AN EASTER PROPOSAL; OR, RATHER, TWO OF THEM.

Auckland Star, Volume XXX, Issue 77, 3 April 1899, Page 7

AN EASTER PROPOSAL; OR, RATHER, TWO OF THEM.

#She wasn't worth having, anyway! glot worth having, anyway!'

That was the way I mused that afternoon as I walked down the street after seeing her, and that is still my sjyay of thinking.

Gad, but it's a pretty good joke all jtound.

About two days before that day I """happened to drop in on poor Bifkins. Poor, because he is possessed of such a name as Bifkins; because he hasn't *yen the average stock of everyday trains, and, furthermore, because he 5s a good natured, cheerful sort of an idiot all round. Easy to impose upon, end gullible as the day is long.

When I found Bifkins he Avas in an awful state, and as he welcomed me there was almost tears of joy in his (EJpes. 'Of all the men I knoAV.' was Ms unusually., enthusiastic gredOng, 'there's liot one I'm gladder to see.'

And with that he rolled his easiest thair around for me, and, after making me as comfortable as possible, nnfolded, with excitement ill suppressed; the reason for his ungodly joy at seeing me. fSay!' said he, coming right to the point, as all born idiots- do, 'I want to propose to the loveliest girl—Oh, well, I don't suppose you want to hear all about her—but I want to propose to her just the same, and I don't dare go and ask her outright, so I want to do it by mail; and, by Jove, I don't know what to say. Say, isn't writing a proposal blazes, eh? I've torn jap about two reams of paper already, and I Avas just about to give her up, When —you came in. You'll help me, jtron't you?'

'By gad!' I chuckled softly to myself. Here was a chance for a lark. •Poor Bifkins was so confiding he'd do almost anything a fellow * euggesjfced, and I knew he would.

I'd written a letter of proposal that, afternoon myself to Miss Helen Gold3tox, and I knew the task was no easy One; but then imagine poor Bifkins jsvanting to do the same thing to some txfcher fair maid. 'Who is she, Bifkins?' I asked, cynically.

'Well,' said Bifkins, after thinking la minute, 'I'd rather not tell her name, fn case she won't have me. But say, lold chap, that's no reason for you not ito help me with the letter, is it?' and }ie looked at me pleadingly.

'Oh, not at all, not at all,' I replied, (cheerfully; in fact, on second thought, M considered that I'd rather not know, jfor it might he some nice girl I knew, and that would deter me from helping Bifkins write the kind of letter I had Sn mind.

'Thanks,' was all he could say *sTou don't know how good you are.'

'Oh, don't I, though?' I replied; and jthen thought to myself I might prove |oo good. 'All right then,' said he, 'let's get Jright at it.' I walked about with my hands in Eny pockets for a few moments while lie watched me, when I said:

'You'd better write as I dictate.' 'Just the thing,' he replied, and sat flown all ready to go ahead. 'You love her an awful lot, do you?' J asked before going ahead. ■ •f'Oh, heaps!' he replied. »* 'Andsshee —cr —cares for you?'

; 'I think so. Er—l'm quite sure of |t!' he replied. 'Ail right, thought I to myself, this *rtll be the test of it. Then I began thinking.. My darling, thought I; no that would be too tame. My Dearest Darling; yes that would be more like St I thought, so I quietly chuckled to myself, and began. 'My Dearest Darling!' 'Oh, say, isn't that putting it a trifle strong for a proposal?' inquired Bifkins turning round. , 'Oh, no,' said I, carelessly. ''The fcisual thing.* ~*Well, you ought to know, you've proposed and been refused so often,' ihe remarked, laughing loud at his fc>wn conceit. *

I. said nothing, but if I had any before, they were now sail removed, so I went on, and Bif3dns wrote:

'My Dearest Darling: — "Ever since I first beheld your sweet, tongelic face, your—(Blue eyes, Bif-3-ins? I thought so)—your laughing, sky blue eyes, and tresses golden — )(0f course she has red hair Bifkins? rYou say golden will do'?. Aha!)— |your tresses, golden as the sunlight jon a stunning summer's day, I have jthought of nothing else, of nothing, Nothing else, but you. •Dearest darling, I feel for you the tender, loving, sacrificing passion that Borneo felt for his own Juliet, and there is rtothing I would not do to liave you let me call you my own jftwniest darling. 'Believe me I would even live in Howick if yoi# so desired it. —('Oh tyes,' I here assured Bifkins, 'that's all right!')—So you will see, darling, that my devotion knows no measure, but is "boundless as the rippling, heaving fcnmnier sea where first I met you— KYou say you didn't first meet her at Shje seashore? No? Oh, well, that idoesn't matter. It sounds nice, and $hey never know!)— where first I met #ou. "'The Lord saith in Genesis, darling. % is not good for man to be alone,' tod He ought to know.

'Darling, you don't know how it makes my heart beat when I think of your lovely azure orbs, resembling ithe sunny skies of Italy whereof the $oets love to rhapsodise, but which ;f have never seen; and of those silky, (waving, rippling tresses that form your crowning glory; for never was there woman wore such a crown as .thine. 'Let me call you mine,*, dearest darBng; let me call yon mine. For know you, as Dante had his Beatrice so have I you'; you whom t wish to call my verjr own. 'Write t.oon; and believe me, dearftst, darling, \ Yours forever and ever, I" • 'CHOLMONDY BIFKINS.' ■ "When I bad completed dictating Shis ludicrous, gushing epistle, I *ouH hardly refrain from laughing aloud, and naturally thought how different it was to the nice, sensible .one I had despatched to Miss Helen Golatox that afternoon wherein I had politely added that I would call for toy answer in a couple of days—on | Ithe following Sunday in fact, Easter , Sunday. ; Bifkins looked the whole thing over, $ fend then looking up at me dubiously, -..■■asked:. ' . j 'Say, old fellow, do you think this I Is all right? Isn't it just—er—just a trifle—er—strong?' _ It was all 1 could do to keep from laughing at him, poor chap, but I reBtrained myself, and said in an m- || tyired tone."", tor % '

'That's the usual thanks a fellow generally gets for helping a friend out.'

'Oh, say, old chap. I didn't mean that,' he said apologising profusely. 'Of course, it's all right, if you say so' —this even more dubiously. 'Of course it is,' I answered gayly; and then I stayed ;_ntil T saw him put it in an envelope and send it out to be posted.

Gad, but it was a great lark,- I thought as I strolled home afterward, and what a joke it would be to tell the other fellows when I next saw them; for, to tell the truth, it was too funny to keep. I have to laugh as I think of it, even now.

Somehow or other, however, I didn't happen to fall in with any of the fellows for the next couple of days, and AA'hen Easter Sunday came I spruced myself up to wait upon the sweet and wealthy Helen, to whom I thought, after I had been accepted, I might tell the farce, and, as she always exceedingly enjoyed a joke, after she had playfully chided me for being so cruel, I was quite sure to have her join me in a hearty laugh at poor liifkins' expense.

I made my way to the Goldrox mansion, and being admitted, waited in the parlour several minutes for Helen to come down. Having to wait was unquestionably a g-ood sign, thought I; girls always like to put a few finishing touches on their toilette before they come do vn to meet their future husbands, and I was rather glad she made me wait.

When she did come down she didn't act just as I'd hoped she would; that is, she didn't come nestling into my arms or anything o_ that sort. But then, thought I, Helen always was a sensible sort of girl, and wasn't very apt to do that sort of thing. So we just shook hands, and I sat down on the sofa, but instead of joining me Helen took a seat in one of the chairs that stood quite near to the sofa, but yet not near enough to be comfortable.

I confess I was slightly embarrassed for a moment, but, recovering my self-command, I softly whispered: —

'Helen. I've come in person to urge what I asked in my letter of proposal, and hontstly, sincerely trust that you care sufficiently for me to trust your future happiness in my hands.' I know^this reads cold, but I said it sincerely, fervently.

Helen didn't speak for nearly a minute, when, sinking her voice she said: —'Believe me, Mr Hardup, I am equally sincerely sorry, and I should have written you,.only I didn't know how to put it, but the very next day after your proposal, I received another, so passionate, so flattering, so— oh, so beautiful!'—and gad but her eyes lit up—'that, though I have always had a most. friendly regard for you I could not resist—the gentleman who wrote the other proposal's passionate, beautiful pleading, and I wrote him a letter accepting him by the return mail. I—l hope I haven t hurt ybu, and I'm awfully, awfully sorry, but, then, there are any number of other really nice girls, and— and'—and then no doubt fearing she might put her foot in it, Helen said no more. , „ I sat half dazed for a moment, and luen I summoned up enough courage to murmur, 'May I ask the gentle-

man's name?' ;. .-., <Y__ es _' she answered, timidly, its Mr Bifkins.' . _. , + „ _ T was almost temped to burst ou u laughing*, I thought il must be a ioke. But instead I merely murmured, 'And do you care so much for him?' , ' .. :, , T 'Well, candidly,' she replied, I hadn't thought much about him before—before I received his proposal, but when I read that, so fiery, so kind, so full of burning admiration, mT eyes seemed to open and read my heart aright, and in the-the-en-thus'asi fnd' fervour of the moment I sent him my reply.' After that I . didn't stay to hear nmch move, and as I went down the Sont stairs I didn't know whether I ought to laugh or feel sorry. But as I went up the street, and the recollection of that ludicrous letter filled with the imbecile gush, and JScf comedy heroics that I had dictated for Bifkim came back to me and I came to consider that Helen Ccldrox had taken the Laura Jeaa Libbyian sentiments as serious, and ta«£a part, I couid not help but muse that she wasn't worth having S^sy Nope! Not worth having,

TlnLaged to avoid Bifkins for a time bat ot last he found me out, and insisted on wringing my hand and callin- me his benefactor, his best friend! and a lot of other names, enStaff me, as 1 hoped for a place in heTven, never to mention the circumstance of my dictating the letter to anSess to say I never have until

Tderive no end of comfort from iookintr over the comic papers at the nrallel pictures of the woes of the Ean win? won the girl and the joys S him who had rejected, and remamit is still my firm convfctio^that she wasn't worth having, anyway!