QUEER STORIES.

Observer, Volume 6, Issue 137, 28 April 1883, Page 88

QUEER STORIES.

BY iu'TOMATHES.

BILL FROM TAIRUA.

Sabah Lavotile was a young woman of French extraction, on the father's side, with pure Milesian blood in her veins on that of the mother's. She was called Sarah after some old Scriptural notion of her mother's,— Sal, they called her at home. She was tenderly reared — an only child — not well educated; but with such knowledge as they could afford in their position in life. She had the wild ways of her kind, ran about barefoot, spent her school money in lollies, played the wag, picked up slang readily enough, and " chummed " with boys as wild as herself. Despite all her parents' tenderness she grew like a wild rose, budding and blooming fast, but, alas! soon to wither like it ! She was strong of limb, fiery tempered, instinctly quick to resent an insult, fair to look upon as she played with the sheen of the sunlight on her auburn hair, and Jack amongst others, thought so. Jack was a carpenter, tall, blueeyed, self-reliant, industrious, sober, a man of whom everyone prophesied success and happiness. But he was a little what his mates called " soft " — candid, trustful, thought no evil of man or woman. As he watched Sal, growing shy and maidenly now, he felt a sort of something " beating agin M 9 ribs," and an instinct that ha had never known before. It was Love — love at first sight, and Jack basked in the worship of his affinity. As for Sal, she thought Jack was rather a fine fellow, tall, manly, with such nice eyes, but, oh ! so shy, — not like her old playmates at all. They got acquainted, of course. They always do under these circumstances.* It was juxta-posi-tion, mutual sympathy, positive and n«gative, the law of attraction. Sal was poor, Oack rich — rich in his strong arms, skill, industry, and simple wants. And so, when Sal fancied anything in the shop windows on a Saturday evening stroll, Jack bought it straightaway, if lie could afford it, and if he couldn't he felt sorry that he had not discovered a Grolconda, the Kohinoor, or a fourleaved shamrock. But there was another man who admired Sal, Bill, from Tairua, another simple-minded fellow. He also had seen her in the sunlight, with the red and gold tints of her hair, and her fair, fresh face, and Bill loved her too, as well as he could understand what love meant. He thought she was " a nice gal," but as to marriage, well, not just yet — he might by-and-by — if he could save enough ; and Jack had evidently got the start of him. So he went to and from his work at Tairua, with occasional " knockings down " of his money. Sal was puzzled. For the first time in her life there was a problem that she could not solve. She liked Bill best ; he was taller, had more "go " in him, but then Jack had money, and gave her nice presents, while Bill " never gave her nothing." So she . hesitated — oscillated between the two, as weak women do in such cases, and, well, let this queer story tell its own moral. >She made up her mind at last to "have Jack," and so one autumn eve as they sat in the moonlight, with the last spring's leaves falling all about them, and the moonbeams playing in among the shades of the pines, and with Jacltt arm supporting her for want of a chai^fcn. the little bank where they sat, she yiel^UJHto the gentle pressure, laid her head on his sf^^Jer, and said that fatal word, " yes." They wWagmarried. There was a dance, of Course, ano^H afc^JfiLthe privileged guests, danced witli^is lost JHw like Lochnivar, but , did not carry her off VBBflfehero of the Scotch ! song did. And Jack aS^Bfcfcere left to enjoy their brief honeymoon, w^^HBL went back to Tairua chagrined, but a^^HH| what did it matter, he reflected, she was rnr^Bed, and he had no idea of " bein' tied to any wonum^* When the nights were growing dark and cold, the firewood ran short, the butcher and baker wanted " their accounts weekly," ana* Jack's little dream of bliss in the autumnal moonlight faded away into darkness and matter of fact. So he gave Sal all the ready money that was leffc,, and his watch and chain as a standby in case of need, and went away to earn more money " jistto keep the pot a b'iling Sal, you know ole gal !" But just as Jack went away it so fell out that Bill came back, and the moonlight came with him, also a little money, for he had begun to see that a man "without the spons stood no show with the gals," and had become rather more thrifty and told an old publican friend of his, who invited him to " shout," to go to a climate warmer than Auckland, or even the Equator. Of course, he went to see his old friend Sal, — where was the harm ? — and equally, of course, he took some presents with him. He saw her eyes light up with the old look, felt the soft pressure and clinging grasp of her hand — as she saw the jewellery from G-oodson's — and was puzzled. Did she love him after all, and not Jack ? Didn't he treat her well ? " Oh yes he was very good," she said, " but why did he stay so long away, the watch had gone to Neumegen's and Madame Botteneli wanted the money for that new dress that she got made for the last ball." • Bill paid the money without a murmur, and, if there was anything else she wanted, why, of course she need "only say the word." And then there was sympathy between them Wain. Beauty in distress is irresistible ; and manly sympathy with distressed beauty appeals to |he female bosom. And so when Bill asked her if he might fetch her something in, she made no demur — what harm to have a glass with an old friend — a friend of Jack's too. That one glass did fche mischief — Sal was an hereditary dipsomania. The sins of her forefathers were visited upon her. That bad port, wine and square gin awoke the slumbering dream of unquenchable thirst. Bill was not a dipsomaniac by any means, he could " take his drop and leave it aloae," and his strong will ruled her as a child, 7 ' ' , [ % .-, t . •.*••" # , # . . ■#.-. ■■■■ .*;_ ■ . ■ , ,The' night was dark, wetland mournful gusts; Weatl^2^r^tigh>thigtrees; a&&|^hjstleici; about tjiej/ fpoirjiors'-l^^

the windows. Peeping through, with his keen eyes, he descried empty space, the nest was 1 empty, the swallow had flown away to other climes. He rubbed his eyes in amaze. Where was Sal ? Where was the " furniter £" There was a lump in his throat now, as well as in his pockefc— his hard-earned savings, there was moisture in his eyes, and a dead feeling of apprehension that " something had gone wrong." Turning away in the darkness he goes to his neighbour Joe Playnor, and in eager tones, exclaims : — , " Where's Sal ?" "Is that you, Jack ? Come in. Don't take on about it, good a fish in the sea as taken out on it yon know ?" " Why ! wh-a-a-t d'ye mean ?" " She's gone ?" " Gone ! Who's gone ? I never heard as she was dead. Well,' never mind, Joe, she was a good wife to you." " It's not my ole woman. She's right." " You don't mean — I mean, as Sal as gone away with Bill from Tairua him! and taken everything with her." And then Jack rose with flashing eyes, a white startled face like a ghost in the fitful candle-light ; subsided on to the old broken-backed chair, sobbed like a child, rose to his feet with upraised fist, and swore, for he had loved Sal with all the depth of his manly soul. 0!o he continued^ .