UNKNOWN

Taranaki Daily News, Volume L, Issue 61, 30 November 1907, Page 4

UNKNOWN

BACK TO THE LAND. A STORY OF THE WEST ..ND. A young man left the breakfast room of one of the elegant mansions in Belgravia, and hesitated at the foot of the grand 6taircase. Taking out his pocketbook, he examined its contents critically. Evidently the investigation was not satisfactory, for he turned and walked down ihe hall towards the library. As he entered it, a middle-aged man raised his head from the desk on which it had been resting. liU face was pale and careworn, hut tic young man scarcely noticed this, he was accustomed to see it so. "Well, Harold?"

"I shall want fifty this morning, father." As lie spoke the young fellow picked up a paper-knife from the desk and whirled it carelessly in the air, catching it by the blade as it fell. He did not notice the look of consternation that came into the older man's face.

"I let yo-j have twenty yesterday, my boy. Is that gone?" "Yes; I met 6ouie friends and we went up the river, and had a supper afterwards. The money all fizzled out before we got through. I think this will last the week out."

The paper knife went nearly to the ceiling tms time, and made three revolutions before it returned to the dexterous hand that awaited it.

"I hope it will, Harold; I am a little short just now, and may not be able to let you have any more money very soon. Yon must try to make it go as far as possible."

He took a rather small roll of notes from his desk and gave two to the young man, who pocketed them carelessly. As the library door closed behind the strong, athletic figure, the older man passed his thin, blue-veined hand across his face and up into his whitening hair. "I ought not to have let him have it," he said to himself, half-apolgetically, "but it is the last time. Poor Harold! It will be a hard blow to him. Perhaps it would have been better if I had told him; but I could not—l could not! He will know it all to-day. Poor boy! Poor, motherless boy!"

As Harold descended the broad steps to the pavement he gazed up and down the street. A vacant cab was waiting on the opposite side a little way down, and the watchful eye of its driver was quick to catch his signal. At Oxford-circus young Denhara left the cab and crossed over to the Cafe Monico. "Is Gua Ryan in?" ho asked of the clerk.

"No; went out half an hour ago. Said he was going to meet some of the boys at "Richmond, and that if you called I was to tell yon to follow," Harold went out with the intention of following his friend; but as he paused for a moment at the entrance, the scene in the library recurred to him, aud he hesitated. If he joined the party the day would, in all probability, see the last of his fifty pounds. He did not care for the money, but there had been an unusual seriousness in Mr Denham's voice and manner, and in spite of his recklessness and increasing knowledge of the world, hi* father still held first place in his regard. They had not seen much of each other in the past few years; the older man had been deep in the mysteries of stock and shares, and the younger had been away to college, or spending money with his friends. Their occasional meetings had apparently only been for the purpose of giving and receiving money. Harold was not yet twenty, but in everything except years he regarded himself as a man of the world. He had always had an unlimited supply of pocket-money, and had never been hampered by any restrictions as to companions or pursuits. Fortunately his constitution was strong, and his tastes simple and healthy. Much of his leisure time had been spent in boating on the river or at the races. He had a splendid physique, and for two years had been stroke oar at his college. Added to this, he was a general favourite: with one class for his own sake, and with the other for his reckless expenditure of money.

His hesitation was only momentary. He recroased the Circus, and took a ticket on the Tube for Waterloo, intending to go to the river "on his own."

On geeting ont at Waterloo, he strolled past the fruit stalls at the side of the kerb, and became interested in an altercation between two of their owners. Ordinarily he would scarcely have noticed so common an occurrence, but the aggriev ed party was evidently a cripple, for he was bolstered up in a wheel-chair behind his stall, and his face was white and emaciated.

John Dooly was a big, road-«liouldered fellow with an enormous growth of hair. lie had removed his stall from somewhere up the streeet, and was now erecting it directly in front of the cripple's, bustling about with the unnecessary swagger of a bully who is conscious of doing a mean act.

"Poor cripples like you shouldn't take the best places," he retorted, savagely. 'They belong to big fellows, like inc. Besides, I'm doing you a favour. My stall will keep the din and wind from yours."

"What is ail this fuss about?" demanded Harold, as he stepped forward sudden-

"Nothing—just nothing! answered John Dooly, obscqiously. "Will you have some peaches, sir? The very best in the market,

But Harold pushed by him to the little stall in the rear. "What is the matter?" he asked.

"It's a foine position I'm bavin', sorr, an' John Dooly thinks he ought to have it because he's sthronger. You see, sorr, both of me feet are cut off, an' it's mesilf can't do much excipt tend the stall, ile wife wheels the chair out ivery morning and comes back afthcr me at night. She's a charwoman, and works out during the day, sorr."

"How much are your plums," asked asked Harold.

"Threepence a pound." "How many have you!''' "About forty pounds, I think, sor." "What will you take for the lot—for everything you have on the stall:-"

Again the cripple looked at liim doubtfully; but something in the quiet face reassured him, and he ran his eyes over over the stand.

"Two pounds, sorr." "Too cheap; here are three pounds. No, you need not pack them up. It only lacks a few months of the holidays, so I will give them to you as a Christmas present." Then, taking out his watch, he turned to where John Dooly stood watrhing him scowlingly. "I will give you just five minutes to get yourself and your stall away from here," he said, coolly. "If you are not gone in that time, I shall pitch both of you into the road."

John Dooly raised his fist menacingly, but something in the calm, sarcastic face made him change his mind, and he hurriedly gathered up his belongings and shambled down the 6treet.

"Oh, pshaw! pshaw! That is all right'!" interrupted Harold. "Fix up your stall now, so it will look nice, and try to make a good day's sale. And say! get your wife a new dress out of that money'

As he continued down the street he threw back his shoulders in the mere exuberance of good health.

"I almost wish the fellow had pitched into me," he thought, half-regrctfully. "Well, it is three pounds gone, but that a nothing. If I had gone to Hiehniond it would have been about ten times as much, and I wouldn't have had half the fun I shall get myself on the river." Then his thoughts returned to his father. "Poor old chap! It doesn't seem right that we should be going different ways, when there is only us two. If it wasn't for the musty, dusty old office ! He seems to love the very smell of it, and I—well, I avoid it as I would the plague. If lie had only been a farmer, or any kind of outdoor man, I could have worked with him shoulder to sboulder. Hut the office! iFeugh! I belKvc. I wjuld rather be a lishernan than » brofe-'r. Well, it'e no use must, m the UU

lows say. Next year college will be over, and then I- shall turn fossil, and ticV tock! tick, tock! between home and 'bo office. It would break the dear old chap's heart if I didn't go in with liiui. Perhaps I shall learn to like it before the wrinkle's get very deep."

It was late in the afternoon v'nen ho returned from the river. Streams of snappers were radiating iu all direit'-iiis i;i the West End streets, aud at the co-;if-i6 the air was vociferous with 'he uies vi hurrying newsboys who were «) outing the latest editions of the evening papesHarold almost knocked one down as he turned into Oxford Street.

" 'News' and 'Star'!" gasped the hoy, intent on making a sale even while recovering his breath. "All about the big failure 1 Millions gone to smash!" Harold bought a paper and began lit examine it curiously. "I wonder who has gone down now. li( thought. "Probably some sharp diTihr who will turn up the other side in a few months, with his fortune doubl-i. W-11. it seems to be a recognised part of (lie speculator's life. Hello! What does tins mean?"

lie stopped abruptly and read a few lines, then glanced around to see if anyone was looking at him. lint the passersby were too intent ou reueliing home, and in gossiping about their purchases, to notice a dazed man iu their way. Some turned out of their course to avoid him, and others elbowed hi iu briskly aside; only a very few observed the look of indignant protest on his face, and they soon forgot it iu the sea of faces around them.

The door of a restaurant stood invitingly open, and he entered and sought a tabic in a remote corner. As a waiter hurried to his side he looked up qucstioningly, then remembered where he was. "Coffee and rolls, please. No hurry." Then he lost himself in the newspaper. Half an hour later lie rushed up his own steps aud rang the bell furiously. "I forgot my latch-key," he said to the servant who opened the door. "Is my father in?" "No, sir; he hasn't come yet." The man hesliated, and then added, apologetically: "I am afraid something is wrong, sir. Mr Denham has just 6cut word for the butler to pay off the servants and dismiss them, and to lock up the house. You tre to go to the office. Harold turned away, sick at heart. It was all true, theu .everythiug the paper had said. But no, he would not believe it. His father could not do anything like that.

It seemed an interminable journey between hie home and the office, and when at last he reached the entrance he felt an almost irresistible impulse to retrace his 6teps and put oft the evil moment as long as possible. But a thought of the pale, careworn face of the morning restrained him, and he hurried in. Several clerks were standing idly about their desks in the front office, and they looked at him curiously as he rushed past them towards the private room. Mr Deihani was seated at his desk, calm and •niperturabli—eveu more so than vniial, Haro.d thought. Several men were just taking leave.

"You will find the shares all right," his father was raying. "You can ascertain their value anywhere. I hope you are perfectly satisfied, gentlemen." "Perfectly ! Perfectly !" said one of the men, heartily. ".More could not be asked. It is a i.leasnre to deal with a thoroughly honeM man. We hope your affairs will prove »ci—so complicated as you seem to anticipate."

Harold waited until the door closed liehind them, then sprang forward to his tattler's side. His face was radiant.

"I know it was all right, father," he cried, with a glad ring in his voice. "1 was sum of it in my heart all the time. It was (he paper that dazed me. I couldn't get its horrible lies out of niy brain." "I!ut it isn't all right," said Mr Denham, sadly. "Don't y„u iiiidorsiaml, my boy, that everything i s gone—everything r Therc will be no more pocket-money, no more suppers to friends " "There will be no debts."

The stooping shoulder* squared themselves with the same peculiar movement that Harold sometimes made. "No, there will be no debt*. I was care-

I to fail in time to save my creditors, and I think everyone of then] will continue my friend. lint there is nothing for us, my liny—or comparatively nothing 1 could have remained in bigness lor years, and kept my credit good; but tile inevitable end would have been disgrace. I have done the best 1 could. You 11111.4 not feel 100 hard toward me." For the lir.-t time the fair lost its inipassiveness, and Harold could see the thin, blue-veined hands tremble on the dingy green of the desk.

"reel hard toward you, dear old dad!" he cried, springing forward and clasping the thiu hands in his own. "Why, 1 am proud of you ! There is more honour in failing honestly than in winning a fortune. And I don't care half as much about money a* you think. I have spent it liecause you told me to, and because ] thought- you had more than you knew what to do with. It is very convenient of course, but I had rather have you oil in the country with me a thousand times: Father," enthusiastically, "suppose we go to Canada and lake up some land!- We can make a, living, ami we shall be together and have no end of a jolly time. You know the doctors advised you to try an outdoor life."

The pale face of the business man lost some of its anxious lines, and into his eyes came a quick recognition of Harold s enthusiasm.

■•lt would be pleasant to live outdoors for a. while," he said, with some a.uiina tion. "I used to be quite a sportsman in my young days, Harold, although you might not think it. But arc you perfectly eure you will not regret the money, and —jmd blame me for its lose?"

'Do I seem very woe-begoner" he asked,

Harold raised himself to his full height "Hivi'ii bless "

His father did not answer, but into hie face came a look that had not been there for many a day. Ho quietly locked his desk and went out and gave some directions to one of the clerks, then ho and Harold walked down the street, arm in arm.