SECOND CHANCE

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 59, Issue 34, 19 November 1938, Page 9

SECOND CHANCE

By HOLLOWAY HORN.

(Author of “George,

i'YMOPSiS. John Fingal Ferguson, aged about 85, lias obtained a. post with Trevouo and C 0.." Ltd., an old-established business in the country town of Mossford. lie arrives at the place on the Saturday tie fore he starts work to look for lodgings. CHAPTER 11. Ferguson’s knock was answered by a middle-aged woman who was in keeping with the neat appearance of tko house. “Gdod-afternoon,” Ferguson said. “I noticed your advertisement in the ‘Gazette.’ ” “About the room? Come inside, please,” she said, after looking him up and down. “Thank you.” He followed her into the hall where a big grandfather clock was ticking somnolently.

“'l‘h'is,” she said, opening, a door at the back, “would be the sittiiyg room. It’s very small, of course, but it’s cosy and it looks out on to the garden.” “1 don’t want a- big one,” said .Ferguson. “It certainly looks eosy- -as you say.”

Ho looked round the room. Actually it was the first time in his life that he had ever sought such accommodation, and it struck him as very much more attractive than he had imagined it would be. It was small, but it was comforably furnished, clean, and appeared to be quiet. “I think this might do,” ho said. “What of the bedroom?” “I’ll show you.” That, too, was small hut it -would do. “And your terms?” “For full board? Thrty-two shillings. You aro not a Mossford man?” “No. I’m a London man,” ho said with a smile. “I’ve just got a new job in the office of Treyowe’s, the boot manufacturers. My name is Ferguson.” “And when do you wish to corao?” “I’ve just got hero from London I start on Monday morning at Trcvowc’s. If it’s- convenient I could get tho rest of my luggage from the station and settle in at once.”

“Very good, Mr Ferguson. My husband used to work at Trovowo’s. I’m a widow,”

“Indeed?” “My niece is there now. She’s the secretary of Mr Mumford.” “He’s the gentleman I have an appointment with. Well, I’m glad that’s all settled, then.” “My name is Mrs Gaddesden,” she told him.

“Then I’ll he hack for tea, Mrs Gaddesden. I’ll leave this hag now, if I may.”

. Manor Street seemed to have shed it’s depressing air when he got out, hut the change was in Ferguson himself. Mrs Gaddesden was a comfortable, homely person and give him the impression of a woman who would not be unduly curious, a woman who would mind her own business. The house itself—and certainly his two rooms—were cheerful and as he walked through the strange town he felt that he had at least made a goud start jn this new life. “THIS IS MY NIECE.” Ho was in no hurry and made his way to Bridge Street to find the office where his new job would begin on Monday. He had not anticipated anything so modern, and discovered that the offices and warehouse occupied the whole of an island site. It was apparently deserted.

But all the ’buses in the London Road were crowded, for Mossford Rangers were playing at home. A different world, -lie decided. And he was grateful that he was in it, A new world, with new ideals and new interests—and new hopes*.

He recovered his suit-case from the cloak room and since it was heavy he took a taxi back to Manor Street. Ho had been away*for less than an hour but he found that Mrs Gaddesden had lit a fire in the little sitting room. “Tho place gets to feel a bit damp if it’s not used,” sho explained. *“lt’s very kind of you. Mrs Gaddesden.”

“What time would you like your tea ?”

“Any time you like. Five o’clock?” “We usually only have supper afterwards,” she explained. “Most of the gentlemen I have here prefer that. We usually have a bit of haddock or something to the tea, of course.” “1 shall leave it to you, Mrs Gaddesden,” he Said with a smile. It was an excellent tea, far more of a meal than the teas which are served in London and it certainly precluded tho idea of a further heavy meal. He had some books with him and decided that, in spite of everything he was lucky. There are times in most men’s lives when they feel that luck is dead against them, that any effort on their part is bound to be futile. And usually it is some trivial act which shows them that they are wrong. Ferguson's purchase of the “Mossford Gazette” had been done on an impulse ami lie felt that it marked a turning point. It had been the first tiling lie had done in this new, strange town and it had led him to Number Five. But melancholy thoughts crept hack to him. * * * * Saturday night in Mossford in a town where lie did not know a soul. And tho next day would lie. Sunday. But lu* pushed them on one side. He would stroll round the town, walk out into tho country. Read. 'There were a hundred things he could do. He turned the armchair round to the lire and switched on the ligiit. Presently Mrs Gaddesden came in to clear away the meal. “My niece has had tea with me, Mr Ferguson,” she said. “I wondered' if you would like a word with her. She’s at 'Trevowe’, as I told you.”

“I should very much,” lie said. “It is kind of you to suggest it.” “Then come into my room. She may be able to help you. It’s always a bit of an ordeal going to a new place.” “It is, indeed.”

Slu* led the way to a very comfortable room in what is technically known as the half-basement: “Mr Ferguson, this is my niece, Miss Donovan.” “Flow do vou do?” Alarv Donovan

A Moving Story of a Man with a Past,

Copyright.

Two Men and Mary,” Etc).

asked. “What a strange thing llni

\ou should have come to Auntie’s.” “I think it’s a lucky tiling,’’ he said. “We were talking aoout' you this morning at tho office,” she went on. “indeed.” “Yes. Mr Trcvowe told us you were Coming. I’m Mr Mumford s secretary.” “I’m afraid it will ail bo very new to me,” he said. “You’ve been in an office before?” “Oh, yes. 1 had a look at Trevowe’s this afternoon,” lie said with a smile. “Then it will bo all very simple to you, I’m sure.” “1 wonder. I’ve not been in business for some time.” “I think you’ll find us a nice lot of peoplo to work with,” she said with a smile. teh-s was rather nervous and disappointed that Ferguson had proved so Uncommunicative. “I’m sure I shall,” he said. . ‘(l’m certain that Mary will do anything she can to help you;” Mrs Gaddesden put in.

“Of course.” “That’s very kind of you, Miss Donovan. And 1 appreciate it.”

There was an awkward silence. “It’s a now world to me. I’ve never been in Mossford in my life before,” iio explained. “You’ll get used to us,” Mrs Gadclesden assurred him.

“Anyway, I shall be seeing you oa Monday morning, Mr Ferguson,” Mary Donovan said. “And now I must be going, Auntie. I’m going to the pictures,” she added. “You young people seem to live at the pictures,” her aunt commented. She smiled: “Good-night, Mr Ferguson.” “That was nice of hex*,” he said to Mrs Gaddesden later in the evening. “She is a nice girl,” the aunt re-

plied. Mary Donovan’s visit to the pictures that evening, however, was strangely unsatisfactory. .She was with a friend—lnspector Gari’od, of the Mossford Constabulary and under normal conditions would have enjoyed it very much. They contrived to visit the pictures together once a week, and Garrod was a very good-looking fellow. He was in love with Mary Donovan and from time to time had asked her to marry him. But Mary had always said “No.” He had done extremely well in the force and was remarkably young for the position he held. Ho had a good job xvith a. good pension in the future, and most girls would not have had to he asked twice.

But Mary Donovan* looked upon him as a friend and nothing else, which from the Inspector’s point of view was no use at all. He was, however, too wise and experienced to be importunate, and in any case she was a charming companion.

“Anything worrying you Mary?” he asked between tho films: “No. Why should there he?” “I don’t know. You seem very quiet.” “I’m not usually talkative, at the cinema, am I?” “There is something worrying you!” ho insisted. “Okay at the office?” “Quite. Of course it is.”

• They relapsed into silence as the big feature began.. It was, as films go, a reasonably good one, but at the end of it Mary had only a vague idea of its plot. She was thinking of Ferguson and the more she thought of him, the more he puzzled her. Fie was a gentleman. Tho word is vage but its meaning is sufficiently definite to show the trend of her thoughts. He was as much a gentleman as Mr Trevowe, for example. And yet ho was coming to the office in what was bound to be a minor capacity. He was—she hesitated. Forty? No. Thirty-seven, perhaps; probably less. Thirty-five or so, she remembered Mr Trevowe had said. And yet he seemed older. There was a gravity in his manner. Flo rarely smiled. A sadness. I. . that was it. She clutched at the word as if all her thoughts about Ferguson crystallised into it. Several times during tho progress of the film her companion glanced at her. But ho was a wise man and said nothing. CHARTER 111. STRANGER AT MOSSFORD. Mossford is not a very exciting place on Sunday. Shops and cinemas are closed and the stTeets in the centre of the town are practically deserted. The people are in their homes; the British Sunday Dinner is still an institution in. Mossford.

“It is going to be a lovely* day,” Mrs Gaddesden told her new lodged when sho brought in his breakfast. “If you cared, you could get a ’bus at the end of the road to Ferry Woods; they are very nice in the spring. Din liter will be at one o’clock, if that suits you.” “It does, admirably,” he smiled.

Ho felt even more a “Stranger in a strange city” than he had done on tho Saturday, and ho was glad to follow Mrs Guddcsden’s advice.

Ferry Woods were all that, roinaiucd of what, in tho Aliddle Ages, had been a great forest, find generations of Mosslord people had walked in thelll. But few of the people who were there that lovely April morning were alone. Many courting couples were there, and groups of young men and maidens, but few solitary people. But it was a pleasant place, and Ferguson returned to Number Five quite ready to face the Institution.

In the evening he went to the big church ho had noticed in the London Road. Tho preacher was a broadminded, tolerant man, who had sometiling to say and knew how to say it. He took as a text that wonderful phrase: “Let him among us that is without sin east the first stone.” The sermons that have been preached on this phrase are, of course, innumerable, 'but the young man who preached that evening touched some deeply responsive chord in the soul of at least one of his listeners.

Slowly and thoughtfully, Ferguson walked homeward after the service. In some subtle way lie no longer seemed so utterly alone and could face the life ahead with a new courage. His reaction

\tas rather curious for lie was not, usually, conventionally religious. He had, indeed, gone to the church in the first place to escape from his own loneliness, from a fear of being alone.

Five minutes to nine tho next morning found him one of the stream of workers who turned through the big entrance of Trevowe’s Ltd. Just inside he saw a notice: “Enquiries.” He tapped at the window and after a minute or so tapped again ; evidently there was nobody on duty until nine. He waited and was startled when the window was suddenly opened: “Yes?” u young woman said. “Fr .. I have an appointment with Mr Mumford. My name is Ferguson.” “Will you wait oxer there,” she said, indicating the room opposite and closed the w indow.

The waiting-room was hot and stuffy It had evidently been closed over the week-end and the big radiator was apparently functioning fully. Ferguson waited. Ho examined the framed advertisements of Trevowe’s, Ltd., which decorated tho room, and still waited. Ten past, a quarter past, wften suddenly the door was opened and the young lady in tho “Enquiries” said: “Come this way, please.” She led him along a corridor from each side of which offices opened.. At the end, sho tapped at a door and stood aside for him to enter.

“Good morning, Mr Ferguson,” said Mary Donovan. “Sib down, please.” There was no one else in the room.

“Er . . good morning.” “Mr Mumford is busy, just at 'the moment, hut he won’t be long.’’ “It’s very pleasant finding you here.” “I’m always here,” she smiled. “I’m Mr Mumford’s secretary.”

At that moment Mr Mumford himself came iixto the room.

Ferguson rose: “Good-morning, sir,” he said. “‘Mv name is Ferguson.” “Oh, yes. I was expecting you. Mr Trevowe said you would be here. Sit down, won’t you? To be quite frank, Mr Ferguson, I’ve only the vaguest of information about you. About your experience, I mean, and the kind of work to put you on; Usually, of course. I attend to appointments to the office staff myself.” “I’ve had a fairly extensive experience of office work.” “In London?” “Yes. And abroad. I was some years in Singapore.” “You quite understand Mr Ferguson, that, for the time being, at any rate, you will- occupy a comparatively junior position in the office?” “I quite understand,” he said. “Then I think you had better go into the sales department. Mr Goodspeed, who is in charge of it, has been with us for many years, but he is away ill.” “Thank you.”

“I think I should warn you that you are almost bound to meet with a certain amount of . . . suspicion—l had ;ij most said hostility—in the staff, Mr Ferguson,” the elder man said with a certain diffidence in his manner. “Coming as a stranger?”

Mr Mumford nodded: “But it won’t mean anything. If you meet with any serious difficulty 1 should like you to come straight to me.” “Thank you. But I hope the necessity won’t arise.” “Don’t misunderstand me. You will get what the films call a ‘break,’ but our peoplo arc clannish and are almost bound to regard the coming of a man from London as a personal slight —in a sense.” “I can understand that, sir.” “Mr Trevowe himself has taken up your references; lie made that quite clear.” '

“Yes. It was kind of him. He has proved a good friend.”

Mr Mumford did not reply for a moment: “Quite,” he said.

“I’m starting afresh in Mossford, Mr Mumford,” Ferguson said, and for a moment the eyes of the two men met.

“Don't forget to come to me, Ferguson, if'you think I can help you. I have Worked for and with Mr Trevowe and his father before him, and 1 have a very hearty respect for his judgment.” • * *" “You are very kind.” (To be Continued).