A BOARDING HOUSE ROMANCE.

Sun (Christchurch), Volume I, Issue 198, 25 September 1914, Page 2

A BOARDING HOUSE ROMANCE.

It was half-past eight, and the boarders, with the exception of Mr Jones, who ■was still in bed, and Mr Potts, who had left to eateh an early train, were assembled round the breakfast table. Mr Simpkins, the new man, who was partly responsible^for. this punctual attendance,. wasj|beiiig instructed in the ways of the household. "And how did you sleep, Mr Simpkins?" asked Mrs Pebblethwaite, who had kept her own boarding-house in her time. "Well, I hope." _• "Not too well," he admitted. "A door slammed soon after I got to sleep, and I lay awake for hojirs. This morning I was wakened about half-past five by someone walking very heavily up and down the passage." "Ah!" The more seasoned boarders looked at one another with pursed lips. "I'd complain, if I were you," said Mr Appleton, who was stirring breadcrumbs, into his porridge, a proceeding which irritated Mrs Pebblethwaite almost beyond endurance. "Don't do anything of the kind, Mr Simpkins," said that lady, austerely. "You will only get yourself into trouble if you do. You know that per- . fectly well', Mr Appleton. He wants to make a catspaw of you, Mr Simpkins," she explained, with a sweet' smile. "It's not easy to make a catspaw .of me," said Mr Simpkins, "but what do you mean, exactly f" All the older boarders looked at one another and smiled. Miss Pruss, ..the little shop-girl, laughed outright, rather stridently. Mr Bichards, the lame boy, with the pale, unhealthy skin, smiled wearily. Mrs Pebblethwaite made vio : lent signs in the direction of the kitchen, where the landlady was engaged in serving the breakfast. Conversation ceased abruptly when the maid-of-all-work entered with a second cup of coffee for Mr Appleton. When she retired, .everyone laughed merrily, as at a goptt joke." Miss Pruss took it upon herself to explain. "She's sweet on 'im y' know," she said; ''Who?'' asked Mr Simpkins. ''Not ■'""'„'■ There was a roar of laughter. Everyone knew exactly what he meant. Fanny, the little, down-atrheels servant girV always did smell strongly of coarse, yellow soap. The new boarder •was evidently a funny man. He would be an acquisition' in that dull household. Nobody disliked Fanny, but it was unpelasant that she should always smell of soap. ."That's good," said Mrs Pebblethwaite, when the laughter subsided, "that's very good!" "But who's she in love with?" asked Mr Simpkins, with his brows wrinkled- ', -!,.'■■ "It ain't her," explained Miss Pruss; it's her!" pointing in the, direction of the kitchen. Mrs , Pebblethwaite closed her eyes for a moment as though a sharp pain had shot through her temple. She always did that, when Miss Pruss said "ain't." Mr Appleton shifted in his seat. He, too, felt it hard ' that he should be compelled to listen to such evidences of a lack of education. He bad never been used to it, and it jarred

upon him. On this point, at least, he joined issue with Mrs Pebblethwaite. "Still," said Mr Simpkins, "I am at a loss." "Miss O'Donohue," explained Mrs Pebblethwaite with an ultra-English; accent, that Mr Simpkins might" not think the whole company uncultured, "has a favourite boarder." She pronounced it "fee'vorite." "Ah! " said Mr Simpkins, and everyone roared with laughter at the tone in* which he said it; everyone, that is to .say, but Mr Bichards, who seldom took any part in the conversations. He occasionally went so far as to scandalise the company by reading at meal times. He was a clerk in a small city office, but was in reality' not strong enough to earn his living. He hated these boarding-house meal times intensely. The position was carefully explained to Mr Simpkins. Miss O'Donohue was "angling" for Mr Potts, and the issue was still wrapped in doubt; consequently it was a fascinating subject to speculate upon. If "anything came of it," Mr Johns would owe Mrs Pebblethwaite fivve shillings. He had also declared himself ready to eat his hat. Miss O'Donohue was always talking of giving up. This, some thought, woiild bring Mr Potts up to the mark. Mrs Pebblethwaite's trump card was MuPotts's regard for the material comforts, and no one denied that; Miss O'Donohue could' cook. He had been heard' to say that he would never get married as long as Miss 0 'Donohue kept a boardihg-hpuse—an extremely significant statement under the circumstances. One by one the boarders filed out of the room until only Miss Pruss and Mr Bichards remained. He picked up the newspaper languidly, and she threw herself down at full length upon the horsehair sofa, "Not going out?" he asked. "No," she week 's .holiday—without pay!" "Without pay? That's a bit rotten, isn't it?" .*. . . "It's beastly, I don't know how I'm goin' to manage. I 'ni not goin' to write home for any; I know that." • "I'll lend it to .you." ;:" "You? That's; real decent of you, Mr Richards; but I couldn't take? it. You want all you have, too, I know." .. "Oh, I'm all right that way. I have enough. I never spend anything much, you know, and I;diave a few pounds of my 'own coming in each month. If. it wasn't for chemist's bills I'd get along fine." "It's after nine!" "I'm not going in to-day either. I had rather a bad turn yesterday. Fainted in the office, and tumbled off my sto ed in the office, and tumbled off my stool. I tore my coat, too, my best one —I hadn't changed into my office one, unfortunately. I 'll have to mend it. My chief told me not to come in again till Monday, so I 'm taking things easy for a day or two." ''l'm awfully sorry you are bad, Mr Bichards. I often think you don't take enough care of yourself. Men don't. They don't understand what it- means, 'ill often like to tell you things, only ii don't seem any business of mine. I'll mend your coat for me, if you'll let me." "Oh, will you really? I know I'd make "a ""mess of it, and I always get my cotton into such a tangle. It's—it' 3 awfully good of you, Miss Pruss." . '"Oh, no it ain't. I'd like to do it. I would, straight." "All right. I'll get the coat,", he

I said, and, reaching for his crutches, struggled to his feet. He presently returned with his coat. '' Here's cotton,'' he said, '' but I seem to have lost the needle'' I "Oh, I've bests," she replied. "I'll I give you some; Or, no, better still —if you haven't any, you'll have to bring your things to*me to do. I hate to think of you doing them yourself." He didn't reply, but stood watching her deft fingers. "By Jove, you're wonderful!" he .said after a -while. "I don't know how you do it so easily. Why don't you bring it, out on the verandah? It's stuffy here. I'll read to you while you sew, if you like.'' "Won't it tire you?" she asked. "Tire me? No, it'll rest me,..ino.r»3 like." He read her some short stories by Kipling, and afterwards they discussed them. She was not slow in picking oat the main points of a story for appreciation or,comment, nor did she miss the humour of them. The Indian society ones made her serious. "Those catty people,'' she said. '' Aren't they like us, only .better off and all that?" "You're not catty," he told her. "Yes, I am sometimes," she nodded her head emphatically. '' A real cat. !The r tiles,is the proper place for /me." * "I find you very sweet and—womanly," he said. "Mef" she said, in intense surprise. "Oh, no, you don't. You eouldn't." "I do," he persisted. "Look at what you do for me." ! ' "Sew up a tear in your coat? A fat. lot that is." "I only wish I was. stronger." " So do I, Mr Bichards. I wish that ever so much. ''Would you —do you think you could —like me then?" " Why should it make any difference?" ; "You mean that you like me now? But I mean—more than that?" "Do you mean well enough to keep comp 'ny with you? " "Yes," he nodded. "I never thought about it before; but now you speak of it—-I —I feel pretty Sure I could." "He sighed.' "I wish I was strong, then,'' .he said. i" Why! "she cried. "I'm only a shop girL You're better than that. Your father was a parson — a clergyman.; You wouldn't ever go with a girl like me." * "What difference does it make," he said peevishly. " It's you I want.''. For a long time they sat in silence, gazing out into the sun-filled garden patch, of which the blackbirds were making a happy hunting-ground. Her chin was on her open palm, the breeze was tossing her hair about her temples. Presently he turned towards her, but she was entirely unconscious of his scrutiny. He watched hex slender profile, and let his eyes wander slowly over her slim and dainty girlish form. Many people thought her insignificant, but she was not so to him. She was one of the very few women he had; wished' to know intimately, and his study of herhad made her eminently desirable in his eyesl She was never, clumsy in her sympathy, as so many women, were. Presently she awoke from her abstraction, and ; found his eyes,upon her. She looked back at him. seriously. t " I wonder will you mind," she said, "if I tell you gest'how If eel?'-' "I want you to," he said. " Well, it's like this to me. Since

•lad married again I don't care about going home, ami they don't care about having me. I'm just as if I had no people, really. I wouldn't dream of going to dad for advice, or that. When mother was alive it was different. She was an invalid, and I used to look after her—they'said'l was as good as a trained nurse to her. When she died, I—missed her dreadfully. I can't tell you what it was like. You see, she was like a little helpless baby —I even had to feed her. ' Afterwards —oh, when you've had someone who wanted you 'all the time—who couldn't bear to let you out of their sight, it's terrible for nobody to want you—terrible!" "Do you see how it is? I always liked you, Mr Eiehards. Time and again I've wanted to do things for you. P'raps, if we kept company, you'd let me —it would' be real kindness —don't you understand? If I could make it so that you'd get used to having me doing things for you, so that you couldn',t bear for me to be away from you, it'd be beautiful for. me —just beautiful." '' Aren't you just saying this to — to " She leaned forward in her chair, and kissed'him on the brow. "Now do you understand?" she asked. i His brain was reeling. He had no answer for her. "It don't make any difference what you say," she told him. "It's fixed now. You want me, and I want you, so that's all there is about it." "What'll they say—all of them here?" he asked. "Ohf those poor things! " she cried. "I feel that sorry for them! It's the kind of lives they live that makes them narrow like they are; If something happened to them like what's just happened to me, it would be so different for them. Oh, Mr Eichard, I used to envy Mrs Pebblethwaite the easy times she has, but now—now—l pity her from the bottom of my heart. It's just when people V lives are starved that they get little and mean. I never knew that before/but it's God's truth." He leaned towards her, and took her hand. "You're wonderful!" he-' cried, "wonderful! V . ' '■■». "Not me!"\he laughed, " I'm -just 'Tilda Pruss. You ask anybody. Why! I can't even speak the King's English right—you ask Mrs Prebblethwaite! " She waited a moment for him to speak, but he did not do so. His eyes were full of tears. Suddenly he reached, for his crutches, and scrambled to his feet. He walked to the end of the verandah, and the blackbirds rose in a flock to the telegraph wires, where they sat and scolded the intruder. But he was oblivious to their indignation. He was calling desperately upon hi& manhood to .save him from the unforgiveable folly of tears. —M.,F. WILKINSON, in the ''Australasian."