PAID IN FULL

Waikato Times, Volume 127, Issue 21196, 20 August 1940, Page 8

PAID IN FULL

NEW SERIAL STORY

by H. S. Sarbert

CHAPTER 11. “It's bad for you, Mr Preston, I know it is—l know what you are suffering,’’ she said, “but I'll come ! round and see you quite often, I promise I will. And if there's anything I can do for you at any time, you’ll be sure to tell me, won’t you?” “Ay, I will. Viola—of course I | Only I l'eel this way: It isn't | Harry who wrote that letter—it’s ! someone else. It’s his writing, and j he must have penned it —but some- j one has put a spell upon him, that’s : what I mean. And that spell will pass, and the real Harry will conic back again, please God! We've got to think of it that way, my dear—we’ve got to cheer up!” He went to the door to sec her out. since she had to keep an appointment. Then he returned to his room. He Jit his pipe, but almost at once it went out, and he put it down on the table. Again and again he read through that letter. Harry—to go away like that! Just to leave him in the lurch. Not even to come and tell him what he was doing. It wasn't fair. It wasn't playing the game. Why, lie would expect better treatment from an ordinary partner. And this from his son—from his own flesh and blood; the boy who was more to him than all the world. David Preston sat there staring in front of him, and from his lips there came the bitter agonising cry of old: “My son! My son!” A Manager Installed A month passed. David Preston was still in the business. He still served butter and eggs and groceries to his customers. He still smiled and passed the time of day. But he had changed. The hair at his temples was becoming grey; his lips were more set; and when the day's work was finished, and the shop closed, he was not seen about so much. He had stopped going to choir-practice, telling the vicar that his voice was not in good fettle these days. He still occupied his pew in church on Sundays, however. He was suffering, and the vicar knew why—as did other folk. David Preston had lost his great pal—his son. David had an interview with the head of the firm for whom Harry had worked at Shalford. Mr Greenwood had been very sympathetic on the point. “I have a very good opinion of you, Mr Preston,” he had said. “I have every reason to think well of you. You have acted fair and straight always. But it would be useless for me to say that I am anything but bitterly disappointed in the way your son has treated us. He has been far from straight. Leaving us practically at a moment’s notice, just when he had passed his final examination, and could have been of some real service to us.” In the ordinary way, David would nave been up in arms in defence of his boy, but what could he say to this? He knew that every word the other man said was true. He had only been able to murmur that he was sorry, and that the lad .had got big ideas into his head. “I was aware of that,” Mr Greenwood had retorted grimly. “Oh, yes, I know what those ideas are, Mr Preston. Young Harry thinks he can do so much better in London, doesn’t he? He thinks that this firm is not really big enough to give him the opportunity he ought to have, j Well, we shall see. Personally, I am quite sure that we could have put him on the high-road to success. But we would never have him back now—not under any circumstances. He has made his choice, and he must abide by it.” David had not been able to say anything to that, but at the end of the month he had received another letter from Harry which decided him.

David Preston had his pride. As soon as he had an address to write to —and Harry had given him that in the second epistle—he had just written to say that he regretted his son had gone away in the way he had, and that he would like full particulars as to what Harry was doing. And now he had got it in the form of a letter declaring that Harry was being given a great chance. That a big London syndicate were putting up some buildings—houses and shops, and that he was doing the planning. That it would be a big thing for him, and that Mr Lucas had given him this great chance. That was enough for David. He could not let the grass grow under his feet any longer. He must get to London: he must find out all about it, he must get hold of his boy. lie even had the idea in his head that the address that he was given to write to was a false one—just an accommodation address and nothing more. So one evening David sat in old John Winn’s front room, nnd told him what arrangements had been made. A manager had been put in charge of the shop, and he himself | was going off to London the next j day. He did not know exactly how j long he would be away. Perhaps only a couple of days, perhaps longer. He was going to have a chat with Harry anyway. Old John smiled. “Never thought you were going to have any trouble with that boy of yours, did you, David?” he said. “And now he’s turning out—well, not so good after all. Giving you a few sleepless nights, I'll be bound!” David looked squarely at the speaker. “I’m not complaining,” he stated, “and I'm not condemning Harry. I'm just going to see, that’s all. I’ve not lost my faith in my boy. Life wouldn’t be worth a lot to me if I had lost faith in him. He may be off the right path for a bit—l’m not sure about that yet—but he’ll get back.” He glanced up as he spoke. Viola was standing at the other end of the room, and she smiled at him —a smile that her grandfather saw. He grunted with disdain. “She’s as bad as you, David!” he said. “I’ve told her that she ought to know better—that the best thing ' 1 she can do is to put all thoughts of I your son out of her mind —from now I onwards. But what’s the good of I talking to a lass like her? Your son’s : got the laugh on you both. And 1 what about your business while * you’ve gone?” (To Bo Continued)