TWO MEN AND MARY

Wairarapa Times-Age, 18 May 1938, Page 10

TWO MEN AND MARY

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

COPYRIGHT.

By

HOLLOWAY HORN.

(Author of “George,” “That Man at Claverton Mansions,” etc.)

CHAPTER IX.—Continued. The waiter came up with a cup of coffee for the American girl. “My name is Laurette Costairs. We hail from Minnesota.” “Mine’s Mary Rossiter. ‘l’m a Londoner.” “You alone?” Miss Costairs went on. “Yes. I’ve just come from Russia.” “Gee! And I thought we Americans knocked about. You staying here long?” “I don’t think so. My movements are uncertain.” “Say, you don’t mind my shooting these questions at you?” Mary Rossiter smiled: “No. Not in the least.” “You don’t seem so curious about me? Don’t you get fed up with seeing things? Sights and museums and picture galleries?” “As a matter fo fact, I’m very depressed today.” “So am I. Particularly with Poppa and Mamma and my Uncle and Aunt. Never again will I come away with a bunch of ancients. They’ve just got unlimited energy, on and on.” “Are you staying here long?” “No. We go on tomorrow. Marseilles —and then Monte Carlo. And then Italy.” “I’ve never been in Italy.” “We aim to see Mussolini. Poppa’s dead keen on Mussolini. What you doing this evening?” “I’d thought of writing a long letter to a friend of mine telling him how I feel.”

“Tough luck on the boy friend, isn’t it?” the American smiled. “No. He’s a real friend and would put up with it.” “Let’s slip away after dinner and wander down by the river? There’s a band there. It might be good fun. “I’d like to.” “D’you speak the lingo?” ’ “Yes.” “I don’t. But most of them speak English, anyway. The folks are moving. Sit tight.” The Americans came up in a body to Mary’s table: “Meet Mary Rossiter,” said Laurette. And they met her. “You slip along,’ the American girl went on. “I’ll be along in a while with Mary? She’s staying at the hotel.” “Sure, sweetheart,” said Poppa and they slipped along, like obedient parr ents and relations. “They mean well,” the American girl said when they had gone. “They’re out to show me a good time. You got to hand it to them for meaning well.” “They’re interested in you. That means a great deal. You miss it if nobody is interested in you.”

Say, you’re not telling me that people aren’t interested in you? Why, the moment I saw you in the dining roorri at the hotel I meant to talk to

you.” “I’m quite alone in the world, as a matter of fact. Not a relation.”

“That’s tough. But sometimes I wish I were. I suppose we’d better be moving if .we’re going to be ready for dinner. I tried to like tea when I was in England, but it got me beaten.” Mary smiled: “It’s an acquired taste. A habit.”

“It’ll be fun wandering off on our own under the trees along the river,” Laurette said as they walked to the hotel. “The folks get restive if I clear off on my own in these foreign places, but if there’s two of us they won’t mind.” .

When Mary Rossiter entered the dining room of the hotel that evening, Laurette Costairs went across to her table: “Say, Mary, mind if I have my ■meal with, you?” Mary smiled. “Of course not.” There was something bright and fresh in the spontaneous American girl which it was impossible not to like, even if her methods —and manners —were, compared with Mary’s English ways, a little abrupt. During the meal Laurette talked almost unceasingly, excepting for an occasional word or smile from Mary. She had ideas, mostly wrong, but usually interesting, on every conceivable subject from Mussolini to babies, in which she seemed to take a deep but impersonal interest. When the meal was over they left Laurette’s “folks” to finish their coffee in the lounge and sauntered off together. It was a lovely evening; there was a nip in the air, but it was merely refreshing. Both were hatless and wore fur coats.

A light, sparkling evening and a light, sparkling scene. They stood by the side of the Rhone, watching its water swirling by in the moonlight. “ ‘The ancient river, smiling as he goes, New-mailed in armour, to the ancient sea.’ ” Mary quoted the lines. “Say!” the American girl said in admiration. “That’s swell. Say it over again, please.” Mary did so. “You like old things?” Laurette said a little wistfully. “I don’t know. Actually the Hudson is just as old as the Rhonev”

“But it hasn’t got its traditions; it’s no history. This place seems to be saturated in history. All those Popes and people. Were those lines actually written about this river?”

“No. About the Thames. An English poet called Henley.” “We read about him at college, I remember. But somehow those lines coming out pat seemed exactly to fit the bill. I must tell Momma about them. She’s nuts on poetry.” “You’re right about this place being saturated in history. It’s the land of the Troubadours,” said Mary. , “I read about them in the guide book. They’d have been running dance-bands if they’d been alive today. And talk of dance bands, there is one in that garden just over the bridge. What about it?” ' “Anything you like,” said Mary. CHAPTER X. The garden of the cafe was crowded, but it was a pleasant, colourful crowd. The patron himself came to welcome the two girls and led them to a table near the circle which had been left for dancing. “Coffee and cognac,” Laurette said as they sat down. “We don’t have to drink the cognac,” she added to Mary. No one took any notice of the two girls, for the French crowd, particularly in the South, is polite. An old woman came up to the table with a basket of roses and they bought some. Laurette gave her a twenty franc note, which apparently delighted the old dame.

“As far as I can see,” said Mary, “we’re the only foreigners here.” “Foreigners? Oh, of course,” the American smiled. .“You get into the habit of looking on other people—these people—as foreigners. Here of course, we’re the foreigners.” “It’s really French.” “If Poppa were here he’d order drinks for the musicians. Do you think we should?”

“If you want to. I’ll do it.’ * She signalled to the waiter and he was at their table at once.

Followed a talk in rapid French which left the American girl, almost gasping. “Say; you’ve got the lingo.” “He speaks an odd kind of provincial French. It was very interesting. “You’ve just come from Russia. You don’t speak Russian too?” “No. I speak German and Spanish, though. I was at St Hilda’s at Cambridge.”

“I was at the Minnesota High School. I thought I spoke French until I came to France. You know, you interest me.” “I’m glad.” “You’ve no relations?” “None.” “Who’s the boy friend you said you were going to write to?” “A lawyer. Or rather he was a lawyer. He appears to have given it up and become a farmer, or rather a market gardener. Anthony McCarthy, his name is.” “Anthony McCarthy. A nice man. You going to marry him?” “Good gracious, no!” exclaimed Mary. “Why ever not? I shall marry when I get back—unless I change my mind or meet anybody more interesting over here.” “Yes. But Anthony McCarthy is different.” “What’s wrong with him?” “Nothing,” Mary smiled. “Only he’s not interested in me.” “Then there is something wrong with him. It’s not a bad test of a woman’s feelings when she wants to write to a man and tell him all about it when she’s down in the dumps.” “He’s my very good friend.” “And you think it’s a pity to spoil a good friend by marrying him? . . . The violinist is bowing at us!” Mary looked up. The dark, goodlooking leader of the little orchestra was in fact, turning to them and holding up a glass. As Mary looked up, he bowed and the musicians all drank their wine and raised their glasses to the two girls before they went on with the programme. “That’s the sort of moment Poppa lives for,” Laurette confided. “Aren’t men funny? But to get back to the boy friend, you know that’s what’s wrong with you, Mary. You're in love.” “Rot!” smiled Mary. “I know it. I’d recognise the symptoms a mile away.” “I’ve never appreciated that we are different races until this moment,” said Mary. “Go on, I’ll buy it,” said the American girl. “We’ve known eatjh other about three hours. Two English girls would still have been keeping up a formal conversation and here we are discussing the most intimate things—things I never even think about!” “You’re telling me!” smiled Laurette as she sipped her cognac. She made a wry face and replaced the tiny glass. “So you never think about the boy friend?” “Well ” “Exactly,” cut in the worldly-wise Laurette. “What made him leave the law? In trouble? Disbarred?" (To be Continued).