SECOND CHANCE

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 59, Issue 33, 18 November 1938, Page 7

SECOND CHANCE

By HOLLOWAY HORN.

CHAPTER T. TREVOWE AND CO. Thevmve and Co., Ltd.,*of Mossford, in their own line, were unequalled. They made the finest shoos that machines could produce. The hand-made articlo (as in every other commodity) is, of course, still better, but apart from that, shoes which bore the name of Trevowes. were in a class ol their own. They are expensive, wTiteli in these modern days is a serious drawback, but their quality had never been sacrificed, ft was the considered policy of the firm, and its wisdom —or otherwise—is outside the scope of this record.

In recent’ years the laetory had been modernised and the new offices seemed out of place in Mossford. Chromium plated fittings and mahogany desks took one rather a long way from the ideas of that William Allan I revowe who founded the firm in the days ol the Franco-German war. The William Trevowe who controls the destiny of the firm to-day, however, is a man of ideas, a broad-minded, tolerant business man. He is- nearer fifty than forty and his hair is greying at the temples; in appearance lie is more like a lawyer than a provincial manufacturer and most of his time is spent at the office of the firm in London or in its various subsidiary companies. Mossford, itself, has done its best to keep pace with its famous firm. It has one theatre, five cinemas, and innumerable pubs. Recently it has scrapped its trams and initiated a trolley bus service. Its population lias steadily increased and it has spread out into the pleasant countryside in a sprawling and rather arrogant manner. Trevowes’ offices were in Bridge Street and the office staff, without counting the travellers, numbered nearly forty. Usually the man in charge there was Henry Mumford, the secretary of the company. Ho had been with the firm since he was a hoy and when Mr Trevowe was in London, Mumford was responsible. When things were going well he was a good fellow to work with, hut in moments of difficulty lie lacked the urbanity of his chief. Mr Driscoll, who bore the title of Chief Accountant, was not, in fact an accountant at all. He was a very shrewd kindly provincial. Indeed, uiftil the man who was.known as John Fingal Ferguson joined the firm, the entire staff in the offices and stores consisted of Mossford people born and bred. To a great extent, this differentiated e staff from that of a comparable London office. Everyone knew everybody else, knew all about them, knew where they lived and what their famillies were -doing. In London, workers in an office casually say good-bye at the end of the day’s work, and separate to this suburb or that—-to different worlds; they know little of each other’s lives. In Trevowe’s., on the other hand, there was a tolerant friendliness. Many of the workers in the factory had been to the same school as Mr Mumford, for example, and all of them knew that his mother had originally kept a little draper’s shop in Canlever Street. And incidentally, thought the more of dim for it. The older order gives place to the now, however, even in a town like Mossford,.. and most of the recruits to the office staff came, in these modern days, from one or other ol the Secondary Schools. They had matriculated and possessed accomplishments unknown to Mr Mumford when fifty years before, he had entered the firm as a junior office boy. Mary Dpnovan, perhaps, was typical.

She was eighteen when she came to the firm some six years before, and for threo years had. been Mr Mumford s personal secretary. She was »a rathoi striking girl in appearance, with fair, carefully “permed” hair. Her clothes were always well chosen and as far as appearance went she had no thought outside her job. She lived with her mother, the widow of the manager of one of the big nmltiple shops, in a little house half a mile away from the office. Mr Mumford had come to rely on her; it was an enormous advantage to be able to sign one’s letters—excepting, of course, the very important ones—without reading them. They were never, however, quite as he dictated them. Miss Donovan was far too good a secretary for that. At' twenty-four, Mary Donovan looked out on life with level blue eyes and although several men had been in love with her—were still, indeed, in love with her—she followed the even tenor of her way in a world; in which Trcvowe’s shoes were more important than individual men. Mr Mumford sometimes wondered how long this happy state of affairs would last, for she was an excellent secretary and he had reached the age when change of any kind worried him.

“I AM SENDING A NEW CLERK.” Saturday morning was usually a particularly busy time. Most of the travellers were in and the inevitable mistakes had to be adjusted. Mr Trevowc himself usually spent the week-end in Mossford, for he liked to keep in touch with the travellers.

It was on one of these Saturday mornings that, bo came into Mr Mumford’s room and startled that gentleman by saying; “By the way, Mumford I’m sending you a new clerk down from the head office.” “Indeed, sirl”’

“He hasn’t been in our offirv at all, but I think you’ll find lie’s n. first-class rnan.”

“A new clerk, you say sir?” Mumford asked in obvious surprise. “Yes. Ferguson is his name. John Fingal Ferguson. He will be here on Monday morning,” Mi' Trevowc said a little sharply. “This coming Monday sir?” Mumord asked in still more obvious surprisel. “Yes,” said Trevowc, rather shortly. “He’s a man of thirty-live or so.” Mr Mumford cleared his throat as he usually did when he was perturbed : “This. . . this is a little surprising, sir.”

“J fancied it would be. You’d better keep ail eye on him too, .Miss Donovan.” “Certainly, sir,” Mary Donovan replied.

A Moving Story of a Man with a Past.

(Author ol "George,” "Two Men anj:] Mary, Etc)

Copyright.

•‘Do we take up his references or has that been done?” Mumford asked. “I did it personally, Mumlord,” Mr frevowe said as tho eyes of the two men met-. “Had you any particular work in view for him?” “i\o. That’s your job. I’m certain he’ll he a very useful man. He’s had a wide business experience in one way and another.”

“It lias been our usual practice, as you know, to take a youth and train him,” Mumlord began. “But this time we’ve got a man who will probably- have ideas ol his own. A little new blood will be an advantage in this office.” “Quite. I’ll have a talk with him. Ferguson, von said, sir?” “1 did. He’ll report to you, personally, Mumlord. And if I’m not here before next Saturday you might lot mo know how lie’s shaping. I am anxious that he should be a success. “Certainly, sir.”

And with that ho left them. “It all sounds very exciting!” Mary Donovan said when she and Mr Mumford were alone. “It’s very upsetting,” Mr Mumford amended. “I don’t find it exciting.” “I wonder who he is?’ she pursued.

Mr Mumford shrugged his shoulders: “Evidently some friend or acquaintance of Mr Trevowe. He’s never done a think like it before. Staff questions are usually left to me as you know.” “He evidently wants us to see that the newcomer finds his feet.” “I could sec that. He made it quite clear.” “But how on earth can I look; after him? f’vc got as much as I can do. . ” “To look alter me,” Mr Mumford put in with a. smile.

“Well. • .” Mary Donovan temporised. “You know, it is curious Mr Mumford. Tjie chief took up the references. We shall know nothing whatever about him.”

“That’s so. He will be the one man in tho office of whom wo know absolutely nothing.” “John Fingal Ferguson! What an odd name! However! Sufficient for the id ay . . .” and with that remark she turned to her work. WITHIN THE GATES. Tho man who had so perturbed Mr Mumford was at that moment giving up his ticket at the exit of platform three in Mossford station. Ho had caught the eight-fifty from London and reached Mossford—a. town he had never previously visited—just after eleven. He was a man of possibly* thirty-five, but his hair was already touched with grey at the temples and his sharplyqut features were deeply lined. His clothes were good, but an expert would have noticed that although they bore the unmistakable stamp oi ! Saville Bow —or one of the half dozen streets in the immediate neighbourhood thereof —they were not quite in the current style. Few people would have noticed the fact, for men’s clothes change in few and unimportant details; but the expert would have seen that John Ferguson’s clothes were at least three years old. Ho had two suit-cases with hifii, and alter a certain hesitation deposited tho larger one in the cloak room and went down the broad steps of the station into London Hoad. His first view of the main thoroughfare of Mossford was not unpleasing. Compared with London—the traffic ol which for several days past had been almost too much for him—there was .a leisurely air about it. The people did not seem in such a hurry, nor was life, apparently, keyed to the same high pitch. The shops were smaller and not so impersonal as they had seemed in London ; most of them gave 'one, the impression that they were run by tbo man who owned them and that lie was waiting inside to serve one. Curiously enough, John Fingal Ferguson felt very much less of a stranger in the town he had never seen before than he had done in London—the town in which the greater part of his life, had been spent.

He bought a copy of the “Mossford Gazette” and turned into a modest restaurant to obtain a meal. Steak, chip-potatoes, and apple pie, together with a cup of excellent coffee cost one and eiglitponce, and when the meal was over Fergjison opened the paper. The column .he sought—“ Rooms to let: Furnished”—proved to contain a reasonably varied selection. “I wonder,” he asked the brightfaced waitress, “if you have a map of Mossford ?”

“Certainly,”* she said, and produced one apparently 7 published by one ol the local house-agents. He found Bridge Street—a turning off the London Road—and several of the streets in which furnished rooms were advertised to be let. Number five, Manor Street, seemed the most hopeful. It was loss than a quarter of a. mile away from the office of Trevowes Ltd., in Bridge Street, and e could, apparently, get back to it for his mid-dav meal.

ft proved, however, to be one of those slightly depressing streets which can be found in every town and suburb—the streets which have conn* down in flic world. Largish houses which had, years before, been family residences of the better-class, but which now contained a. big proportion of boarding or lodging houses. Number five was one of the more attractive. From the street it appeared to be clean and neat and it exhibited no sign that it contained rooms to be let. (To bo Continued).