frock. To his horror he saw the red plush of the chair where the dress ought to have been. > “It is all torn,” he cried, “What have you done?’ “My dear papa,” said she, “what do you know about the mysteries of ladies’ dreßs? This is a divided skirt.” Then he saw that it was indeed so arranged, and that his daughter was clad in a sort of loose, extremely long knickerbockers.

“It will bo so convenient for my sea boots,” she explained. - Her father shook Iris head sadly. “Your dear mother would not have liked it, Clara,” said he. For* a moment the conspiracy was upon the point of collapsing. There was something in the gentleness of his rebuke and in his appeal to her mother which brought the tears to her eyes, and in another instant she would have been kneeling beside him with- everything confessed, when the door flew open and her sister Ida came bounding into the room. She wore a short gray skirt, like that of Mrs. Westmacott, and she" held it up in each hand and danced about among the furniture. “I feel quite the Gaiety girl!” she cried, “How delicious it must he to be upon the stage! You can’t think how nice this dress is, papa. One fepls so free in it. And isn’t Clara charming?’ “Go to yonr room this instant and take it off!” thundered the doctor .“I call it, highly improper, and no daughter of mine shall wear it.”

“Papa! Improper! Why it is the exact model of Mrs. Westmacott’s.”

“I say it is improper. And yours also, Clara. Your conduct is really outrageous. You drive me out of the house. lam going to my club in town. I have no comfort or peace of mind in my own bouse. I will stand it no longer. I may be late tonight. I shall go to the British medical meeting. But when-I return 1 shall hope to-find that you have reconsidered yonr conduct, and that you have shaken yourself clear of the pernicious influences which have recently made such an alteration in your conduct.” He seized his hat, slammed the dining room door, and a few minutes later they heard the crash of the big front gate. “Victory, Clara, victory!” cried Ida, still- pirouetting around the furniture. “Did you hear what he said? Pernicious influences! Don’t you understand, Clara? Why do you sit there so pale and glum? Whv don’t von cret no and dance?’

I" «oh, I shall be so glad when it iaover, ! Ida. Ido hate to give him pain. Surely he has learned now that it is very unpleasant to spend one’s life with reformers." “He had almost learned it, Clara. Just one more little lesson. We must not risk all at this last moment.” “What would you do, Ida? Oh, don’t do anything too dreadful. I feel that we have gone too. far already." “Oh, we can do it very nicely. You see we are both engaged, and that makes it very easy. Harold will do what you ask him, especially as you have told him the reason why, and my Charles will do it without even wanting to know the reason. Now you know what Mrs. Westmacott thinks about the reserve of young ladles. Mere- prudery, affectar tiou and a relic of the dark ages of the genaua. Those were her words, were • they not?” .“What, then?” “Well, now wo must put it inpractice. We are reducing all her other views to and we must not shirk this

One,” “But what would you do? Oh, don’t look so wicked, Idai You look like (Some evil little fairy, with your golden hair and mischievooaeyea. I know that you mo going to propose something dreadful!” “We must gives littlesupper tonight." “We? Aeupper!” “Why not? . Young gentlemen give suppers. Why not young ladies?” “But whom shall we invite?” “Why, Harold end Charles, of course.” “Ana the admiral and Mrs. Hay Den-

vot?" “Oh, no. That would be very old fashioned. We must keep up with the times, Clara." “But what can we give them for supper?” “Oh, something with a nice, fast, rollicking, late at night kind of flavor to it. Let me see! Champagne, of course—and oysters. Oysters will do. In the novels aU the naughty people take champagne and oysters. Besides, they won't need any cooking.' How is your pocket money, Clara? .: “I have three pounds." “I have one. Four pounds. Ihaveno idea how much champagne costs. Have ycru?” i “Not the slightest.” “How many oysters does a man eat?” “I can’t imagine." “TU write and ask Charles. No, I won’t. 11l ask Jane. Ring for her, Clara. She has been a cook and is sure to know.” Jane, on being cross questioned, refused to commit herself beyond the statement that- it ..depended upon the gentleman and also upon the oysters. The . united experience of the kitchen, however, testified that three dozen was a fair provision. - ■ - .' “Then we shall have eight dozen altogether.” said Ida, jotting down all her requirements . upon a sheet of paper. “And two pints of champagne. And some brown bread and -vinegar and pepper. That’s all, I think. It is not so'very difficult to give a supper after all, is it,' Clara?” “I don’t like it, Ida. It seems to me to be so very indelicate." “But it is needed to clinch the matter. No, no, there Is no drawing back now, Clara, or we shall ruin everything. Papa Is sure to come back with the. 9:45. Be will reach the door at 10. We must have everything ready for him. Now, just sit down at once and ask Harold to come Bt .9 o’clock, and I shall do the same to -Charles.” 1 The two Invitations were dispatched, received and accepted. Harold was already a confidant, and ho understood that this was some further development of the plot. As to Charles, he Was so accustomed to feminine eccentricity in the person of his aunt: that the only thing which could surprise him would be a rigid observance of' etiquette. At 9 o’clock they entered the dining room of No. 3, to find the master of the house absent, a red shaded lamp, a snowy cloth, a pleasant little feast and-the two whom they would have chosen as their companions. A merrier party never met, and the house rang with .their laughter and their chatter. “It is 8 minutes to 10,” cried Clara suddenly, glancing at the dock. “Good gracious! So it is! Now for our little tableau!” Ida pushed the champagne bottles obtrusively forward I in the direction of the door and scattered oyster shells over the cloth. • “Have you your pipe, Charles?’ ' “My pipe! Yes.” “Then please smoke it. Now, don’t ; argue about it, but do it, for you will j tuin the effect otherwise.” | The large man drew out a red case and extracted a great yellow meerschaum, out of which a mpment later he was puffing thick wreaths of smoke. Harold had lit a cigar, and both the girls had cigarettes. “That looks very, nice and emanoi- j pated,” said Ida, glancing round. “Now I shall lie on this . sofa. Bo! Now, Charles, just sit here and throw your arm carelessly over the back of the sofa. No, don’t stop smoking. I like it. Clara, dear, put your feet upon the coal scuttle and do try to look a little dissipated. I wish we could crown ourselves with flowers. There are some lettuces on the sideboard. Oh, dear, here he is! 1 hear his key.” She began to sing in her high, fresh voice a little snatch from a French song, with a swinging tra-la-la chorus. The doctor had walked home from the station in a peaceable and relenting frame of mind, feeling that perhaps he had said too much in the morning, that his daughters had for years been models in every way, and that if there had been any change of late it was, as they said themselves, on account of their anxiety to follow his advice and to imitate Mrs. Westmacott. He could- see dearly now that that advice was unwise and that a world peopled with Mrs. Westmacotts would not be a happy or a soothing one. ft was he who was himself to blame, and he was grieved by -the thought that perhaps his hot words had troubled and saddened his two xrirls. ‘ (To be continued)