Two Christmas Eves,

Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette, Issue 1107, 21 November 1917, Page 8

Two Christmas Eves,

SHORT SXORY I

By J. J. BELL.

i F' j —Continued. I “Give him a receipt for the money.’’ I “Nothing else?” 1 “What else should I give him?” j “Your hand, your goodwill “Oh, rot, Marlow I It isn’t Christmas Eve, you know!” ■ Marlow’s countenance flushed red > and pale. “Lockyer,” he said passionately, “you’re a fool—a heartless fool!” Which was scarcely the criticism expected by the junior partner. Six months later came the split, | There was no quarrel. Marlow mildly : declared that he had had enough 01 ! non-speculative, humdrum business, i 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, but by no means on the old ; lines. They parted on quite amicable terms. They would in all probability j not meet again. The last ties were severed by the., paying out of the re-' tiring partner’s capital. Marlow had suggested that this might be done by instalments, but Lockyer, thirsting for , independence, found the large sum required by borrowing it. | - - ! 111 I The most sociable member of the Argentine liner’js passengers had cornered the most retiring member in the j smoke-room. I “I have just had it from the captain j himself,” he announced, dropping upon the divan, “that we shall positively be \ in London on the morning of Christmas 1 Eve!” “Indeed!” murmured the retiring! member, laying down his book and endeavouring to look pleased. His age f might have been a little over thirty, 1 and he evidently desired to be courteous to the intruder, who was appar-} ently bis senior by a score of years. “Indeed!” he repeated, then seemed at a loss for further conversation. The 1 other, however, had plenty to say for '. himself. After a few congratulatory ' remarks on the liner’s speedy passage, * he fell to asking questions. “Going home for good?” • “For six months, at any rate.” I “Ah I Haven’t made up your mind about settling at home?” ! ! “Not quite.” I I “Just so, just so. Are you a Lon- * ■ doner?” j | “I was.” ! j “H’m I I see. You have been ; abroad for some time. How long have : you been in the Argentine?” j “Eleven years.” - “Dear me! But you have been home at intervals?” “This is my first trip home.” “Well, well: you’ll see some changes in London, I can tell you—in the j streets, at all events. Your people are i in London, I suppose?” The younger man shook his head. “I am not sure 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 relations 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 you will find you are wrong there!” He proceeded to relate anecdotes of warm welcomes ac- . corded returning exiles of his own I acquaintance. When he paused for! j breath I j “Well, there is perhaps one who will remember me,” the younger man ! said, and inquired with a certain diffi- ; dence of manner whether his comi panion by any chance knew a Mr. f Marlow, a West Indian merchant. “No, was the reply. Then: “Not Marlow of Marlow and Lockyer? “You know him?” eagerly. ! “Not personally, but——” The older man hesitated, looking grave. ! “Don’t tell me he is dead!” • “I have not noticed a death under • that name lately j but, as I said, I do | not know Mr. Marlow personally, nor j have I had any dealings with the firm. l 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’ml 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 —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 on ’Change the day before I left London, ten weeks-ago—and the report may have been false.” “What did you hear?” “That the firm of Marlow and Lockyer was shaky—on its last legs, in fact.” i IV. In the dusk of the 24th of December i 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 bin last hope. The bank could not extent further credit, and the heavy bills payable on the 27th would be dishonoured. After that—bankruptcy. To a modern business many things 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 round 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, j and that genius seemed to have quitted the business along with Marlow. The hazards of Lockyer resulted in nothing hut disaster. He was alone in his private room —alone on the premises. The clerks' —their number reduced since Marlow’s time—had gone an hour ago, the youngsters in holiday mood, the elders I vaguely uneasy. Lockyer trusted no' one with his secrets, but such things 1 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, was not pet sixteen—were having a party that evening. How could he face them all ?

He felt that mere sight of-him would blight their: happiness. "My God!" he whispered, ','whata hideous thing to happen on Christmas Ever" ... -'"" '.»• ' His tired mind went back to it» feverish futile, search—the ihat had occupied it throughout those re* cent torturing" weeks—the -search foi a way ofcescape, for the name of soma fellow hiihg. who might possibly' be induced to lend a helping hand. But it was only another spasm of vain beating against the bars. There was no way out; there was ho fellow being who would aid—save, perhaps, one, Marlow. Surely Marlow would do it—if only because it was Christinas Eve. ' But Marlow 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 foi I some article forgotten—the charwoman i —it mattered not. But when a knock j fell 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. j ■ Lockyer cleared his throat. "Mr. Marlow is abroad. I do not know hi? I address." I j "Abroad!" The words was charged with dismay. "Canyou 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. x Marlow a little service. I arrived from Buenos'Aires but 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, but • his over-wrought memory ha' offered no answer. | The. stranger sighed again. "Don 1, j you remember Dennison, Mr. Lock I yer?" i "Dennison?" j "The thief on whom you had such great mercy, eleven years ago this ven I night?" - , ? 'MercyP—l?" i "You, Mr. Lockyer. Ah, Mr. Maryou told me how, you sacrificed your | principles to be lenient and how you I joined with him in giving me that hundred- pounds——" . ! "Stop!" For a moment Lockyer's i pallid countenance was scarlet. i "I see, you don't wish me to refer ito it," said Dennison. "Well, my thanks would never give you any idea of my gratitude." "You owe me no gratitude." • Dennison smiled Faintly. "Nothing I you can, ever say," he said gently, "will convince me of that. But now I . can say to you what I wished to say ; to Mr. Mariow. I had Mr. Marlow ; first in my mind because he was senior; and also, perhaps, because he —shook hands with me that night. I j can't tell you what that meant, Mr. Lockyer." , I 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 hot act the hypocrite. "I must repeat,' 'he said stiffly, "that you owe me no gratitude—quite the reverse." 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. Marlow' is no longer a member of this firm. He retired more than three years ago." i "Retired! Then he is not involved—- ! I beg your pardon, Mr. Lockyer. It | may seem impertinent, but 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 ill!" oried Dennison. "I'm perfectly well—perfectly well—- , perfectly " Dennison took a step forward. i "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 hje 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," lie 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'll 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 re, Mr. Dennison," he said very slowly, "would save me. . . . but I oannoi > take it." .. "It was honeßtly come by," returned Dennison quietly. "I have had some fortunate deals in land out there." I "For Heaven's sake don't misunder--1 stand me! I can't take it—because—i eleven years ago I—l would have sent you to jail." "But you thought. better—more kindly—of it," said Dennison almosi cheerfully. He came up to the desk. "May I use one of your pens?" "Dennison, I can't let you do il I'm humbled to the dust." "No, sir. You are lifting me froi that. I'll go back to the Argentine new man." , '"." "You go back soon?" Lockyer spob , absently. ' 1 "To-night. Sail from the Clyde tomorrow." _■'-".'. Lockyer appeared to wake up. But you have just arrived." ■ The younger man reddened. "Found <a cable recalling me." He stopped and wrote across the back of the draft and passed it over to Lockyer. .j What man, worried almost to death, I could reject the salvation expressed in that oblong of green paper ? i "As a loan Dennison, as a loan, he said huskily, weakly. ' "Very well, Mr. Lockyer. I'll send ) you my Buenos Aires address when I J get there. I'm making a change." i 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 ,Marlow said to me, eleven years ago." "V 1 .--/ (TiwEnd.)