“WILD GRAPES”

Waikato Times, Volume 121, Issue 20258, 29 July 1937, Page 4

“WILD GRAPES”

SERIAL STORY.

By THEODORA WILSON-WILSON.

A Charming Story with Delightful Appeal.

CHAPTER XX.— (-Continued.) The sheer kindness in his tone overwhelmed her, and she broke down helplessly. “Yon don't understand, you never have understood —or tried to understand t” she burst out. “I am sorry 1 have been such a failure. But, Marie, if you would let me know of any more debts more than I have collected,’’ and he pointed to a pile of bills on his desk. “Perhaps you are returning to The Grange, and we can have a real look into things. We will Und out what we can do and what we can't do, and then cut our coat according to our cloth, and—be happy!” “Happy 1” she exclaimed. ‘‘l'm certainly not coming to The Grange. I’m returning to the .Nursing Home, but I can’t stay on there with an empty purse, an-d, if you haven’t the courtesy to supply me ” “Well, I don't keep much loose money in my consulting room!” and he smiled, “but here is twenty pounds, and I’ll call and see you to-morrow.” This was not what Marie wanted, -but she snatched at the notes with a distressing eagerness. Sir John took her out to the ticking taxi, and putting a strong arm about her, he kissed her. “My dear, goodbye!” he said gently. She was so amazed that she lost her presence of mind. “Goodbye, of course, John!” she answered him. Then she dived into the taxi, and the man drove off. The long anxious day was over, and Sir John still sat on at his desk. “•Can’t you get away now, sir?” asked Norris solicitiously. “No, no; I’ve a fancy to look through my case book —to count up the victories —the failures ” “You’ll have to search for the failures, sir,” said the man loyally. “Sec, Norris,” he said confidingly, as to a friend, “in, these books are records of joy, pain, despair, defiance, gratitude, courage, cowardice, bravado ! It is a strange world that passes through this consulting room.” “Yes, Sir John.” “I believe I* have always taken more interest in the complete wrecks, the nervous failures, the drinkers, the drug-takers, the life-disappointed than —well, the more normal cases.” I “That is because you are a Christian j gentleman, Sir John,” said his man. | “I would not dare to say that,” and Ihe smiled. “I have been disappoint|ed so orten." “If you’ll excuse me mentioning it, Vr.” said Norris, who was a devoted Methodist, “but the great Master Himself was often disappointed. ‘Ye will not, come unto Me that ye may have I life'! that’s what He said.” “No, they wouldn't, and we our- ! selves don’t,” he answered. “But | now, Norris, leave me for a little while, j I'll try not to be long.” “I’ll give Nurse a hand,” said the ! man. “She’s set her mind on doing ■ some clearing up to-night. She’s a ; terrible body for wanting to clear up.” I So Sir John, left in peace, tackled ■ the pile of bills, with a courage worthy lof a better cause. | What amazed his most were ac- | counts rendered, which he thought he i had paid long ago. What could his J wife have dene with the money he

had undoubtedly supplied? Gambling? Her brother? Her own irresponsible extravagances? He could not tell, but he realised that some at least of the blame must be his. He ought, to have attended, to all this business himself.

Ilis disappointing married life had driven him to an indifference, amounting to carelessness, for which there was no adequate excuse. It stung him to realise that in not standing up to his wife, he had not been fair to his children. He had allowed them to skate on thin ice without giving them due warning. But surely that was the door bell? Ho heard voices, and, in a moment Norris entered and spoke deprecatingly. “Mr Gordon Tate has called, sir. ■ He - would like a word with you ,lf convenient.” “I’d be careful, sir. lie’s had something.” murmured the man. “Thank you. Well, ask Mr Tate in.” Sir John passed his hand over his brow. Perhaps as a ‘Christian gentleman’ his hour had come. He smiled at the phantasy. Gordon Tate entered on the defensive, almost aggressively, and his nervousness reported strong whisky. He was one of the typical cases this nerve-specialist knew so intimately. An inspiration came to him. He would take this visitor as a case, and not as a brother-in-law. One did not allow personal feeling to enter into the treatment of a case. “Do sit down, Gordon,” he said, | cheerfully. “I shall be most happy I to do my best for you. It is always I a pleasure to give my friends the I benefit of what skill and experience I have gathered.” The man was taken back. He had 1 certainly not come into this consulting room for medical examination. “Won’t you take off your coat,?” sa!d Sir John. "You are my last patient to-day.” “I’m not a case. Sir John,” muttered Gordon. “I've come because I’ve something particular to say.” “Yes, quite—but. let's go through Into the surgery first. You are run down—worried—you need specialised help. Let me give it to you. Ah, one moment I” The telephone on the desk rang up. and Sir John lifted the receiver and listened. < “One moment, Morris. 1- have mv | brother-in-law here. Tt’s about those Corots. Gordon. My friend Mr Morris has had the expert report.” CHAPTER XXI. The Last Patient. Gordon Tate regretted that lasi whisky, as he sat in his brother-in-law's consulting room, listening to the half conversation over the ’phone. “Yes, Gordon.” snid Sir John, turning on him. “Mr Morris says the returned Gorots are copies—clearly, This man Trench has commuted a fraud. My wife has been led down disgracefully. “Are you there. Morris? Perhaps you will come along and see me? Wo shall have to decide as to our next action. It seems a fairly clear case.” There were a few more sentences, and then Sir John rang off. “Now, Gordon, oIT will) that coat!” I he said gravely. “[• must gel you I right at. all costs. You're a brilliant | man. have life before you. Ihe best years; and you shall not spoil lliom. 1 as you are doing. :f f ran help it. and if >ou \x ill lake mj most sincere ad j^vioe.”

“I want no advice,” he said excitedly. “You need advice. Come, let us face the worst and the best—before ; we go further. I blame myself that 1 have been unsympathetic. You must j forgive me—let us go in together for j 2 great fight—a fight for life !” ! The situation was altogether be- j yound Gordon Tate's experience. j Conscious of his own guilt and the 1 wrong he had done this man, how could be consent to receive any favour i from him? He felt as though he had received ; a hideous blow, and a contemptible j passion gripped him to hit back. He had paid this call through a ' desperate anxiety to place the respon- j s.'.bility of the fraud he had committed, on his sister. This was his ’ only hope, as he calculated, of avoiding any I awkeard police enquiry. The family would take care to hush up the affair. Otherwise he had got himself into a very nasty mess. “Look here, Sir John,” he said truculently, “I might as well tell you something you may not be keen on hearing. I came along to explain that I have been getting myself into a very awkward position through your wife—you may as well have it straight.” “By all means, let me have it straight,” said ’Sir John steadily. “Those Corots—she wanted money, and I copied them for her. There is no Mr French —never was.” “I see. No Mr French, you mean—you are Mr French?” “She was desperate—so was I.” “I -wondered, of course * Sir John said, no more, and his face assumed such a look of agony as Gordon had never seen before. He rushed to the door and shouted. Instantly Norris entered, followed by the Nurse. “Not your fault, Gordon 1” came his faltering voice. But Gordon Tate fled as though seven devils were on his track. A Specialist from next door, who knew Sir John’s case intimately, was brought in, and Norris rang up The Grange. But Sir John ‘Hammond had seen his last patient, and had made his last supreme effort to play the Christian gentleman. * * * • And Paula, who bad been busy all day putting the house back to the normal after the party, was resting in the library, when Robert came home from his adventure in Town. “Ah, there you are!” he exclaimed. “Robert, what is it?” she asked. “What isn't it?” and he flung himself down. iHe told her the amazing story, and confessed his folly in having allowed his uncle to escape. “But this picture you brought home ?” “I-’ll get it,” he answered. “It was, as a matter of fact, addressed to “Paula, with Uncle Gordon’s compliments !” “Quite insufferable!” said Paula. But as they examined the painting they had to confess that it was a work of art —probably genius. “But, Robert,” said the girl, “it’s all so pitiful. How are we to explain to Daddy?” “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Life has blown out like a seeding dandelion I” And then the telephone bell rang, and Robert lifted the receiver. “Oh, that you, Norris? What’s that? Heavens! we’ll come along at once—both of us. Give Sir John our love.” “Daddy, a heart attack?” “A bad one. I’ll get out the ear!” Robert was gone, and Paula stood for a moment, too bewildered for action. Then the telephone startled her to attention. “Yes,” she asked breathlessly. ‘‘That you, NoVris. Miss Paula speaking. I see, thanks—we shall be with you as fast as the car can race.” “Ready?” asked, Robert.

“No,” and she shook her head. “We’re too late —Daddy is dead!” and she flung herself into his arms. It was some time later, when the son and daughter had made all arrangements for Sir John’s mortal remains to he. brought home, that they took up the anxious task of calling at the Nursing Home to break the news to their mother. (To Be Continued).