THE STORYTELLER.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LII, Issue 372, 25 April 1910, Page 6

THE STORYTELLER.

THE GOOD WOMAN Young Dixon strode out inlo llio world a kin},'; walking on a paved sidewalk, wearing a eo;u. ami eating with a ■a fork, his sign pal loul*. of royally. Although lie dnl not .know it. his walk still here evidenee of stopping over boulders and liis li.iek liad not reeovered from the sloop of working with a "long Tom," out these were mere trilles thai would wear oil' with the voyage that lay before him.

A groat, pity rose in his heart, drowning lor the moment his kingly estate, for the pooy devils around him whose vear> of exile in the minrs had not terminated as fortunately as his had done; who had not succeeded in wresting their fortunes from the bowels of the earth and who were not ■waiting for the next outward (bound steamer to take tlfem home.

Putting tlio breast pocket of his coat to makesuro his letter was safe, he recited by heart, for the fortieth time, the contents that had burned their way into his heart, beginning wih the namo of the little New' England town fcnd uate written in a .precise schoolma'am hand, he went uown the pages that promised in a reserved, maidenly manner to 'be his wife when he returned, anil signed. "Yours truly, M. Moore."

The fact that she had not given her promise until he had written of his strike did not dim the glow of his pride. The very fae»that she had put him oil and kept him on tenter-hooks these years of hard work and privation, eating his heart out with jealous fears of a rival, made her seem in the light ol her final acceptance the more womanly and lovable. The big fact of his life today was that he had at last what he had wanted with all his heart, what he had been working for all this time; t'hal, Mary, blue-eyed, dainty-little MaryMoore, tile flower of gentle refinement, •was to be his wife, and that he could offer her a. life of ease.

A pale little face villi thin lips and high forehead smiled gravely from her faded velvet case as he stole a furtive 'glance at it. This, however, was not the plate for that spotless presence to be aired, scarcely thought of; the boisterous crowds around the bar and coarse faces and minds of the men jostling his elbow made him feel this glance almost a profanation. The hot-headed canvas village that within the few years he had been in the mines had quadrupled its size bustled about him with a fervor and dash that made him long for the quiet streets of his home town, the picturesque beauty of his Berkshire hills, the restful elmshaded village streets. In, but not of, the roaring life around Ihim, young Dixon sauntered down the street.

From somewhere out of the darkness strains of ''Home, Sweet Home," reached him, fitting so wonderfully into the tenor of his thoughts as he turned from the by-path he had chosen into the busy thoroughfares. Having traced the music to its source, he hesitated at the door. The mere thought of this unholy life jarred upon him. To take the picture and letter he carried in his pocket into such a plaec again seemeu something like a ■ sacrilege. Already the confessed love of this good woman had set him apart from the iniquity of his surroundings. A blast of wind cutting through him, however, brought the balance down on the side of the warmth and cheer within.

"Even if I do go in I don't have to play," Dixon was arguing with himself as he turned from the fog and slush of the ill-lighted street into, an atmosphere of dazzling brilliance loud with mingled sounds of musical instruments, the click of billiard balls, the clinking of glasses, and the hum. of human voices.

The long rows of tables lining one side of the room were temptingly covered with piles of glittering coin, nuggets, slugs, bars of gold, and bags of dust, while every game of chance known the world over was running at full blast. Elbowing his way into the crowd of dignified personages in black clothes, immaculate linens and shining top-hats, miners in red flannel shirts, greasy Sandwich Islanders, Mexicans, Irish laborers, negroes and Chinamen —a conglomerate mass of smoking, chewing, spitting, drinking, swearing, gambling numanity —class distinction became unknqwn, and he found himself in a happy-go-lucky pandemonium. Every man in the place'was either watching with intense interest some game or dropping five, ten, twenty, fifty dollars in backing .some one of the innumerable chances going on. There was a fascination in standing by and .watching the whirl of things, the spin of the roulette set his blood a-tingle and it all seemed like sporting with Fate, telling off the tale of life these little painted spots and figures. ("Hello, Dixon, whorcfd you come from '!" \

The hearty voice and slap on tne shoulder in this desert of strange faces seemed mighty good. "Jaist down from the diggings," Dixon answered, "and I'm waiting for the next steamer to go home." Turning to the bar and calling up a number of flannel-shirtcd, bearded men like himself, the new-found friend ordered drinks in honor of the young fellow's good luck. And Dixon, for a farewell fling at the rip-roarious life he was leaving, ordered more.

The' chill and fog of Hie night were now well out of him. He pushed his way farther into the centre of the room .and his eyes fell upon the gaudy paintings on tlic walls, but instantly dropped in apology to the little portrait in his pocket. At a noar-,by table, where a threecard monln game was going on, a dispute arose and a bullet crashed into the opposite wall, fout the suave proprietor, hustling the wounded man into

the back room, ordered drinks on the house for the survivors, and the affair was recorded as another "accident.'' To the centre of the room under a brilliant chandelier young Dixon turned in surprise at hearing a v.-u:.,an's voice, not the cracked, rai-ui.us voice of the type familiar wit',: lie mines, but low <iinl. vibrant w: ii a soft Creole accent. Drawing with her white, jewelled hands I ivn cards from the bottom of the pack and throwing them on the table, face up, "All ready, messieurs," she cried. "(June down, mek your game, messieurs. Seven of spades in zc door. Xe game is made, comment! Tout baj, no more!''

Dixon drew inearcr, impelled by the tones of the 'woman's voice. Young and beautiful, with luscious lips and Hashing eyes, bare arms and neck covered with jewels, she drew a swarm of men around her table waiting in tiers for a chance to lose to her.

As Dixon looked, not without a reluctant 'admiration for the graceful figure shimmering in its amber satin lines, a swaggering, .brigand like fellow ■stepped up to her side, and slipped uia arm around her waist.

"Mais, no, no!" the little Creole protested, trying to elude his grasp, lint a glare and a whispered "Marie!" from a man near the lable Dixon had not before noticed made her look up with ft start.

Turning suddenly, "Oombion?" site ipiesfioiieil t.lii" JinjfMiid like fellow, eyeing him coi|iieffinbly from the cornel- of her eve.

"Ail ounce, by Ceorgel" the fellow shout ed, moved by that side-long glance. .And .knowing lie was paying a top price, (he swaggering fellow took all he eouhl got for his money. Dishevelled, reddening even under her rouge, the lillle 'Woman wrenched herself free from his enibraee, and turning nonchalantly back to the table took up her dealing where she had left it off. Incredulous, Dixon had watched the whole thing, his own cheeks burning in sympathy with what must be, even to this woman, insufferable. Their eyes met, the hard glitter iu the woman's black eyes held an instant by the frank wonder of the young man's.

Meantime those who had taken their scats at the ends and opposite sides of the table put up their bets, and, turning up the cards, the dealer began to draw from the bottom of the paek. Dixon's bearded friend laid a small bet, and Dixon, as the jewelled hands paused an instant, .bet too. The dealer lost and Dixon won.

Calling for drinks on Dixon's luck, the bearded fellow drank a deep "Tom and Jerry" to his friend's long life, and Dixon, in turn, ordered drinks to his friend's better luck.

The keen-eyed, thin-faced, gentlemanly looking man who had kept his eye on the fair little Creole when she had tried to escape the 'brigand's caress now sauntered up to her and, laying his hand roughly on her arm, again whispered something ' her. She raised her eyes when he had passed to catch again the clean-eyed wonder in the boyish face before her. The hard glitter came back to her eyes and the lines of her full red mouth settled into a mask of grim determination.

"Does he .beat her when she does not make it pay?" Dixon wondered, seeing the power he held over her. And the unconscious cringing of the plump shoulders, together with her sudden acquiescence to the brigand's kiss answered his question. Dixon turned to go. "Oh, wait till the fun begins." his friend insisted, "Wait till things bubble up and get hot." "It is one o'clock now," Dixon answered. "Isn't that late enough?" "It's late for night before last," the bearded fellow explained, "but for mst night it's just the shank of the evening." The iburning dark eyes of the dealer settled things by beginning a new deal, this time including Dixon. Again Dixon won. The keen-eyed, gentlemanly-looking man sidled up to the woman and) eyeing her critically, touched her warningly on her bare arm as Dixon turned his eyes an instant away.

Now things had begun to get lively. Dixon, too, was feeling the intoxication of that tremulous moment when his fate hung in tne balance. The baDble of voices grew louder, the laugher more uproarious, and the zest of the game keener as Dixon staked more and more upon the green table. When he realised that half his precious pile was gonej a rage to retrieve his losses seized him. The jewelled hands were still dealing him cards, the sweet vibrant voice still saying "Mek up your game, messieurs," and Dixon, flushed and .perspiring, was working harder than he had ever worked in the mines, betting, winning small sums and losing large ones; hoping with each deal his luck would change so he might quit this accursed spot with what he had had when he came.

His hope of happiness vanishing with the turn of every card, his heart flung out in despair to the unsuspecting little Mary whose pure mind could never imagine his orgy of to-night, sheltered in her quiet home from every unrefined influence, protected from every suggestion of impurity, her white-souled innocence as untainted as the habe's unborn '—temptation nothing more than a word in the prayer-book, the meaning of 'which she had never pondered, and sin a fib or two on her conscience. The seven of hearts had saved him twice. Seven of hearts was his lucky card. The next time the seven was turned lie would make a bold dash.

Slowly the soft w'hite hands, flaunting their opulence in his face, drew the cards that told of his destiny. Breathlessly he waited. Another instant, his muscles relaxed and he shut his teeth upon a groan.

The frock-coated, gentlemanly appearing person smiled approvingly now at the brilliant little figure flashing smiles of encouragement upon her victims and alluring glances at those 'beyond her table. Another ounce of gold-dust had

been offered for the red rose she wore iu the wavy masses of her hair, and with <in entrancing smile-under (he admonitory eye of the tall man—she had kissed it and iluug it to ils new owner. The woman avoided Dixon's glance now. The heavy lashes dropped over her eyes as she dealt him the oards. although he kept on without flinching. He could not stop now. When his whole pile was gone he put up his ticket.

Seeing the oonstilfation. the tall man was iiiiui".iiaiel < i ;it her -hit'. "L'ombieii?" Dixon heard the soft voice, and watched tne emphatic shaking of his head as the man cut the value in half she had put upon it. The whispered consultation, ending with a menacing glare from lite man and a shrug of the plump bare .shoulders. Dixon was allowed four ounces on his ticket.

The blood flowed back through his veins. Here lay a last chance of winning back his pile, and again his peaceful, elm-shaded village streets with their wholesome, happy ilfe, almost within his grasp. It was for a few moments only, for with a few ups and downs of the game, that, too, was lost. The band with devilish cunning struck up "Home, Sweet Home," alluring the homesick and solitary into its gilded halls of vice.

At last he threw down his watch. 'T.'nc montre?" Marie called across the table to uer watchful monitor, but a, dispute at the opposite end of the room called the tall man away. Shaking his head and raising his finger warningly, he made his way into the crowd surrounding the bar. Two great sapphires flashing their cold blue lights from the little white hands suggested a last resort to the desperate Dixon.

Drawing a ring off his hand, the ring little Mary Moore had given him years before and which had been his talisman all through, he threw it down.

Dark-eyed Marie saw the momentary hesitation with which lie drew this ring from his finger, and the set line of his lips as he threw it down. This cVan-eycd, boyish-looking chap had watched }<■:]■ in unfeigned sympathy when the odious .brigand follow had forced his burning can -s upon her, the only man in the town who respected her to even that extent.

The tall gambler was stil! at the bar as Marie took up the little ring. "To John from Mary," the inscription ran around the inside.

Half laughingly she turned 'to Dixon. guessing his secret.

"Merchant!" she cried, holding up the ring before him, "you should not do zat." ' "It's all that's left." The strain of the excitement had weakened Dixon's natural reserve. This might give him one more chance to change his luck. The ruddy countenance again flushed with hope as the dealer took up the cards.

"She would not haf you if she knew zat," she laughed. "I can't ask her now," Dixon answered. "It's back to the mines for me," as lie watched the dealer taking what seemed to him an unnecessarily Jong time to shuffle her deck.

"She is—she is waiting for you?" the soft voice questioned. "Until to-night. That's what I have lost—the love of this good woman." Although his tones betrayed no accent to show the contrast between the two types arrayed m his mind, the dark eyes dropped under the honest face before her.

: The flash of sapphires wavered an instant in the shuffling'of her cards. Dixon saw it and wondered what the result would be. This time Dixon won.

A meaning finger went to the red lips and her eyes darted an apprehensive glance towards the tall figure at the liar. The others around the tagle had been drawn oft' by the scrimmage. Dixon Avondere'd if he understand what was happening to him. "Quick!" the woman cried, pushing his winnings towards him, and "Go quickly!" almost pushing him away. "But what will he—what .will 'he do when he finds " Dixon began, but left his sentence unfinished, seeing the dark eyes had read his question. "Never mind that," she cried, terror darkening her eyes as the tall figure neared the opposite table. "Go quick home to ze"—good woman." And Dixon, his pile again safe, found himself the next minute breathing the cle;m. cool air of the night. The u gravely smiling" face with its meagre little soul smiling through the blue eyes was still safe, on his°breast and pale little New England Mary was again possible to him. But the cry of his soul as Dixon bared his head to* the night was "God bless you, Marie, for a good woman.''