WHITE LIES.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LII, Issue 267, 18 December 1909, Page 4

WHITE LIES.

Helen burst into the little studio, breathless from the climb of dart stairs, and threw her arm about the neck of the tall young fellow who was seated before the easel. "Greg, Greg!" she exclaimed. "What do you think? I've accepted a position —and I'm to begin to-morrow!" ■ Orei; put down his brush and gently pulled her arms' away. "A—a position, Helen?" lie stammered. "What do you mean?" "K you think I'm going to sit still and do nothing when we need money, you're mistaken," she hroTce in. "I found a position as—as governess to a dear tittle girl. They're to pay me a pound a week. That will ilo a lot of good, Gre», until those horrid art editors begin to appreciate your work." Greg rose and held both her hands, with a suspicious moisture gathering in his grey eyes'. "But, Helen," he protested, "I can't allow you to work, dear. I simply won't listen, that's all. We can get along somehow for the time." She cuddled up within his embrace. "Now, do be considerate, Greg," she argued. "The people ate nice, and the little girl seems to like me very imwh.

i And it isn't work at all, dear. Why, . I'm only to take the girl out for walks, i It'll be fun." ' "I know, Helen," he said, with something like a ohoke. in his throat; "bat it's the principle of the thing, 'ihe idea of a "big strong man like me sitting here, and you out working " "There, there," she interrupted, c'ianpmg a hand to his mouth. "We've disfcussed that before. Any ordinary mail | can find work. That is easy, loiftnust remember you're a genius—that vou're I striving for something • worth gaining." ■ He laughed at her rumbling, earnest I argument. "I'm not so sure of belnir a genius, he declared, kissing her. "No one appears to think so except you. However, I suppose you must have it I your way." * So, the following morning, bubbling' over with enthusiasm, she tripped off to her duties. Greg watched meditatively from the studio window, afterwards sitting down before the easel, working on the cover promised for that jday.

Everything had been different since their arrival i n London. In the provinces on the newspaper, he had -made i good living, and hU work -was well thought of. Here he had to (iglit even for an interview, and his drawing!? were returned with ever-increasing regularity. Luckily, he found some advertising pamphlets to illustrate, and a few of his P'otures sold to a second-class magazine that paid neither well nor' promptly—but the little helped. A dozen times that long, lonesome say Greg dropped his work and stared moodily out of the window. Helen's work was not hard—but— after all it was not right. Bather, a thousand times, had he remained in Lancashire, with his small but regular salary than be here where no one cared—and where Helen had to work. In the evening she came back, kissed juppeT 8 " 17 ' aDd feU t0 work preparing "You can't imagine what a perfectly glorious time we had-the little girl and .Si she broke out. "Heit name's Margie. We took a long walk out in the park, and had our buns and things on the grass. I don't see where the day has gone. Were you lonesome, dear old jemus?" He laughed, rolled himself a cigarette whiJe ehe brought a match and lighted it for him, afterwards sitting on the arm of the chair. Supper over, he went to work again, while she leaned over the table and watched him-love, admiration, and faith shining ia the depths of her big eyes. Mua the days slipped by, Helen departed early. Work fell off more than ever. He sickened of the weary rounds. Day in and day out he met with the same curt refusals. His work was good —he knew it. But they would never take the trnuhlA tn uu j._

' Helen's little wage helped matters along ;o no small extent, although it pained nm to realise it. As the days sped on into weeks, Helen seemed to grow quieter than usual; her cheeks did not look as fresh, nor her eyes as bright as they should. Greg noticed every little thing, with something of a grip at his heart; but whenever he mentioned the fact she'laughed and patted his cheek and told him his eyesigiht was growing very bad. One day Greg tossed his drawingboard across the room, and stood very straight, very determined, betore the window. Two weeks had passed since he had sold his last drawing. Things were approaching a crisis. It could not ;o on for ever this way. An hour later, with a strangely ihumping heart, he was out in the itreet. Helen should not be the only ireadwinner. Genius was all right in ts place, but it did not bring in a livng. He remembered suddenly a sign ;hat hung in a factory window a few treets away. Without slackening his peed, he turned down the street and 'ent boldly into the office. A stout, red-faced man met him, and

.v« »«vvu uittu met mm, .sked a few questions. Five minutes ater Gre'g had donned a pair of overalls and was loading paper boxes into a dray. In return for this he was to get twenty-five shillings a week. He reached home that night before Helen did, cleaned up a bit, and awaited 'her coming. As her first footstep sounded on the stairs, he threw open the door and took her in his arms. "What do you think, Helen," he cried. 'T?m really working at last. I'm on the staff of the Tribune, and I know I II be all right. You needn't work any more after to-night." She held both his hands, and instinctively he shrank from her sinning, tear-dimmed eyes. He almost felt as if she knew the lie he had uttered. "I'm glad, Greg," she laughed. "I'm so glad. I knew you'd get the chance some day, But I'm not going to stop work just yet awhile. Little .Margie seems so attached to me," she said hurriedly as a frown came to his face, "and the mother i« so kind to me. *1 ney all treat me as another child. I can't leave them so soon." Greg kissed her, and, feeling that words were out of place, bowed to the inevitable. Somehow, the lie burned in his throat. He felt cowardly for having told it to her. What a miserable failure he had made of himself! How long would his secret last, and what would she say when, the whole truth came out? Two more weeks passed. Greg managed to get off from the factory before Helen arrived home. He tried eaca night to bring home some little trifle that would please her; a flower, a box of sweets, or some cheering news. Over the supper table they would exchange the day's experiences. Helen told vividly of her many outings; of buying the little girl some clothes or a doll; of their long "boat rides and the wonderful lunches she had at noon. In turn, Greg discoursed on the happenings at the office; of his new drawings and his prospects. Thus the lie became a pregnant, horrible reality, increasing each day; and beneath its pitiless weight he shuddered. One day ) at the' factory, busily packing his boxes into the ever empty dray, a girl came running down Trom the "Upper floor. "Got a handkerchief," she enquired anxiously. "One of the folders has cut her hand." Greg straightened', pulled out a freshly-ironed, blue-bordered one that Helen had given him that morning, and gave it to the waiting girl. All hour later he had forgotten it. That night, as usual, he was first to arrive at the studio. A letter, pusned [beneath the door, caught his eye. He picked it up, ■noting with a sudden tightening at his throat that it was from the Tribune magazine. It was in their hands he had entrusted a bundle of his best work. Trembling, he tore it open and read the short letter: "Mr. Greg Hamilton, Harcourt Studios. Dear Sir,—Y our drawings have been found acceptable, and we should be glad to. confer with you about regular work.—Yours truly, H. H. Hall." Greg sank wearily to the couch, stunned with the sudden good news. (Was it possible, after all, that he was to beeoine a regular contributor {o the magazine—the best magazine in the city? Helen need never learn about the factory now, and all the white lies would be forgotten. She could not come home soon enough now. Wouldn't it he a glorious surprise for her—this note? She must have been right, after all, in declaring he was a genius. There were steps in the hall now. It must be Helen. He came to his feet and rushed across to the door, throwing it wide open. Helen was outside. With a cry, he waved the letter madly before her.' "Helen, Helen," lie uiurtecl cf\, "everything is all right. I'm to join the staff of tlie Tribune, and " Something choked in his throat and the very rpom appeared to reel for the moment Helen was through the door now and ;in. the yellow glare of the lights, and wrapped about her right hand ivas his blue-bordered handkerchief.—By Koland Phillips.