OUR SERIAL STORY

Taranaki Daily News, 24 November 1926, Page 14

OUR SERIAL STORY

“ Love in the Saddle ”

(By

J. C. LOCKE.)

(All Rights Reserved.)

Harry's feet shuffled uncomfortably tinder the table. "Toozle has fires enough—as you call them —for anyone,” he said jealously. “I agree, and so have you, although you’re both comparatively cool outside.” She laughed. "Poor Harry; mustn’t I praise any but his very own girl? You’re truly a one-woman man, aren’t you? without being dull. Toozle is real’y extremely lucky. But I like to be just, my dear, and I’ve a tremendous admiration for Gloria. Y’ou must dance with her afterwards.” Harry stared in dismay. ‘‘But, Aunt Matty ” “Nonsense! Toozle won’t mind She can be just as big as Gloria. Macedoine ? H’m; looks pretty, but I wonder if they’ve put enough Maraschino. Oh, yea, delicious! Taste it and be gay.” Gay the supper was; gay with a lurking delicate touch of rowdiness. And after it Harry was gay enough to beguile Gloria into a dance. The touch of rowdiness was not on him, but he went to the business with sufficient zest and w<s surprised to find he liked it. Gloria danced like the gently-moving wind, and when he happened to look down he found her eyes upon him and had another surprise. They were serious and candid and kind. A smile dawned in them as he looked. “Not afraid any more!” she murmured. “No; you need’nt be. Nothing’s left of me now—for you—but a good friend. I have to thank you, Harrv.” “For ?” “■For fighting so well. You staunched some wounds of mine that day, my dear.” “Yes? Maybe I hoped so. That was one reason why I hit so hard.” He felt her hand press his shoulder. He did not shy at the touch; it seemed warm and friendly—no more. Going home with Toozle and her aunt-. They had fetched his bag from the Bear Hotel, and he was to sleep at Far Grange. He got one more surprise. Toozle, snuggling warm against him under the bearskin, stirred as»the car slid out of the sleeping town into a lonely world of white and black and diamond stars. “Gloria’s a~good sort, Harry darting,” she murmured, drowsily. “She’s coming to see us before we go. What a happy Christmas it’ll be, darling!” “Seems it’s begun already, my honeysweet, and I know another good sort.” Seeking discreetly in the darkness he found two lips that fluttered warmly as they were found. Afterwards he heard a happy sigh. Lady Nunlash curled oblivious in her corner. Christmas was happy. The snowy ways about Far Grange were well trodden by the feet of all who came, and all seemed glad to come. Dobby came, and Mr. Barter and Miss Sally. Scobbs came, and perhaps the cook knew why his returning tracks made such gaycurved patterns in the snow. Gloria came with Toby Gatward, and that day there was snowballing and tobogganing on the steep white slopes and laughter that chimed like dancing bells in the crystal air. Even Mr. Crummack and his daughter Annie came, he puzzled, she rosy, and were private with Lady Nunlash for an hour; they looked cheerful when they went. And Far Grange embraced them all with its smile of rambling comfort and the warmth of great leaping, laughing fires. Tommy Dawson did not come. He was merrymaking in Yorkshire, but many letters from him did, some to Toozle, one very envious, to Harry, the rest to Lady Nunlash, who looked first grave, then thoughtful, then elated, over them. Chuggo was there most of the time. The ccok enquired bitterly for the whereabouts of certain sausages, done to a miraculous brown turn, which were destined for a turkey and had not fulfilled their destiny. The swollen appearance of Chuggo and his subsequent indisposition in the snow of the kitchen court gave point to her heated remarks about dratted thieving dogs. But she was a kind cook, though fiery, and the two made friends later. Mr. Ringland was entirely absent. The last afternoon Harry and Toozle walked to Farewell Thorn and looked down the white trough of the valley and over the rolling swathes of the sheeted Downs. “How’ lovely to stand up here feeling gloriously happy instead of wanting to blub,” said she. “And to-morrow you’ll be seeing me off at the station, instead of looking miserably after a twiddle of smoke. And then, and then on another near to-morrow you’ll be going down the valley after me under your own twiddle, Harry dear!” “It’ll be a banner of triumph, Sweetheart,” said he. ” Their homeward tracks made curious reading in the snow —at brief intervals were the prints of four feet very close together and facing each other. Perhaps they were practising a dance. CHAPTER XI. “A blithe Christmas, indeed,” said Tommy Dawson. “No wonder you look so gay, my buck." It was the next Friday night and they had dined and Harry had told his tale. Tommy stuck his slippers out to the merry fire and gazed at the ruby shine it made through a bumper of his beloved old port. “Yes, you may well be gay,” he went on, “with the hunt at an end and you free to go back to the wdiite arms of your own true love for ever. Here's a lucky last to you.” “But is it the end? We’ve thought it was before and our fox has got away on a new line.” “He won’t this time. The hounds are bard on his brush and he goes down ” “So be it. Tommy dear, and I ll allow vou’re a good huntsman. Kill or no kill, though. I’ve at least one more race to ride before I go South.” “Kara San at G'eston, is it! Well, as to that we’ll see. You may change your mind to-morrow.” “Nothing doing. I shall ride. And voti won’t tell us what you’ve got up your sleeve that makes you so certain?” “Nothing doing yourself. You’il know at Hurstbury. not one quarter-tick before. Now give me some more port ” Mr. Kewley joined them bright and early next morning. He was deep in talk with Tommy as they al! wa'ked over to Hurstbury. Harry followed them at an interval of ten yards, and was even deeper in wonderment. Tammy had ordered him to keep just that distance. He didn’t want any lop eare listener in. he said. Tliov went up the avenue in mor- nor

mal formation. The library was still sunny when Tweddell showed them into it, and Mr. Ringland came forward to meet them with the same smooth serenity. He did not even show surprise at the sight of Tommy and Mr. Kewley, “Ah, my dear Hawkshaw; welcome once more. I have enjoyed your company with gratifying frequency of late. Y’ou have friends, I see. Of course%M r - Dawson. I am an old bachelor b’essed above all other old bachelors in the society of youthful friends! I could almost forget my lonely state. This is an unlooked for pleasure, Dawson; you seem as cheerful as I always remember you, I felicitate you upon it. And this gentleman ?” “This gentleman was once with Sturrock and Peploe, sir,” said Tommy, “Mr. Kewley; I gather you have met before.” “Ah, indeed! Mr. Kewley. Y’es, I remember you, Mr. Kewley. You also were cheerful when we last met.” Mr. Kewley took the thrust with an appreciative twinkle of his pale eyes “That’s quite correct, sir,” he said, “I was. I hope I see you well, Mr. Ringland.” “Very well, I thank you. Shall we sit, gentlemen! Y’ou have probably something to say to me.” They sat. Mr. Ringland at his old place at the big table, the others in a half-circle facing him. He looked at the three with an air of gentle meditation; the three looked at him with something of expectancy. Harry, for once —he was so far merely a spectator this time and could afford to unmask—was not wearing his. poker-face, and his expression showed clearly that he was wondering what the deuce was to come. ‘’My hunting days are over,” Mr. Ringland said, pleasantly, “but do you know, gentlemen, you remind me irresistibly of hounds with muscles gathered and quivering to‘rush in and kill. It appears likely that you are the spokesman of this occasion, Dawson; well, there iS your fox; 'let the kill go forward.” Tommy ran a measuring eye over his man and took his time about replying. “ ‘Kill’ is a painfully strong word, sir,” he said; “I hope that gentler terms may prove suitable.” His face sharpened to the hawklike expression it wore sometimes. “Mr. Ringland, what of your eon ?” Mr. Ringland threw up his hand in a sudden imploring gesture, then it dropped limply on the table. There was hopelessness in the heavy sound. Tommy's eyes were cold and pitiless. The eyes of Mr. Kewley lighted with excitement for a second;, Harry’s were bewildered and violently startled. Then Mr. Kewley's hand went up to his moustache; Harry put on his poker-face, and all three sat still and watchful. There was a cruel touch in their unwavering, curious stare. The moon-faoed clock ticked and ticked and ticked as if the silence it measured would never end. “Must I repeat my question, sir?” said Tommy at last. Mr. Ringland roused himself with a heavy sigh. He looked piteously shrunken. “Y’ou need not, Dawson,” he replied. “Bfit pardon me a moment; I find myself much discomposed.” He rang the bell shakily. “A small bottle of champagne and a glass, Tweddell. I do not invite you to drink with me, gentlemen; I believe you will have no desire for it, and no need. I regret to obtrude my own need upon you.” He drained one glass at a draught and part of a second. A dash of colour came back to his grey cheeks. “That will do, Tweddell. And now the hounds may return to their kill. A i kill in the open, Hawkshaw, would you I not say? There is no earth unstopped | for this fox to bolt to. You are glad to hear me say that, Dawson? Y’es, it is true. The run is finished!” “And a gallant run it has been, sir. If you must call’yourself a fox you can be proud of being a game one. Do you know, I have enjoyed the hunt immensely.” “Yes, I suppose you might, as a professional hound; that is, perhaps, not prettily put, Dawson, but you take my meaning? And now, once more, on with the kill.” “I really do deprecate the use of that word, Mr. Ringland. Truly, a gentler term will suffice. Justice strictly tempered by mercy is all that will be axacted. It is not desired to drive you to extremity. Hawkshaw will confirm what I say.” “I do,” said Harry. “Put Drusilla where she was before, sir, and we can' cry quits.” “That is to say, justice spells restitution—the word you commended once to my admiration.” Mr. Ringland had emptied the second glass, filled it foaming full again and drained that too. His voice had recovered strength and its round smooth tone; his eye was alert and steady. “Well, the conditions are merciful enough; supposing I refuse them, Dawson?” “Then I ask again, Mr. Ringland, what of your son?” “Ay, what of him indeed!” Mr. Ringland's voice dropped to a deep throbbing note. “He is, I gather, a man distinguished for great learning, famous among scholars, honoured by the world, simple in his life, gentle and fastidious in his habits of mind.” Tommy paused a moment and his eyes softened. “I learn also that he bears neither your name, Mr. Ringland, nor any to which he has a legal claim. I say, for the third time, what of him? And I’ll give you the answer myself. Y’ou would not dare to drag such a man, your son, into this sordid muck!” Mr. Ringland nodded solemnly. “No; I would not dare,” he* repeated. '“You have found a strong weapon, Dawson.” “One I use with regret, sir, and shall sheathe for ever as soon as possible.” “Thank you,” said Mr. Ringland with a little bow. “That name he bears; who know it, of you three?” “Only myself and Mr. Kewley. We are-—what was your phrase?—professional hounds and do not count. There will be a tie of relationship between you and Hawkshaw very soon, and it is not intended he shall know it, nor would he wish to, I think.” “I do not wish to,” said Harry gravely. “I shall not permit myself to know it. sir.” Mr. Ringland bowed again, more deeply. “You mav remember I once called you a courtly foeman, my dear Hawkshaw; I repeat that comment, and it is with 1 warmth that I extend it to vou, Dawson. Mr. Kewley has not so far expressed -himself upon the matter, but he mav

believe that it would afford me happiness to include him.” “It’s one of the things I’ve never been called before, sir,” Mr. Kewley responded tranquilly, “and I don’t know as I altogether get you; but if it means keeping my mouth shut and not crowing, why, I reckon you may count me in.” Mr. Ringland smiled for the first time and gave Mr. Kewley a bow all to himself. “Y’ou have the gist of it perfectly, Mr. Kewley,” he said. “You honour me; so let us happily conclude, gentlemen. Restitution apart, for the moment, what are the terms?” “Quite simple, sir; you might bring out the documents, Mr. Kewley. You will relinquish your trust and exercise your power of appointment in favour of new trustees. I am sorry to insist on this, sir; but in the circumstances I believe you will agree that it is inevitable.” “Pray do not be sorry; I should have insisted upon that course myself. Who are the new trustees?” “Lady Nunlash and myself; she and Miss Cope desire that arrangement. I hope you approve, Hawkshaw.” “Don’t be a fat head. Tommy.” The two grinned at each other affectionately. “Here is full power of attorney from Lady Nunlash and Miss Cope, and the consent of Lady Nunlash to act as trustee with me and. so forth. You would perhaps care to read them?” “Thank you, not if I have your assurance that they are perfectly in order.” Mr. Ringland answered, with a wave of the hand. “What, more?” Tommy paused doubtfully. “Nothing, sir, except——” “Except that I leave Hurstbury,” broke in Mr. Ringland, quickly. “Be at ease; I, must naturally have done so. Now as to restitution. I can, for the moment, only effect that to the extent of fifty thousand pounds; the Faneourts still have the rest and I fear my chances of recovering it are small.” (To be Continued.)