PAID IN FULL

Waikato Times, Volume 127, Issue 21190, 13 August 1940, Page 8

PAID IN FULL

= NEW SERIAL STORY =

H. S. Sarbert

CHAPTER I. Preston and Son “Well, that’s the full list of groceries for this week, Mr Preston,” said old Mrs Holden. “The bacon must be long rashers, but not too fat. You do understand, don’t you?” David Preston inclined his head. It was not very often that old Mrs Holden honoured his shop with a personal visit. Usually she sent her maid with the order. And although the order was not by any means a large one, Mrs Holden had been dealing with him for a great number of years, and that was what counted. David, always paid special attention to his old customers. “I’ll look after it myself, ma’am,” he told Mrs Holden. “I’ll send it up this evening.” “Thank you very much, Mr Preston. Oh, how is that son of yours? Still in the architect’s office, I suppose. I heard he celebrated his twenty-first birthday a few weeks back! Well, well—that, makes me feel very old, for I can remember when you were only that age ” She paused questioningly, and was not kept waiting a moment for the answer she sought. “I was fortytwo last birthday, ma’am,” David Preston said.

He did not look as old as that. He was a fine, upstanding man, with no trace of grey hair, and a pair of steady blue eyes that looked the whole world in the face—as well they might, for David “owed not any man” and never had. “Preston and Son” was the name above the grocer’s shop, and David had taken over from his father. He had worked hard at the business, too. As Shalford had grown from village to small town, so the business had improved, and David had not spared himself in any way. Of course, he had experienced bad times. The slump had hit him as it had others; but he had a fine, doublefronted shop, and the customers were regular. They knew they could trust David Preston to give them a square deal. He had married very young. A boy-arld-girl marriage it had been, but it had lasted only a year. Dora Preston had died in giving birth to their son, and it had taken David—only a boy himself—a long while to get over that blow, for he had been passionately fond of his girl-wife. Both David’s parents were dead, and with a son to look after, the folk of Shalford had declared he would soon marry again. ' But he had surprised them all. He had not married again. He had obtained a kindly old soul to do the housework and look after the baby, while it had been necessary. Afterwards, he had tended the boy himself, and they had become something more than just father and son. They had been pals—real pals. David might have had a lot more money in the bank now, but for what he had spent on Harry. But it had been his great aim in life to give Harry every chance. Harry had been sent to the Grammar School first, and then over to college at Abridge, which he had not left until past seventeen. “Waste o’ money!” old John Winn had snapped. He was David’s biggest competitor, owning the grocery store at the other end of the town. “Impoverishing yourself—and for what? I’ll tell you! Putting false notions into the boy’s head. He’ll never want to settle down in a grocer’s shop after all this! No; he’ll get high and mighty ideas!” And David, quietly filling his pipe, and sitting back in his armchair, had answered: “Well, we’ll see, Mr Winn. Whatever the boy has a leaning to, that he shall have—if it’s in my power. If the butter-and-bacon-and-egg line doesn’t appeal to him, and he wants to try something else, he’s only got to tell me.” Perhaps, even as he had spoken, David had hoped deep in his heart that Harry would elect to follow in his own foot-steps—that the firm of “Preston and Son” might continue to be an actual fact. But Harry had always liked drawing—especially sketching buildings—and before he had left college h£ had decided definitely that he wanted to be an architect. There had been a heart-to-heart talk between father and son, and everything had been arranged. Harry had gone into the offices of a firm of architects and surveyors, and ha,d already passed all his examinations save the final one. All this had meant that David Preston’s banking account had run pretty low. But what did that matter? It was for the boy’s sake, for his good- It was what Harry wanted. Who else was there in the world for David Preston? David knew that one day he would have to lose his boy—or at least share him—for Harry and Viola, the orphan granddaughter of old John Winn, were the best of friends. They saw each other in the evenings; they were visitors at each other’s homes. And David would have no fault to find with that, for he .had known Viola since her childhood. A pretty, good-hearted lass she was. Just the sort of wife for Harry—when the time came. Mrs Holden rose from her seat, and with the aid of her stick made her way towards the door. The ramshackle old taxicab that she hired by the hour when she wanted to do shopping, was waiting for her at the door. “Forty-two, eh?” she said in reply to David Preston’s remark. “Well, that seems ’quite youthful to me—but I’m looking back from sixtyfive, you see. How does it feel to be forty-two, Mr Preston.” “Young!” David replied—and his laugh rang out heartily. “Always young, ma’am, because, you see Harry keeps me so. We’re pals! We do so much together, and I can’t be feeling old with him by my side!” He helped the old, lady into her conveyance, and watched her drive away. He did not go back into the shop immediately. He stood at the door, looking up and down the street. It was just after five in the afternoon, and Harry should be along soon now. He had said he would be home early this evening. He was going to do his father’s accounts for him; and then, as soon as the

shop was closed,, they were going off for a lqng stroll together. Presently a little girl og about five, the child of a couple living in one of the cottages along the road, came up and lisped out an order for some tea. Her mother was standing at the gate, watching. David went into the shop and gave her the small package with a couple of small cakes for herself. “There you are, my dearie,” he said. “Now go straight back to mother, and be careful of the traffic!” But the warning was not heeded. The little girl ran out of the shop, and stepped into the road just as a smart twp-seater sports car swung round the corner. The car was travelling at a high speed, and it was only the quick thinking and the pluck of David Preston that averted a fatal accident. The child, bewildered perhaps, had fallen down and the car was bearing right down on her. In a flash David Preston was there—whipping the child up in his arms, pulling her out of danger, with not the fraction of a second to spare. The frantic mother, who had run up, caught the child in her arms, pressing her to her breast. There were tears in her eves as she turned to David Preston. “God bless you, Mr Preston!” she cried. “You’ve saved my baby’s life! She would have been killed but for you. God bless you for it!” “That’s all right,” David said. “You take the little one heftne, Mrs Brown. “Ay, I will that! But that woman ought to be punished—riding about in that way, not caring what she does, because she happens to have plenty of money. Oh, yes, I know her! She’s one of the guests at Greenclose Hall. I’ve seen her before, driving that car as reckless as could be. She ought to be prosecuted.” (To be continued)