PAID IN FULL

Waikato Times, Volume 127, Issue 21197, 21 August 1940, Page 5

PAID IN FULL

= NEW SERIAL STORY =

by H. S. Sarbert.

CHAPTER ll.—(Continued) “I’ve told you that I’ve left it in charge of good hands?” David answered. “You wouldn’t like to sell out to me I suppose? Five hundred pounds, I suggested, and the offer is still open. It’s a good one. It’s a generous one. You might not get it again.” David Preston smiled. “I’ll stick to the business all the same, thank you, John,” he replied. “Well, I’ll be getting along,” he added. “Got to catch the early train in the morning.” “Won’t you stop and have some supper, Mr Preston?” Viola asked. *'l’ll soon have it ready.” “Thanks all the same, my dear; but I’ll be getting back,” David answered. Must turn in early so as to be fresh in the morning.” Viola saw him to the door, and they clasped hands warmly. “I’ll be thinking about you, all the time,” she whispered. “And you’li be sure to let me know everything that happens, won’t you?” “I will,” David replied. “I’ll keep you well posted with the news—good news, I hope it will be, my dear.” “Don’t worry about the shop,” Viola said. “That will go along all right. I’m sure Mr Bennett is a good man—and I’ll look in myself every day.” She stood waving to him, until his tall figure disappeared round the corner. Soon David arrived back in his lonely home. Lonely! Ay, it was lonely! No doubt whatever about that. It had been like that ever since Harry had left. David did not trouble to cook himself any supper. He did not worry about food these days. He just sat and smoked a last pipe before turning in. And every now and then his eyes travelled up to the portrait of Harry on the wall. The separation would have been a lot easier to bear if he had felt that the boy was all right; but instinct told David that all was not well with Harry—that there was something wrong somewhere. He began to reproach himself now that he had let so long elapse before going to London. But tomorrow would settle everything. Then he would see Harry face to face. He would see them all if needs be, including that girl who had had so much to do with taking his boy away. His Great Chance Mr Wilmer Lucas lit a big cigar, and leaned back in his office chair. The office was nicely furnished, and it led to another room where a board meeting had just been held. Harry Preston had been present at that meeting, and now he was standing by Mr Lucas’ desk, the colour ebbing and flowing in his cheeks. “It—it hardly seems possible,” he whispered. He looked very boyish and handsome as he stood there, and Mr Lucas smiled. “My dear fellow, I told you that you were going to get your great chance —and here it is!” he told Harry. “They have examined your plans, have definitely passed them, and have given you a position of authority in the business. Those buildings are to be put up according to your own ideas—out of your own brain. Isn’t that so?” Harry nodded. “Yes, that’s so,” he answered. “I’ve often thought about that, sir—dreamed about it. Big blocks of buildings, towering up to the sky, bridges, great feats of engineering, perhaps —and all designed by me! Oh, I know I’ve got a long way to go before that comes to pass, but it—it does seem that this is the first move towards it, doesn’t it?” Mr Lucas rose and came round to where the boy was standing. “The first big move—and you’ve got your cheque for fifty pounds,” he replied. “You signed all those papers, didn’t you?” “Yes.” The elder man nodded. “Off you go, then,” he ordered. “This has been a day of triumph for you, and you have earned a little freedom. You’re meeting Carrie later on, aren’t you?” “I’m going to call round for her, sir,” Harry replied. “We’re going out to dinner together.” “Fine, my boy, fine!” Lucas said genially. “Mind you have a good time. We’re only young once, and when a young man like you has such a brilliant future in front of him—why, he ought to be happy! That’s all I’ve got to say about it!” But when Harry had gone from the room—when, as a matter of fact, he had left the building—Wilmer Lucas’ expression changed. There was a faint smile playing about his lips as he studied the papers in front of him. He was still studying them when he was joined by another man of about his own age, and who had taken the chair at the recent board meeting. “Well, the work can proceed, Freeman,” Lucas said. “Nothing to keep it back now, eh? The money’ll soon roll in, and it’s up to us to make the most of it. We’ll take the cheapest estimate that is tendered, and then—if any trouble comes of it—our ambitious young friend, Harry Preston, has signed those papers, and he’s over age, as I have told you—he’s a man in the eyes of the law. He’s been very useful, hasn’t he? And this thing may turn out well —we may get right clear with it, and make a handsome profit on the buildings we are putting up—for it should take a month or two, at least, for any defects to show. But if not —it’s still all right for us. That’s finance, isn’t it?” Freeman smiled. Finance! Using the cheapest, shoddiest material! Wilfully misrepresenting matters to folk who were paying money for something better. They may have called it finance, but it was something that was unutterably discreditable, and not the first item of its kind in which these two had indulged. To outward appearances, Wilmer Lucas was a highly respected man. He moved in the best circles, he subscribed to charities, he attended a fashionable church. It was taken for granted that he was a wealthy man—and so he was, up to a point. But his methods of acquiring that wealth would not bear the closest investigation. (To Be Continued)