Two Christmas Eves.

Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette, Issue 1052, 25 October 1916, Page 8

Two Christmas Eves.

By J. J. BELL.

(PUBLISHED BY SPECIL ABBANGEMENT.)

Continued. Six months later came the split. There was no quarrel. Marlow nukOy declared that he had had enough of non-speculative, humdrum business. He would retire, and spend the next few years of his leisure in seeing the world. Lockyer did his best to conceal his gratification at the prospect of running the business alone under the old name, bnt by no means on the old lines. They parted on quite amicable terms. They would in all probability not meet again. The last ties were severed by the paying out of the retiring partner's capital. Marlow had ' suggested that this might be done by instalments, bnt Lockyer, thirsting for independence, found the large sum required by borrowing it. in The most sociable member of the Argentine liner's passengers had cornered the most retiring member in the smoke-room. "I have just had it from the captain himself," he announced, dropping upon the divan, "that we shall positively be m London os the morning of Christmas Eve!?' "Indeed!" murmured the retiring member, laying down his book and endeavouring to look pleased. His age might have been a little over thirty, and he evidently desired to be courteous to the intruder, who was apparently his senior by a score of years. "Indeed!" be repeated, then seemed at a loss for further conversation. The other, however, had plenty to say for himself. After a few congratulatory remark* on the liner's speedy passage', he fell to asking questions. "Going home for good?" "For six months, at any rate." "Ah! Haven't made up your mind about settling at home?" "Not quite?' "Just so, just so. Are you a Londoner?" "I was." "H'm! I see. You have been abroad for some time. How long hare you been in the Argentine?" "Eleven years." "Dear me! But yon have been home at intervals P"

"This is my first trip home." "Well, well; you'll see some changes in London, I can tell you—in the streets, at all events. Your people are in London, I suppose?" The younger man shook his head. "1 am not rare that I shall find any friends *in London," he said slowly. "After my mother's death a few years ago, my two brothers—my only relation* in London—went to Canada. One is apt to be forgotten by friends and acquaintances in the course of eleven years." "Come, come," said the other briskly. "I think yon will find you are wrong there!" He proceeded to relate anecdotes of warm welcomes accorded returning exiles of his own acquaintance. When he panted for breath

"Well, there it perhaps oue who will remember me," the younger man said, and inquired with a certain diffidence of manner whether his comSnion by any chance knew a Mr. xrlow, a West Indian merchant. "No/' was the reply. Then: "Not M;ii!ow of Mai low and Lockyer? "Yon know him?" eagerly. "Not personally, bat " The older man hesitated, looking grave. "Don't tell me he is dead!"

"I have not noticed a death under that name lately; but, as I said, I do not know Mr. Marlow personally, nor have I had any; dealings with the firm. My business is of quite a different nature." The speaker rose, .as if eager to depart. "One moment, sir, if you please. You seem to know of something which you shrink from telling me. I beg you to tell " "H'm! h'm! I'm sure I had no desire to pain you. This is extremely awkward for me; and, after all, I may have been misinformed. You are a friend of this Mr. Marlow's, and I would rather you did not ask me to

"I would rather know the worst. Is it something to do with the firm?" The sociable member bowed and looked miserable. "I can only tell you what I heard an 'Change the day before I left London, ten weeks ago—and the report may hare been false." "What did you hear?" "That the firm of Marlow and Lockyer was shaky—on its last legs, in bet." IV. In the dusk of the 24th of December Mr. Lockyer emerged from the portals of a great bank. He looked the crushed and beaten man he was. The manager of the bank, sincerely regretful, for the business relationship had been long and friendly, had blasted hi.lasi hope. The bank could not extent'. further credit, and the heavy bill; payable on the 27th would be dishonoured. After that—bankruptcy. To a modern business many thing* may happen in the course of three years. The history of Marlow and Lockyer over that period would mean a long story. Enough to say that Lockyer, handicapped by his initial borrowing, had found the first two years so profitless that he had dropped his principles and entered desperately into big risks. But a certain genius is required for successful speculation, and that genius seemed to have quitted the busrnsss along with Marlow. The hazards of Lockyer resulted in nothing but disaster. He was alone in his private room —alone on the premises. The clerks —their number reduced since Marlow's time—had gone "en hour ago, the youngsters in holiday mood, the elders vaguely uneasy. Lockyer trusted no one with his secrets, but such things leak out, and his manner on his return from the bank had been very strange. He sat at his desk, motionless, his head in his hands. There was nothing to detain him there. He was' simply afraid to go home. He had kept his wife in the dark regarding his affairs. The younger members of his family—the oldest, a girl, waa not yet sixteen were having a party that evening. How could he face them all ? He fen that the mere sight of him would blight their happiness. "My God!" he whispered, "what a hideous thing to happen on Christmas Crar

His tired mind went back to its feverish futile search—the search that had occupied it throughout these re-

cent torturing weeks—the search, for a way of escape, for the name of some fellow being who might possibly be induced to fend a helping hand. But it was only another spasm of Tain beating against the bars. There was no way out; there was no fellow being who would aid—save, perhaps, one, Harlow. Surely Marlow would do it—if only .because it was Christmas Ere. But Mark) w was still wandering abroad, Lockyer knew not where. His senses dulled by his mental misery, Lockyer scarcely heard the opening of the outer door. When footsteps drew near the private room he did not stir. A clerk returned for some article forgotten—the charwoman —it mattered not. But when a knock feO on the door, he sat up, groped for a pencil, and feigned to be busy. He moistened his lips and got out the words "Come in?'

A stranger entered; a man still young, well-dressed, but apparently ill at ease.

*1 beg your pardon," he said, halting awkwardly just within the threshold, "but I saw. the light in the window, and I was anxious to have a word with Mr. Marlow." He paused, paling a little as he met the curious dull stare of Lockyer's eyes. "Has Mr. Marlow gone home? I should like very much to find him to-night." Lockyer cleared his throat. "Mr. Marlow is abroad* I do not know his address."

"Abroad!" The words was charged with dismay. "Canyon tell me when he will return?" The question came after another pause. "I cannot." The stranger sighed. "I had hoped," he said softly, "to offer—to do Mr. Marlow a little service. I arrived from Buenos Aires bnt an hour ago. The steamer was delayed at the last." "May I ask who are you?" Lockyer had been asking himself who the stranger, faintly familiar, might be, bnt his over-wrought memory ha,* offered no answer. -

The stranger sighed again. "Don' you remember Dennison, Mr. Lock yer?" "Dennison P"

"The thief on whom you had suer great mercy, eleven years ago this veq Eight?" IP" "Yon, Mr. Lockyer. Ah, Mr. Maryon tola me how you sacrificed your principles to be lenient and how you C lined with him in giving me that ondred pounds " "Btopl" For a moment Lockyer's pallid countenance was scarlet. "I see, you don't wish me to refer to it," said Dennison. "Well, my thanks would never give you any idea of my gratitude." "You owe me no gratitude." Dennison smiled faintly. "Nothing von can ever say," he said gently. "'will convince me of that. But now I can say to von what I wished to say to Mr. Marlow. I had Mr. Marlow first in my mind because he was senior: and also, perhaps, because he —shook hands with me that night. I can't tell yon what that meant, Mr. Lockyer." There was a silence. The ruined man made as if to rise. What was he now that he should refuse his hand ? Had he been so very honest in the risking of other people's money? Legitimate business, no doubt—but could it be called absolutely straight? He sank back in his chair. At least he need not act the hypocrite. "I must repeat,' 'he said stiffly, "that yon owe me no gratitude—quite the reverie." Once more Dennison smiled faintly and shook his head. "As you will, sir. But I know what Mr. Marlow told me. And now "

"I ought to have informed you that Mr. Harlow is no longer a member of this firm. He retired more than three years ago." "Retired! Then he is not involved— I beg your pardon, Mr. Lockyer. It may seem impertinent, bat is—is. everything well and prosperous with him?"

"I have no reason to doubt it, Mr. Dennison. He left the firm at the height of its prosperity." Lockyer was writing erratically on the blottingpaper. "At the height of its prosperity," he muttered. "Height of its prosperity." He had become ghastly. "Height of " "Mr. Lockyer, you're £111" cried Dennison.

"I'm perfectly well—perfectly well—perfectly " Dennison took a step forward. "You are in great trouble. On board the steamer I heard—no. never mind that. But if you can tell me a little, perhaps " Lockyer pulled himself together. "What did you hear on the steamer?" Then he collapsed again. "Oh, what does it matter? It'll be in the papers in a few days. We suspend payment on Friday." Dennison's lip quivered slightly as he looked down on the bowed head of the man whom he counted a benefactor. He took an envelope from his pocket. "Mr. Lockyer," he said shyly, "this is a draft on the Bank of England for eight thousand pounds. I will endorse it to the firm. If it should prove sufficient to save your credit, I'D find happiness in the thought till the end of my life. I beg you to accept it." A long minute passed ere Lockyei raised his head. Emotion had wrought new lines on his face. "The money you have offered 10, Mr. Dennison," he said very slowly, "would save me. . . . but I cannot take it." "It was honestly come by," returned Dennison quietly. "I have had some fortunate deals in land out there."

"For Heaven's sake don't misunderstand me! I can't take it—because— eleven years ago I—l would have sent you to jail." _ "But you thought better—more kindly—of it," said Dennison almost cheerfully. He came up to the desk. "May I use one of your pens?" "Dennison, I can't let you do it. I'm humbled to the dust."

"No, sir. You are lifting me from that. I'll go back to the Argentine a new man."

"You go back soon?" Lockyer spoke absently. "To-night. Sail from the Clyde tomorrow."

Lockyer appeared to wako up. "But you have just arrived." The younger man reddened. "Found a cable recalling me." He stooped and wrote across the back of the draft andpassed it over to Lockyer. What man, worried almost to death, could reject the salvation expressed in that oblong of green paper? "As a loan Dennison, as a loan," he said huskily, weakly. "Very weß, Mr % Lockyer. I'll send you my Buenos Aires address when I get there. - I'm making a change." Dennison spoke hurriedly, looking uncomfortable. "Didn't expect to return there so soon, you know. Now, sir, if you will do me the honour to shake hands " "Oh, man, .why 'should I take this money?" cried Lockyer. "Why should you give it?" Dennison's faint smile came again. "It's Christmas Eve," he replied. "That's what Mr. Marlow said to me, eleven years ago." (The End.)