COMPLETE TALES.

Auckland Star, Volume XXXVIII, Issue 166, 13 July 1907, Page 13

COMPLETE TALES.

X -sras tie first phonograph to come to j peevy's Mills, and its advent caused I something of a stir. The town j (jiepk had just characterised it as ~ onreligious," and was endeavour-

•• b in vague asperation to prove j gat its on Jy niission vras to P^ av "dance music" The selectman and i~Q. A. R- veteran, as they filled pipes j from his plug, took no positive stand, but j jjadjly united with him in asking—Why ijgd. Whittaker Burnham bought it * Xhe selectman for the tenth time rented, "How came a man so sot an' Ugm in his natur , as Whittaker ter go fa for talkin' machines ? I always s'posed ise lived only ter double th' dollars.' "While I don't approve of his buyin' it," drawled the town clerk, " I guess I've found th' reason. He wants ter chirk up his \riie. Ever since their boy Bob ! Jα away, ten years ago. she's been gloomy ■ an , depressed like. Whittaker, close as fa.is, would buy anything ter rouse her •m. But dang a talkin' machine! " "Tas," observed the stiff-k-gged vete- ; jaii, who revelled in a local reputation of lavin? supplied, the brains behind every campaign in the Civil War, "they're nighty peculiar. I guess bo one knows Aey really be. I remember when 'Grant' •α-as askin' my advice about th' " . "CA talkin' machine is peculiar only •in its disposition ter be cussed." amended the town clerk heavily. '■ They work simple enough. Th' principle is—wal, ye know low they condense milk? It's jest jjf same." c Jest like canned an' preserved stuff, fried the selectman, loudly, his eyes dilating as ie absorbed the theory. TKe veteran's jaw flapped loosely as he jstened to this simple exposition, but the jjerk T&ceived the interruption coldly. c As I ■was sayin'," he continued. " it's J2a eosdensiii' milk. Ter say music is earned ain't ter th' pint. It's more'n that' It's condensed." And he surveyed the selectman defiantly. Then, swinging jjis chair to face the open-mouthed vetejan and ignoring the selectman, he gravely elucidated. "Ye see, they squeeze th' music inter th' smallest compass an' trim off th' edees. When th' machine starts goin' it kind of expands, meller like, an' la-ta-tra-la-la, an' there ye have it! " The veteran ruined his sparse locks itribiousfy,. and tried closing one eye in a futile essay to get the proper perspective, while tie selectman, frowned at the 6tove and shifted the conversation by reminding the others of the original question. "But ye aint give no answer ter th' invitation. I was asked by Whittaker ter call here an' invite yer up ter th' house ier-aiight ter hear th' contraption play for th' first time. Mp errand's done. What d'ye say! " " Don't think Til go," declared the (clerk, biting a penholder meditatively. P It's unmoral." "Wal, I think'Pll accept," confessed :ihe veteran, sheepishTy. "1 don't expect \er enjoy it much, but Whittaker might "fed put out if we all kept away. I remember when General " "Ye see," expostulated the clerk, fotIrowfully, " they can teach a, machine ter cay anything. Who knows what this one has been taught l " ''By Judas! " cried the selectman, his Bull eyes bulging. ~ I know now what bid Burnham is up ter. His wife is failin , fcveryday because nothin' is ever heard ef Bob. Whittaker'd rather lose all his money than his wife. He's goin' ter talk into this thing an' teach it ter cry out that a reward will be paid ter anybody ■ ftimighJTi' lii-m with a clue ter Bob's jeiereabouts. Machines in every city will be rippin' it off, an' somebody is sure ter fcear £h' offer. , '

The town clerk's eyes rolled wide in IHnazed envy as he ponderously digested the suggestion, and his pipe grew cold as he regretted that he had not advanced the theory. The veteran, too, he loathed to behold, was impressed to the point of ptnpor. Naturally, it all irritated the tiok, and as soon as he could group his features into a sneer he sought to turn file tide by facing the veteran and felicitating that individual by earnestly inquiring, "Lemme see, what was it General Bcoti; said to ye when ye called on hi-m in (Washington?" But the selectman was not to be sidetracked so easily, and before the veteran podli delight in a long-drawn-out rcjaral he babbled aloud in self-admira-tion, aaii gusto repeated, the fealient points of his conclusion. As the clerk could not endure any relegation to fiia second rank, he closed the situation toy londly banging his desk-cover and fpod2mnng that it was time to go for &c maiL But even after be had ushered fas guests ontside, the selectman talked the veteran, with mouth agape, Itngot reminiscences in listening. -Ihe clerk, halting on the top step, ™*e3 the two in sullen silence, for a Then further to evince his Vsßon. he bleated: "No, I shan't go %ter-night. I don't believe in them Wsraptions." IV, Iliad man Burnham, in the meanwhile, experiencing considerable difficulty «ta the "contraption," or seemingly gv His wife had paid but scant aitenhe unpacked it. and his mouth down at the corners as he furnoted her abstraction. . "-guess I can never fix this horn on, •J"*? I bought th' dsngetd thing," he Ennobled.

j/"l*fc ine help you, dear," she offered and his frosty gaze burned he saw the colour mount her "=m? ber deft en(ieavo nr to aid him yotrve turned this screw *way Mc .cried triumphantly, as with her 603015 she remedied his ""blunder. "Of rpg s * you couldn't fix it with the screw -"at ■way." And quickly the horn was ■tefxei in. place. : ip "^ H enjoy this, I'm a thinlrin'." ■«jobserved genially, still studying her lace from the tail of "his eye. it? Oh, yes; well enjoy it," «rs Burnham repeated vacantly. ""Ten I? 1 ago yesterday it was. Ten long years!" •ttatS, d ' y - e ****** haJrk back ter "to? a Cned and his black«£lW hand shook as he arranged the "^™ s - He knew it was foolish to ex- -■*** Mr to forget. He had hoped, how«p that the talkinc-machine would by ySterioUS ffi eans operate to arouse ; ™ Brooding mind, even if but for a • -be had purposely tampered with wto her "a petty victory, she was east back amid her again, and aer eyes *«**« »■» iia «k the tea as she sat

ißy HUGH PENTDEXTER.)

by the window and propped her chin in one thin hand. It was her favourite seat; for from that particular window she could watch the brown sweep of dusty road until it dodged behind the curve. On winter nights she had sat there, oblivious to his presence and with the curtains pulled behind her, co she might pierce the darkness. "Why d'ye always hark back ter that?" he repeated weakly, now inviting what he had fought so hard to avoid. ''To Bob?" she inquired wearily. "That what you mean, Whittaker?" "Yas, I mean Bob," he returned fiercely. "Ain't I yer husband? Ain't I ter be considered at all? Don't I count for nothin'?" "Give mc back my boy, then!" she cried, rising from her chair and stretching her arms to the window. "Give mc bick my boy!" Overpowered by her emotions, she sank in a limp heap and sobbed, "Oh, Bob! Bob!"

Her husband pressed his throat and his voice was husky as he asked: "I guess yell always hold it against mc because Bob went away, won't ye?" She ceased her weeping by a mighty effort and sought to smooth out her face as she replied: "I know you've spent money and time, Whittaker, in trying to find him. But—my son! my son!" "It's Villin' her," he mumbled to the machine. • "It's killin' her, an' she blames me."' As if hoping she would refute this conclusion, he patted her gray hair with clumsy gentleness and whispered: "I guess, little woman, ye ain't got much use for mc." ''Ton did all you could," she replied, not turning her head. "But ye blame mc for his goin' away ?" "Bring him back." "Ye think I was too enug with my money an' too hard on him because he didn't take to farm work. Ye think if I'd treated him different he'd never quit us." "Bring him back. If dead, bring his body back." Then meeting his gaze openly, with her face seamed and white, she moaned: "He is to be found somewhere, dead or alive. Bring him back,"

"Ye blame mc for all/ he muttered. "An' mabbe I was too harsh. But I've tried my best to find him. I'll begin again ter-morrer. I'll go ter town an , hire more detectives." "■Give mc my boy, Whittaker," she whimpered, again bowing her head in her hands. "I guess I'm all unstrung. but I want him. Oh, how I want i him!"

The fierce, hungry light in her staring eyes, now looking at him through the hot tears, caused him humbly to retreat and ponder in awe over the mighty weight of a mother's love. "I'll find him if it takes every inch of land I own," he promised more calmly, his iron jaw set at its most stubborn notch. "Forgive mc, dear, if I seem out of sorts"—hex raood was sadjly gentle now —"but when I think of the long years and in the night seem to hear his sweet voice singing the old songs about the house, I know I must have him back soon, or it will be too late. Don't you remember how he used to sii.g?" "Yas," he groaned, "but ye cant feel jest th' same toward mc till he comes back," In declaring this he hoped she would reassure him. She bit her lip for a moment and looked down; then raising her head she said simply: "You've done your best, and I shouldn't dwell on why Bob left home. He did wrong to wring my heart. Yet I can't forget your last words to him. I—no, nothing can ever be the same with mc till he comes home—till he comes home." He bowed his head as if receiving a sentence and his face was haggard as he resumed adjusting the machine. She blamed him and always would. Had the boy died, she would have remained : the same loving helpmate. But now she was changed. Hβ loved the boy, he told himself, and only God could know the -washings his soul had received from useless tears, as in moments of privacy he gave way to his grief. He had been harsh. He had spoken words at that last parting the memory of which would always upbraid him. He felt guilty. To his neighbours he always presented the same hard face, but in his heart he ever hungered for the boy. A movement at the window caused him to turn. She had risen and was shading her eyes in a.n effort to scan the now dusgy road- "Someone's coming." she faltered. He knew the wild hope ever tugging at her soul when a figure turned the curve, and to save her further pain he explained briskly: "Only three of the boys eomin' up ter hear the machine." "Oh," she sighed, lapsing into her chair again. "Yas, only some of the hoys. I know'd theyM enjoy it." Then pleadingly: "Kind of chirk up a bit, if ye can. I don't want 'em ter think ye : re sour ; on mc. There! If yell go ter the door, I'll light a lamp." HL The guests consisted of the town clerk and his companions of a few hours before. The clerk was stern and solemn, as if present under protest, and he viewed the crude gaiety of the others with a semblance of contempt. As for the machine, he refused to join in the inspection, and, instead, sat down beside Mrs Burnham and returned her mechanical smile with a curt nod. But the veteran and the selectman could only bubble in the keenest anticipation, and the latter, believing he had discovered his host's ulterior intention of utilising the device in the search for the boy, caused some misapprehension as to his sanity by sundry sly nudges and prolonged chuckles. ""Wal, shall we have some music?" inquired the puzzled Mr Burnham, caressing his side and backing away from the grinning selectman. "Let's set an' talk a while," sniffed the clerk, not turning his head. "Let's hear the music," cried the veteran excitedly. "I remember when " "Wal, we can talk while it's playin'," compromised Mr Burnham. The clerk immediately stepped to the table and became absorbed in a photograph album as his host gingerly slipped on the first record. "Here's Bob's picture," whispered the mother, reaching a fluttering hand over the clerk's shoulder. But the other's attention faded into nothingness, and he jerfeed about in lasting amaze, as the smasning roar oi the bass drum, the duet of the snare and the blatant blare

WHITTAKER BURNHAM'S MUSICALE.

of the trombones, decorated and frilled into fanciful conceits by piccolo and cornet, began streaming from the reproducer to drown her rhapsody. He had had no idea it would be like this,and he could not censure the old veteran for nervously stumping back and forth in an eccentric effort to keep time. The ranting lilt of the march made even his rebellious feet wish to prance, and once for all he shed his disdain, surrendered and accepted the machine as a mighty thing.

Mrs Burnhain, who had listened almost impatiently, kept her finger on the photograph, and, as the first selection ended, 1 whispered: "This was Bob just before ha . —he went away." [ "What next?" bawled the veteran. ■"He was only fifteen when this was j took," she murmured. "Yas," acknowledged the clerk dully, j his eyes seeing only the machine. "Yas, . I s'pose so." j Her husband, beneath, the running fire j of query and comment, was anxiously obI serving her and had noted her hand on [ ]the album. He knew his last stratagem ; jhad hoplessly failed. If ever she should give the music heed, it would only accenT tuate her' saddened thoughts. She smiled , slightly at the next, a monologue, lost I largely on her guests, but at the close ob- " stinately returned to the album and said: ' "Here's another that was took two years earlier. Some think he has my chin." , Then awakening to her husband's wistI ful gaze, a wave of pity swept over her, and she sought to shake herself into a j show of enjoyment throughout several selections. "Give us that comic song again," begged the clerk, his eyes swimming in tears of laughter. "What was it the feller > said? 'Oh, I never, never ' Ha, ha! Wai, if he ain't a funny cuss!" "There's only one more left," said the r selectman regretfully. "Let's have that, . an' then I vote we try 'em all over ; again." f "Jest as ye say," agreed Mr. Burnham wearily. 5 "Hope it's a war tune," gasped the i veteran, "Gee whiz! But don't they re- , mind mc of them dark days when Grant • use ter say ter mc " ' B-r-r-r, buzzed the machine and pom- . pously announced: " "Ben. Bolt,' the fa- ■ mous American ballad, as sung by Alan i Ranmore, the popular barytone of the ' Extravaganza Opera Company, for the Excelsior PhonograDh Company of New ; York City." i Tinkle, tinkle, rippled the accompani- . ment and softly retreated before the bell- ; voiced singer and his wealth of melodic sweetness. ; "'Oh, don't you remember sweet Alic» 5 Ben Bolt, sweet Alice " A shriek caused the four men to stumT ble to a right-about to behold Mrs Burni ham's face distorted and pasty white, I while her hands worked convulsively. i Now her wild outburst took on words and she screamed: "'Robert! My boy!" f " —When you gave hex a smile, and 7 trembled with fear at your frown," con--5 tinued the machine. t "She's dyin'!" whispered the slowe minded father. j "Sha'n't ye give up!" stuttered the a town clerk, lolling back very limp. "Churchyard in the valley, Ben Bolt," ,j sobbed the record. 3 "Bob! Oh, Bob!" panted the mother, c tottering forward only to fall into her husband's arms. "By th' Etarnal! It is Bob!" belj lowed Mr Burnham, laying her on the j couch. "They have fitted a slab of granite so gray," wailed the record. "Oh, Heavens!" The selectman salvia ered with an unfamiliar emotion as he, too, caught the well-remembered voice of the long-missing boy. Then, as the true import flashed home to all three, they became galvanised into an intensity of motion and danced madly j around the machine, calling encouragej ment into the horn, with the clerk trumpeting through his hands to make the singer hear; but the old man kneeling beside the prostrate woman heeded none " of it. , "Hello, Bob! Hello! This is mc! Don't ye know mc?" implored the clerk, standing on one leg. , "And sweet Alice lies under the stone,"" the liquid voice replied, j "Bob! Bobbie! I say. Bob! Come out!" hoarsely begged the veteran, stumping his stiff leg to command attention. "'Yas, jump out, Bob," choked these- " lectman, moving back a few steps. But the machine was inexorable and 3 with awful obliviousness repeated the primal query: "Oh, don't you remember sweet [ Alice " [ "'Ben Bolt!'" exploded the veteran, ' now completely beside himself. And 3 only habit impelled him to add: "Why, we use ter sing that back in th' dark r days after Fredericksburg, when General Hooker " '"Ter mother's dyin', Bobbie,' , reproached the clerk in a dry sob. "' —And kept tune to the click of the • m iv " • "Stop it!" groaned the gray-faced father from the couch. "Stop it! It will kill her." ' ;! •■"My boy." murmured the omther, ; straggling to her elbow and looking confusedly about. "My boy! Where is i he? I hear his voice." I "See the old rustic porch with its roses , so sweet- " "Come out, Bobbie," whimpered the selectman in one last appeal, shaking the ■ horn. > "Stop it!" repeated the old man, stag- ; gering from his knees. > " —Lies scattered and fallen to the—" B-r-r-r. Click! And the lever was re- ■ versed. 1 IV. A pale-faced woman clung to the porch , railing of the Burnham house and scanned the road ■with aching eyes. Ko word yet from her husband, and her heart was like ice within her breast. He had asi sured her he wolud return within a week, and that period of time had elapsed, ■without bringing a sign from him. 5o . doubt he had failed once more, and i "Got a message for ye," chuckled a voice, and she turned to behold the vet- , eran hopping on to the porch. ""From whom?" she whispered. [ "I tell ye, it reminds mc of when General Sherman took mc aside and [ [ said " 1 i "Give mc the message!" she cried s J fiercely, snatching the yellow slip from. , I his hand. i "I know what ifc says." grinned the i veteran, as her nervous fingers tare at > Jhe 2»jer, "It was telejD&Qßed in from

th' junction, an' th' town clerk read it oat loud." But with a glad ciy Mrs Burnham left him and stumbled in to the house, her eyes blinded with happy tears; for on the yellow paper she had read: Be prepared to hear "•'Ben Bolt" sung to-night. We arrive late stage. WHi'ITAKEK.