“WELCOME THE TRAVELLER”

Wairarapa Times-Age, 18 September 1939, Page 10

“WELCOME THE TRAVELLER”

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT. COPYRIGHT.

By

CHAPTER 11. (Continued).

ARTHUR HARDY.

Daniel Shelton junior appeared. He was almost as big and as tall as Berry himself and rugged looking, like his father. He too, showed the same lean hardness about his sun-tanned face. His hands were large and his bones big. ‘ He wore clean white flannels and a white sweater. His fairish hair tumbled about an unmarked face. Dan had won the amateur middle-weight and heavy-weight boxing championships two years ago. Since then he had turned professional and he had only once be.en beaten, on points by Fred Curtis. Usually he won his fights by a knockout, and at- the moment he was matched to fight Jack Richards, the holder, for the heavy-weight championship of the British Empire. Daniel Shelter? had taught his son Dan how to box almost as soon as he was able to toddle, and now Dan was mounting upwards to the big money. Robert Berry too, was Daniel Shelton’s pupil. Dan ran down the stone paved path with the lightness of foot of a ballet dancer, swung pa Daniel out of the way with a firm thrust of the arm, opened the gate and came, to the car with Kitmir’ gambolling beside him. He gave Nora a friendly smile ai?d grinned at Berry.

“Come and give me some hcpp, Bob," he begged. “I’ve got nobody who can pull out the best in me. I think I ought to beat Richards, but he’s big and tough and awkward and hangs on. I want to win because Mike McGinty is coming over to' see the fight. If I beat Richards I may get signed up with Mike. I should be able to think in thousands then instead of hundreds, I now. When will you give me a hand. Bob?” Robert Berry considered the question. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m busy. I’ll see what I can do later.” Daniel Shelton came through the gate, hands in pockets, chewing. “You work as hard as anybody I know, Mr Berry,” he said. “But how much have you got saved up in the bank?” “Oh, something under one hundred pounds, Shelton.” Daniel shook his head sadly. “You're throwing away your chances, boy. From the time when you and Dan first sparred together you had the Indian sign on him.' .In \ the school fights you always beat him, weight for weight. You knocked out Tom Hanlon, the amateur middleweight champion in half a round, where my boy had to go the whole distance to win on points. Yet you wouldn’t enter for the amateur boxing championships. You are only six months older than Dan. Why don’t you chuck up farming, put yourself in my hands and make a fortune before you’re thirty. Anything to say against that?” ■ “I’m a farmer. Daniel. I must stand by my father. I want to make a go of Wood Farm.” Daniel Shelton grimaced, gave his son a dubious look, and raised the palms of his hands to the blue sky. "Godfrey’s ghost!" he howled. “Ho ought to be heavy-weight champion of England pulling down thousands; but he prefers hoeing turnips to swapping punches, stable lamps to ring light and milking cows to beating champions. Bob, boy, you gave more promise than any man I’ve ever seen in the ring. You’re a natural, the only I've seen in my time.” Robert Berry waved a smiling good bye. “I’ll see what I can do to help Dan,” said he. The car moved on. “If you see Joe Capstow ask him when Jess is coming homo,” Dan called out as the machine plunged down the hill. “I’ll make a point of it,” shouted Berry. Threading a way through the winding and narrow streets of Tansworth, Berry entered Mill Street from its western end, stopped outside John Berry’s garage, and went in with Nora. Today John had even a bigger fight to make both ends meet than his father had up at Wood Farm. John Berry was crippled by want of capital, his wife was sick, he worked as hard as three ordinary men and was up and doing at all hours. He came to meet his brother Robert and Nora with lagging steps. He had not shaved this 'morning. His eyes were dull, his lips drawn tight. Though big and strog. the sap had gone out of him. Yet his smile was transforming; softening the set features. “Nice of you to call,” said he. “How’s Susan, Jack?” asked Robert anxiously. John Berry shook his head. "She’s sleeping. I think' she will manage all right n.ow. but it was a near thing. Yesterday the doctor was afraid of pneumonia." Nora gave brother John a basket full of good things from the farm. Not for the first time since he had married two years ago John felt down and worried and helpless. Robert as he on chafed al his helplessness. John needed help more than any man Robert knew, and it was impossible to help him. Capital was needed to pul. John fairly on his feet just as capital was wanted to make a real success of Wood Farm. All the Berrys could do was struggle on. Stung by the thought of his impotence. Robert Berry urged on the car at a higher speed and turned into the stream of traffic which was moving at a snail’s pace along the High Street. He drove the ear into the stone paved i yard in front of Traveller's Building .■ and got out. | Robert Berry went a little way along! the street to the bank to pay in and ' draw out the needed' money. Nora entered the ironmonger's shop kept by 1

Joe Capstow.

Joe Capstow, behind the counter, looked older than his years and as tired as John Berry had been. No wonder his daughter Jessie had run away from him to th° brighter life of the theatre boards, thought Nora as she bade Mr Capstow good afternoon. In ten minutes Robert Berry came back. Nora saw him through the shop window before his cheery whistle drew her out into the yard. As Nora joined him Robert waved a greeting to Joe Capstow, whose leathern visage showed at a window pane. Nora’s bright eyes were dancing. She laughed happily. “I’ve some good news for Dan Shelton, Bob,” she said. “Jessie is coming home on Sunday. She is going to stay at home until Monday afternoon.” “How was Capstow?”

“As solemn as a grave digger. To hear him talk he is on the brink of ruin.”

Robert nodded vigorously. “And that’s a fact. Look at his shop. The new stores have almost wiped him out of business. His stock is old-fash-ioned. He doesn’t move with the times. He refuses to trade any of the new goods or side lines. If Jessie did not help them, Nora, her father and mother would have to leave the Buildings and go into retirement with pnly what Jessie could afford to allow them to live on.” Nora’s pretty face softened.

“Jessie’s a dear,” she said. “She was the cleverest and nicest girl at school; none of the girls were surprised when she made such a hit in London. I love her, Bob, and she is lovely-”

“Not lovelier than you are, Nora,” said Robert linking arms. They stood close together looking at the building before them and their backs to the traffic of the street. Al that moment the sun, which had been shy awhile, thrust his way through a bank of fleecy cloud and poured a flood of golden sunlight upon the fine old building. In a moment it seemed transformed. The house dated back to the 17th century, its mellowed walls flat and magically broken by a range of beautifully proportioned windows. It consisted of the main building and two wings, east and west. Its large centre doorway gave a grace and balance to the house beyond belief; it was simple, handsome, just right. The two wings carried on the regular rows of lovely windows. Looking above at the roof, Robert held his breath as he had often done before while studying it. Above the corbel, ample and pleasing to the eye, ran- a broad gutter and above the gutter the roof sloped nicely backward and upward. Nora’s gloved fingers gripped brother Robert’s arm. “What a lovely place it is,”, she whispered. “Is it true. Bob, that once it belonged to our great-great-gi-and-father?” “I’ve been told so, though I am a bit muddled about it. Do you see that board advertising the Tansworth ales over there, by the door beyond Joe Capstow’s shop? Well, that’s Traveller’s bar. It’s been kept open because Adam Lawley doesn't want to lose the

old-established licence. The place was once an inn, you see. And our great-great-grandfather was the landlord when he lived here.” “And he died at Wood Farm. I wonder what made him give up this lovely, place and go to die at the farm.” A full, deep voice hailed them from behind. Turning, they saw Adam Lawley, the solicitor, smiling at them, his eyes alive with interest, his hat in his hand. He pulled most of the strings. It was he who was responsible for retaining the loveliness of the place when the modern realists were all for pulling down the fine old building and replacing them with ugly masses of stone and concrete. “Mr Lawley!” Nora’s eyes lit up with pleasure. “How do you do, Nora? I saw you and Robert admiring the old place, so I stopped to speak to you.” “And you can tell us why our great-great-grandfather left it for Wood Farm?” “Waterloo Berry, you mean.” “Waterloo Berry? His name was Robert, the same as mine, wasn’t it?” asked Robert. “Why do you call him Waterloo Berry?” Adam Lawley smiled whimsically. “They called him that because he bought the place in 1815, the year of Waterloo. Robert Berry was landlord of the Goose and Gridiron at Swinden, a small inn. Then this place was a private house belonging to William Dalston, who died about that time. The Dalston family removed to the north and put the property up for sale. Foreseeing the boom of the toll roads, Robert Berry bought the place with borrowed money, turned it into an inn, and soon made a fortune out of it. And because of the year in which he bought it they called him ..Waterloo Berry." Robert vaguely recalled having heard some of the story years ago. Until now it had never registered. “He was a smart man, wasn't lie?” he asked. “Smart, handsome and famous. Travellers who used this road talked about him all the way from London to Oxford. Great men and beautiful women stayed at the inn. He kept a good table and excellent wines. In winter roaring fires in open grates, the beds were warm and comfortable. Travellers would come out of their way to stay at the inn. Sir Thomas Lawrence, the famous portrait painter, stayed a night, was charmed by the hospitality of Waterloo Berry and returned to paint his portrait. The picture used to hang in the oak panelled entrance hall.” (To be Continued).