Silas Dennington's Money,

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10672, 19 July 1912, Page 2

Silas Dennington's Money,

OUR SERIAL.)

CHAPTER XXIII— Continued. "No—no! She knows too much about us. That would never do. Plenty of women about hero, and boy;; to db the knives and boots, and all that sort of thing'. Miss Thurston will holp us out of that difficulty. Well, hero comes our pony carriage. The driver is making a little harvest out of me." They called at the furniture shop,, and the proprietor started a man off at once to measure the floors for new carpets. When they got to the Cottago the dressmaker was already there, and business was quickly under way. In the end it was decided that the house should be painted and decorated throughout. It was no use spoiling the ship for a ha'porth of tar! Two weeks would be required in which'to do the job. Bright and cheerful colours—nohing dark or heavy. "We had hetter leave the choice of the carpets until the decorating is done," Rosamund advised. "Unless the walls and the doors match, everything else will be awry." "That means a month before """ can pet settled," her father g; 'i^ed. "But I suppose you are right, Ro:ue." There was a telegram from Dodd and Weeks in the afternoon. Mr Weeks was coming by an early train on Thursday morning.

Grant bustled off to the agents with his wire, and impressed unon him the importance of having the needful documents ready. "The executor'and the lawyer shali be herc'nt the time named, and you "•'ill receive the deeds to-morrow, Mr Grant. Take mv words for it," wps the cordial rejoinder. "You are already an important man in Deal, and people wart to know you. You are not a Londoner?"

"Oh. no—a Cambridge man," was •the hasty reolv. "I ho'Pc that people will mind their own business. I am too old for social nonsence, and five o'clock tea gossiping is my detestation. At noon, sir. to-morrow."

A few minutes after twelve Mr Weeks arrived. He was a little perky man; middle-aged and stout. Fis face was full and red; his eyes small, twinkling, and shrewd; he wore a close-clipped beard and moustache : he was attired in a frock coat, a tall hat. and creaking hoots. "Mr' Week*; shook hands effusiv°lr with Mr Grant, and. srcoke to the Deal agent is an old friend. "Where are the agents?" he asked. "I was on tenter hooks for fear they we'-e waiting. No dependence on trains here."

The local Agent got up and to the door. He looked up and down the street.

"They won't be long." he said, returning to his cbm'r. "Ycu don't get anv thinner Mr Weeks."

"No." Mr Weeks glanced resignedly at his ample stomach. "T took nil the outdoor work, hoping that the •exercise would '-"ducc my weight, but it makes no difference. By the w.oy, that's a strange affair—the smarting of one of the big London banks. What the deuce is it's name? I never dreamed of such a thing until I opened my newspaper 'v> the fain. T'"»'deposits run into Tuillions of raor^y." "Shocking—shocking!"

"I liar.nan to know that it will <■'"!'- j iously afiecb o"« of mir clerks. The J unfortunate fellow Ims been saving for years, and denving himself of actual necessities. A bun and a glassN of milk for his dinner, and that sort of economy. Thrift is all very well, but whe're's the expense of saving at the expense of one's health? It means putting a limit on one's earning powers, and laying no a store of_ bodily ills for the future."

"Quite right, Mr Weeks. It is to be hoped that the Philantrophic will pay something out of the wreck." "The Philantrophic! That's the name of the tricky institution.'/ Mr Weeks. grinned. "Guite appropriate, ■though." < >The i Philatitrophis?" Mr Grant whispered. His face was ashy pale, and fell forward, almost over his chest.

Mr Weeks and the local agent jumped to their feet. "A glass of water.' s'aid Weeks. Mr Grant waved them back, and lifted bis head. His eyes were wklestaring, his voice quavered. "Let me know just where I am," he said. "I've got. four thousand Dounds in the Philantrophic bank, and if that's gone I'm a ruined, broken man!""Nonsense! Nonsense!" Weeks spoke soothingly. "The papers say there will be plenty of money for ordinary depositors. It is the share-, holders who 'will suffer. A ruined man! I like that. You with valuable freehold property in the Strand. Ha-ha! You millionaires are the funniest people on earth." "Let me see the report," breathed Mr Grant. "And don't talk like a fool. Give me the paper. Where is it?"

"My dear fellow." said'Mr Weeks. "Don't think that I am offended—not a bit of it. Here's the report—a garbled, conflicting statement, no doubt, as most reports are. No time for investigation—panic—panic! If you want a thousand pounds Ave will advance it against the sale of your Nether Street property." Grant paid no heed to what lie was saying, but slowly read the news of the bank disaster. Then he got up from his chair, 1 and tottered across the room. At the door he turned, and

BY F. L DACRE. Author of "Keld in Bondage," "A Phastoir of the V&r.i. : ' '•' '!'_•,.- John's Heiress," "The Shadow of Shame/- 'M Daughter of Mystery," etc.

said huskily, and with a hopeless gesture : fo "No use waiting for the agents T cannot buy the Cottage. God help me! Hollow-eyed and ghastly, with shaking limbs and bowed head, he went back to his lodgings. From room to room he wandered in quest of •Rosamund. His appearance frighted Miss Thurston, and she wanted to for a. doctor. "No," ho said harshly. "I want nothing—only my daughter." "Miss Grant went toward the beach, sir. She didn't expect vox; back for a while yo't." "IMH wait for her in the sitting room." He motioned to her to go. "Don't let any one disturb mo." He sat down, his head bowed over the table, and it was in this attitude that Rosamund found him. Mr Weeks had followed him to his lodgings and spoken to the landlady. Mr Grant was an old man, and the'bad news might have a bad effect upon his heart. But he was making a mountain out of a molehill. Miss Thurston said that Mr Grant did not wish to be disturbed. She was keeping an eye upon him through a crack in the door. 'Mr Weeks was still hovering about the house when Rosamund, all unsuspecting came walking along. The real-estate agent knew her in a moment ; he had once seen her in a shop in Nether Street, and off came hfs, hat.

"Miss Gran?." Rosamund stared at him, surprised. He was a perfect stranger to her. Then she remembered that her fathei was interviewing a good many business people just now, and she inclined her head. "I am Mr Weeks," he said. "Of Dodd and Weeks, London. I came here to-day on your father's business, but he heard bad news in the office of the real-estate agent—very, bad news it seemed, on the face of it. Rosamund made a step forward, her eyes dilating—a sudden fear at her

J heart. "There's not much the matter, my (dear young lady, but I don't want to j go back to London until lam quite j satisfied. Your father is in his room, waiting for you. You can see him through the window. Jle is only shocked and depressed—takes an exaggerated view of matters." "What .is the bad news?" she ask-' | ed. white and shaking. "Bank failure—that's all. Some of his money is there. Quite a trifling affair. I'll wait hero until you can reassure me, and will stay at a hotel in Deal to-night. The morning may put a different complexion on things." Rosamund hurried indoors, and \v;uj • beside her father before he'was a ware of here nrerence. She nut her arms around his neck, -and kissed him with fond affection, whispering: "What's wroncv, dad? Whot du>x it matter? Nothing matters when «e have each other," He raised his bent head, and turned no a oallid, hopeless face. "Mv darling child!" he murmured. "I love vou. dad, and will care for you. Mr Weeks savs that it may be all right." ' Mr Wesks was looking in at +he window at that moment, and smiled I to T'r.wimimd. and talked away.. Ho had observed'Mr Grant move and speak ■

, "I've 'o-t the Cot-Wo. Ro<do, nod my heart was set upon it. I think Juva-en n-ust have sent this as a punishment for my Avickedness toAvards y.)ll." "Wlial f-olish things von say, dad. Von are the best and clearest fatlvr in all the world!" "Xo; lam an old rascal. I did not send vour letter to Castlemaine: I Avas iValmis—l wanted to put an end to " He sobbed a little.' "Forgive me, Rcsie ; I've been Avre + ched from the moment I. destroyed it. Write him again, and mail it yourse'f. A»d now. with;that off' mv mind J shall through. We still have the prooertv in Nether Street, but the CVt+ige is gone—my beautiful Cottage!" '

He cried weakly, for his disappoint' rnenfc was Litter. "ft's heaven',s judgment upon me. Men do wicket things in secret, forgetful of the ever-watchful eye , of God. J feel better, now, Rosie; the load is taken away; I'll go upstairs and lie down. Get the evening papers, and we will hope tffcr the best. Mr may he right. We shall see." He went ur> to his roora, avd was soon peacefully sleeping on the bed. Half a dozen wakeful nights had taken their toll, and he was dreaming of pleasant things It was often so with t'he overwrought brain. 'i 0"r» V Cor> + iriued).