BERTIE BANCE'S BANK HOLIDAY.

Waikato Argus, Volume V, Issue 363, 5 November 1898, Page 1 (Supplement)

BERTIE BANCE'S BANK HOLIDAY.

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Bertie Bance felt that he had every reason to consider himaelf an ill-used young man. When his uncle, Thomas Bance, a prosperous surveyor and house-agent in the West End, had proposed to take him, at the age of twenty, into his office, it had seemed to be an excellent opening for him. And so, indeed, as regards his ultimate prospects it was; for the old man's business was a valuable one, and there was every hope that Bertie would eventually succeed to it. But in the meanwhile—and a very long meanwhile it looked like being —Bertie simply occupied the position of a clerk in the office, at a by do means extravagant salary, which, even after the lapse of two or three years, his uncle made no offer to increase ; and Bertie was too much afraid of offending his relative to dare to ask for a rise. If the old gentleman had made up for shabby pecuniary treatment by behaving to him nicely in other ways, Bertie would not have minded so much. But the reverse was the case. Thomas Bance was by nature a cross-grained, disagreeable, exacting man, the aversion of every subordinate in the office and on Bertie, more than the others — perhaps because of his relationship —he seemed to take especial delight in venting his ill-humours, Nor was this confined to business hours. Bertie had the misfortune—this was part of the arrangement—to live with his sour-tempered uncle, whose residence was over his offices ; and many an evening, when he wished to be out enjoying himself, was the young manH'kept at over-time work (without over-time pay) to his huge annoyance and disgust. Now, among his churlish relative's many amiable idiosyncrasies has to be mentioned a particular prejudice against holidays—especially Bank Holidays. He hated them, and was wont to inveigh • against them in the angriest and most venomous terms. Why had

the Act that created these abominable carnivals of drunkenness and riot ever been allowed to pass 1 Why should business men be fined by Jove, for that was what it came to —to the tune of four whole working days' profit in the year for the benefit of their already over-pamp-ered employees ? It was a piece of rank robbery—of downright democratic despotism, (fee, &c. He him self always made a point of spending Bank Holidays in his office, and he would never have kept them—nor, indeed, any others—upon such conditionH For two or three years Bertie had his Bank Holidays like the other clerks. He had come to look forward to them immensely, more, perhaps, than the majority of blackcoated slaves in London. And one of the causes that made them so delightful to him was Amy AVarren. Who was Amy Warren ? Amy Warren was a girl, a very pretty and charming girl of nineteen, who had inspired in Bertie ' La

grande passion.' In fact, he worshipped her, with all the devotion of his warm-hearted nature, and it was the darling object of his existence to make her his wife. Bertie had a cousin, a girl cousion—ah ! these girl cousins! whac ministering angels they are ! —to whom he had confided the secret of his attachment. She promised to aid and abet his amorouß project. She kept her word. On every available opportunity, but invariably on Bank Holidays, she got up a little party for dome picnic or excursion, in which Bertie and Amy always happened to be included. These days were days of intoxicating delight to Bertie. He hoped that Amy found them equally agreeable. But he did not know. The fact is, he had not yet dared to ask her. Indeed, it was difficult for a man earning such a pittance as he enjoyed to be offering marriage to a girl like Amy, accustomed as she was, to every comfort and refinement. This difficulty had tied his tongue for nearly two'years. But at last he had made up his mind that he must speakout.

This was only a few days before the August Bank Holiday. Bertie had received the usual invitation from his cousin to make one of a

party on the approaching holiday, with the intimation that Amy Warren was to be included. The sender

of the invitation, also, was clearly of opinion that it was high time for Bertie to declare himself; for at the end of her note she had added this significant P.S, :

' He either fears his fate too much, &c, &.' Bertie's heart

jumped when he read the words. Did they imply that his cousin had

ascertained that Amy loved him 1

Srrhaps Amy had also made a (Lifidantc of his cousin. Girls, he believed, often did make confidantes of other girls about their love affairs. There was more sympathy among girls than among men in these matters. At any rate, his cousin was right. It was high time he spoke to Amy, He would make the opportunity to do so at the forthcoming picnic. If she loved him, she would not mind his poverty ; she would be content to wait. If she did not love him —well, the sooner this suspense and uncertainty

were over the better. Yes, he would follow the advice conveyed in the ' &c., &c.,' of the postscript. But fate has a troublesome way of interfering with our best and most sensible resolves, At the last minute, fate, in the shape of his churlish uncle Thomas, interfered with Bertie Bance's. On Sunday evening, the elder man said to his nephew, with a disagreeable grin : ' I hope you have not made any engagements for to-morrow, Herbert.'

' Well, yes, I have,' replied Bertie. ' I have arranged to go up the river with a party cf friends.' 'That's a pity, Herbert,' rejoined his uncle. The young man's countenance fell. It was evident from his tone, as well as from his expression that Thomas Bance was in one of his most disagreeable humours. 1 1 am afraid/ said his uncle, after a pause, ' that I must ask you to cancel this engagement, Herbert.' ' Impossible, . uncle !' was the quick retort. ' I made the engagement weeks ago. I cannot disappoint my friends.' 'Oh !' said Thomas Bance, with an unpleasant smile. ' But I'm afraid you will have to do so, Herbert.'

' But why 1 To-morrow is Bank Holiday. You cannot want me for any business purposes. And besides '

' But I do want you for business purposes. Now listen to me, please, Herbert. The work of the office, as you know, is somewhat in arrears. ■ I object to having the work of my office in arrears, Herbert. And I propose that you and I should spend to-morrow —a convenient day, when we shall be exempt from the calls of clients — in wiping the bulk of those arrears off.'

' Really, uncle,' protested Bertie, ' this is utterly unreasonable. It '

1 1 am sorry you think so, Herbert,' was the sardonic rejoinder ; ' for I mean to have my way in this matter. You will, if you please, give up your expedition on the river, and

' I can't, uncle. ' Can't is a strong word, Herbert. You must remember, sir, that, your future prospects depend on your deserving my goodwill. I do not wish to threaten ; but I tell you distinctly that if you do go out tomorrow, in the face of my wishes, you need not trouble to come back again at all to my office. There ! That will do. Ido not propose to argue. My mind is quite made up.'

Having thus delivered himself, Thomas Bance rose from the table and left the room, smiling at his nephew a malicious Parthian smile. The young man was, naturally, in a state of extreme chagrin and indignation. Had there been any reasonable grounds for making him forego his holidy, he could have endured it more calmly. Though, even in that case, it would have been hard enough to bear. But knowing, as he did, that this crossgrained old uncle had demanded his services an the morrow out of sheer churlishness and spite—qualities which he took a genuine delight in indulging when he could do so at the expence of some one unable to retaliate—he could hardly control the furious anger that possessed him.

He would not lose the promised opportunity of seeing, of speaking to Amy. His life's happiness might dapend on it. He would go. . . . Then he reflected : what if—as the ill-conditioned old churl would assuredly do —his uncle Thomas carried out his threat 1 It was no light thing to throw one's pelt out of employment these hard times, And, even assuming that he could get a berth with another firm, it would still be good-bye to any chance of a partnership, and of ultimately succeeding to an excellent business. Dared he risk that 1 As things stood, ho feH that his financial posision made it extremely difficult for him to declare his love to Amv, And what if he lost his employment and his prospects altogether 1 He thought and thought. For hours he wavered in uncertainty. At last he wrote to his cousin, in terms of the bitterest disappointment, explaining the state of affairs, and saying that ho could not join the party. Next morning, after breakfast, Thomas Banco said to his nephew, with a bland smilo :

' I presume you have given up your expedition, Herbert T ' Y©u left mo no choice,' retorted Bertie, curtly.

• My dear boy, don't be pub out About it.' His uncle was in a good humour this morning, but Bertie decided that, under the circumstances, his good humour was, if anything, more offensive than his ill. ' It is nothing very terrible after all. For my part, I think that you cannot spend these abominable Bank Holidays—these riotous, rowdy, drunken carnivals—better than within the four walls of the office. What can be the pleasure of going out and mixing with all that riff-raff? Look there, now!' (Thomas Blanco was surveying the street below from the bay-window of his dining-room, and his eye just fell on a troop of artisans, with attendant wives and babies, and countlsss olive branches, carrying wooden spades and buckets, evidently bent on a seaside excursion). ' Those arc specimens of the rabble who make the day hide-

ous. Look at 'em. Off to Brighton or Hastings, you bet! And what'U they do when they get there 1 TramD the town all day ; poison themselves with bad oysters, stinking winkles, and stale shrimps; swill themselves with beer till they're fit to burst, and then be sick in the train all tho way home ! I know the sort. Ugh ! it's bestial !'

Bertie made no remark. He was smoking a cigarette and sulkily scanning the outside sheet of the morning paper. ' I see our advertisement's in about that Sydenham house !' he remarked, after a minute.

1 Ah, yes ! I hope we shall get some answers. I've had another letter this morning from Phelps, the lessee. You know he offered us a special commission of £SO if we could find some one to take over the lease and buy the furniture. Well, this morning ho increases the offer to £75, provided that we can find a person before the end of next week- He has to leave England at a short notice, and is in a hurry to have matters settled up.' 'There shouldn't be much difficulty,' said Bertie. 'lt's a nice little place, in good repair, good garden, near the Palace, and eligible in every way. The furniture, too. is as good as new, and in excellent taste. And ihe price asked is reasonable, to say the least of it.'

'Exceptional opportunity for a newly married couple,' remarked Thomas Bance, with his auctioneering air. 'We shall have no applicants to-day, of course, owing to this disgusting holiday. But the advertisement is to run for another two issues. Well, Herbert, these arrears of work are awaiting us. We had better loso no time in setting to work upon them.' With a surley air and unwilling steps, the young man followed his uncle downstairs to the office. They were soon up to their eyes in papers —a condition wherein the elder man seemed to revel —and for two hours scarcely a sound was heard except the rustling of documents and the scratching of pens. Thomas Bance beamed more and more. Bertie grew more and more savage and sulky. . It was too bad to be kept in this musty, stuffy office at this dreary monotonous work on such a day. Too bad? It was scandalous, cruel, intolerable ! Just when he was beginning to feel he could bear it no longer, a diversion came in the form of a ring at the office bell. Bertie went to answer it. He found an old lady, who had just alighted from a growler, standing on the doorstep. ' Goot morning,' said tha lady with an unmistakable German accent. 'ls Mr Blance in V

I He is, madam,' replied Bertie staring at her in some surprise. She was an odd-looking, extremely old-fashioned person, who from her dress and general appearance looked as though she might just have come out of the Ark.

' Ach, then, I am fortunate/ she said; ' I was afrait I should not find him at home on Bank Holiday. But I was in moch hurry to see him ; so I came on the top of the chance,'

' What name shall I say, madam V asked Bertie, as he conducted her into the waiting-room. ' Schneider—Frau Schneider. I am lately from South Africa arrived, and I come to see him about that advertisement of the house at Sydenham.' Bertie took the message in to his uncle, and a minute later was ushering the old lady into Mr Dance's presence. ' Good morning, madam,' said the house'agent, rubbing his hands

unctuously. ' Herbert, place a chair for the lady. You have come to see me about the house at Sydenham, I understand, madam 1 ' Ach ! that is so. J. am lately from Johannesburg arrived. 1 am staying at the Hotel—wat you call him -Metropole. But I hate hotels. They are so noisy, so confusing. And my nerfs is weak. The doctors haf order me quiet J but 1 must be near London. The house at Sydenham sounds to suit me. I wish to treat for the house at Sydenham.' ' Certainly, madam. From what you say of your requirements, I should say it is exactly the place for you.' 'lt stand high 1 Your advertisement says it stand high V said the old lady. ' So it does, madam —two hundred and sixty feet above sea-level.' ' Ach ! that is what I want. I want to be above the reach of the London fog. Ach ! it is mine eyes from which I soffer. I contract opthalmia out on the Rand, and I am to London com to be under an eye—wat you cal him I —specializcr. He made me wear these ogly green goggles and this stoffy gauze veil to keep the glare und the dust out of mine eyes. And he tell me to take a house somewhere on the high land near London, which shall be too lofty for the autumn fogs to reach when they com. He says the London fogs is worse for mine eyes even than glare and dust. He mention Sydenham as a goot place. I sec your advertisement. It seems to be what I want, I come here at once. I wish to treat. Wat you say?' ' Provided you will give our client's price, madam, for the lease

and the furniture, we shall have no difficulty in arranging matters at once.'

' What is your client's price 1' ' £2OO for the lease, £350 for the furniture; £530 altogether-' 1 Ach ! I shall not—wat you say —haggle. The money is no consideration to me. lam reech, I will gladly pay that if the house suit me. Can I see the house? lam in a hurry. I want to settle at once. Can I see the house to-day V ' Hem !' To-day is rather inconvenient. If to-morrow will do equally well—'

' Ach ! but to-morrow will not do equally well,' exclaimed the old lady. ' I'm in a hurry, I say. I wish to see the house at Sydenham today, What prevents me from seeing the house at Sydenham to-day ?'

' Nothing actually prevents madam. But I should liked to have sent one of my clerks with you. And to-day they are all absent from the office"?

' Bat is not tbis yong man one of your clerks V she demanded, indicating Bertie by a gesture. ' Can you not send this yong man mit me? I will—wat you English say—stand the damages. I am reech. Money is no objects to me. Com now. That is fair. I give you your price. You give me my time. Jlein ?, Wat you say?' 'lf you really insist on viewing the house to-day,' replied Thomas Blance, seeing that he had to deal with an eccentric old person, who might as likely as not throw up the house if she were not humoured on this point, " I will arrange to send this young man, my nephew, with you t© Sydenham at once.' 'Goot? lam taking that offer. Ach? T avail myself. My cab waits on the street. Let us be off at once to see the house at Sydenham.' The old lady rose from her chair as she spoke. Thomas Blance rose also to bow her out. 1 You are sure to like the house, madam,' he said. ' And my nephew will be able to supply you with any detailed information you may require. ' Ach 1 Thank you, I will give you my decision as soon as I haf the house seen. The young man, your nephew, is he ready to start ? Yah ? Then let us—what you say—cut our walking steeck. lam never one to let the grass grow. Com, yong man !'

Bertie, who had by this time possessed himself of hat and stick, was following her out, when his uncle plucked his sieeve. ' Hist,' he whispered. ' Humour the old girl. She's worth humouring, I think. And don't lose her by haggling over any little matter.' Bertie nodded comprehensively, then followed Frau Schneider to her cab. He was already in a better temper. Even to go on this business expedition, with this eccentric and shabby old foreigner, was a blessed escape, for an hour or two, from the musty and monotonous confinement of his uncle's office. ' Shall I tell the man to drive to Victoria V asked Bertie,

' Vecctoria 1' replied the old lady. ' Ach, nein! We will drive all the way to Sydenham. To travel by train on these days is—wat you say —no oatch. Yon know the whereabouts in Sydenham of the house ? Will you explain to the man 1 Ach, that is goot. Now we will be off. Bertie entered the cab, and they drove away. lam afraid he did not make himself very agreeable to his companion, during the journey, in spite of his laudable attempts : for he could not help betraying signs of preoccupation. The fact was he was thinking of his cousin's party and of Amy. It was now nearly lunch time. He could picture to himself the fun they were having, unpacking the hampers and laying the cloth in some green shady spot on the river's bank. What would he not give to be with them ; to be seated next to Amy, to be the minister of her wants to stroll away with her alone afterwards ; and then—and then—to 'put the question?' Full, as he was, of these and such like thoughts it was no wonder that he returned many random and irrelevant answers to the observations which Frau Schneider kept addressing to ■him in her quoin t foreign waj. At length they reached their destination and were admitted by the caretaker of the house, who seemed rather surprised to receive such a visit on a Bank Holiday. It was a nice little nouse, pleasantly situated, and furnished throughout in excellent taste. Frau Schneider went into high Dutch raptures over it.

' Ach V she exclaimed, 'it is—wafc you say—ripping.' ' I am glad you like it, madam, said Bert, absently. He was still thinking of the picnic and of Amy. Frail Schneider eyed him shrewdly through her green goggles. ' Young man !' she cried, all of a sudden. ' You are distract—you are wool collecting. I haf noticed it all the way. I think I guess lam a wretch to read yong man's thoughts. Yah, it is so. Yong man, you are in love. Ach ! Do not contradict,' she went on, before Bertie had time to say a word. ' Mine eyes are keen—keen as vat you say—mustard. I had twigged you, yong man. And I guess more than that. I haf take your measurements. You are hart up —stony ;is it not so V You cannot afford to marry the Fraulein. You sigh; you lament; you des-

pond. Ach ! Tell me all about it! I love to hear the affairs of yong lovers. I haf love inineself. tam reech. lam benevolent. I will help you.' In spite of her queer manner of expression, there was something tender, something very sympathetic in her tone. And somehow, almost before he knew what he was doing Bertie found himself pouring out the whole story of his love affair into this odd old stranger's ear. She heard him to the end with attentive interest. Then, suddenly clapping her hands, she cried. 'I haf it! I half jost the thing! This house—is it not—wat you say —the express ticket for a yong couple? I will buy it. I will present it to you and your Amy. . . No ! you shall not decline. I will insist. You haf told me you love Amy. Shall I tell you one little secret? I am aquaint mit your Amy. She is a clear frent of mine. I know she love you.

' You know Amy Warren V ' Ach, very well. Let me tell you one more secret. Amy haf quite lately—wat you say—come at much money from a demised aunt. She would have told you this with her own lips to-day, when you should have met her at the peecneec. But you were kept at business by your wretch of an uncle. We were discussing how we could release you, when was it not locky I—l happened to see your uncle's advertisement of this house. I then said to myself, niidout telling none of the others, ' he is a—wat you say—prime chance to kill off two birds mit one stone !' to S9t you free from the orfice, and to procure what seem like a nice house for you yong couple. I come to your uncles. You'know the rest. You shall not go back to the offeess. You shall spend the rest of this holiday mit your Amy !' ' With Amy f

' Yah ! Your Amy is here—downstairs ; I will go to fetch her. Wait in this room till I return.' Wondering, with a sense of dazed surprise, whether this indeed were true or whether he was only dreaming, Bertie waited. In a minute or two the door opened. Before him, smiling and radiant, stood Amy Warren.

' Bertie she said,' blushing a rose. red and half averting her gaze ' Frau Schneider has told you more about me than she—she ought to have told you. But—but since she told you, I will not deny the truth of what she said ; and so ' 'Then you —you—do love me, Amy!' he cried out, in anxious, eager excitement. Girl like, she made no direct reply. Instead, she did a rather peculiar thing. She held out her two little hands, palms upwards. In the centre of each reposed a glass marble. ' See,' she excluimed. ' I put this in one cheek, so —and this into the other, so, Ach! Now, yong man, how do mein voice sound? Haf I—wat you say—the very intonation of Frau Schneider got V And eef I was to put oon the coal-scuttle bonnet, and the stoffy gauze veil, and the ogly green goggles, together with mein Ollendorfian eedioms '

' Amy,' he cried, the truth beginning to dawn on him, ' you don't mean to say that —were you—reallv '

'Yah, I was,' she interposed, with a merry laugh. ' Ach, mein Bertie, you leetlc know what agonies of suspense, I haf, for your sake, this day undergone.' ' Lest you should be recognised, I suppose V he asked stepping forward to embrace her. ' Lest I should swallow the marbles,' she replied demurely.