THE SHOP ASSISTANT.

Auckland Star, Volume XLIV, Issue 28, 1 February 1913, Page 19

THE SHOP ASSISTANT.

By VANCE PALMER. I

TILE \,.\\ i\ .HE TRAIN. •■•.-. .. -a.: •■:- ■■::• c. v-.u've made ttre.: •-■: the Life .-; a '...:.-!i. md want :o c .tr.-' i mc a-cain. '•"' ier-'t complain t" r- - '■-.._= ?T i-.!'-■_• •:] the piatform of ; -,,, -;.,; . i -: nion encompassed Lon:o:i :ra:r. :.i - mc . ; -:\'.uz in every clean-■■;-- fa-e -. ;■: its trim side-whiskers Ju i r. ■ s/r.-.ra' i:i it. n-.r :;::;,- power V... had Town-: r-.-r wil, as = trong as nis a '..>.-.-. an_ ye: took -■••-,- -..!. . ..u nio h°r head :o Lave ~ ... . i :...-.me and co able his petty :.rann;. had made the rf:.?.i. Bnt it wi- not that w.ii.'-h ha-! :'---r-i her to t.;.- -'."P: something mu-h stronger lay be.i.ni. S'iip stood trac:nj ;..-- P -= nti the stone platform, not daring : ■ lo:k up for fear he « ml i -cc how her ;Pc were q-jivering. '•• Hair.!" he sa.l suddenly. " Here it come-." T--' train ht.- rushing in amongst . deafened M ..';• . Ther-' were peor-ip hurr; ,P2 .-. •-,;■ ; -~ p'jtform with r- rtm.inte.iii an i ba Tiage. ~ v 1 almo-t :-•: tne rirs: " -re -a- reali-ed the im- } ;- ,er uncle hid --,>. un_ r,;-cn a carriage 7T:-.r -:-: r.- 5:n...l \ lg?: -j about, an 1 ' - Well, jo.-.-1-hye." he -,;« ,; ffly. " Re- j mf-Titv:- tint •-. was your own choice.' T i" :.:.- Pr 1 of s mon-hs tired •.' the place—well, therr's Eastwood to ■ jne i-k to. i rr no: .1 man to remind .---<•> nf the past, but dnn'i forge; thi-.! t-i -. iT.e 'id k: 1 ■ • "ie>' ■. rou to — i-; .voordinz to my w -h j s like a ?en- - -.- bent out of the window, and k:sse.; ; : •". -n the forehead. Something wa; < "_' in her tr.roat. ■"■ ■ ■ .rigly. hut that wis too much to | a-:. ?pran_' forward with a ierk. Leaning* <"■:•: o; tne window she i-ouid -cc !us stiff, 1 "" " nmre o:i the platform, with its f -."..i arros< hi- lip- -h- c.tild trace - 1 " '"■•;•'• •'■" taa: this wild exploit of hers I "-- i.sorned to :'a iare from the first. In | .. ;-.-.'. xoaths - !•• i'uui'l r..-tum liumi-l.a:e-i. ready to eon-en-. :,, the marriage h« aa i arranged for her. But when she thought of Leo Tracy wit i his heavy faae an: joniiceering manner a little shudder ran through her. " No." she murmured ■• r , an:—l can':. Anything hut ;i>a,." The young mi;l r ._,Jj, u ; u :hl , corner sh:t:ed his hook and looked at her. a gi»ani of sympathy i i li> Jr ey eyes. Then r.e rested his elbow ,a ;, e window and eioked ont upon the . ind-cape. To -'•■■■■■■ i". seamed ..- if her life was being torn ap by the roots as the well-remem-bered s-n.-s Hashed 1 v ~-r Tiiis was an the world she ha 1 Known—the one to --..en sne was s:oin_: was unknown and :ti of lre_d to iier. Uobbi- and Carter-: The name was known all over England to some girls t;-e big emporium had tiie attractjor. of tae footlighU. Slie had clutched at it eagerly when her thoughts first turned to Pirmng her own living, for unskilled as sne was a life behind the -ounter seemed tap only one open to her. Vet a slight oread seized her whenever she thought of it. a feeling akin to stage-fright. But there flitted before her memory the ..-old look in her -.trie's eyes when he"had urged her to marry Tracy. She could no longer hve in the atmosphere of his bitter sneers. Tracy had rnonev ; he was what evervcne mlled 3 od mal ,.h. but her innermost being shrank from him with a repugnance ti.it sh" could hardly explain. Eis coarse i.uv. h.s small, pale eyes, and aispotnpou-. air had come before her when her uncle impressed -upon her the fact of lis wealth, and her whole soul rose -an in revolt. "1 snprx-.se your head has been filled Tith sentimental nonsense about love." }w had sneered. "Let mc tell you that ns all bosh. Lore matches only happen m story-books."' >he had replied with white lips. "Very wed. then. I shall never marry. It would 1a; a mockery to Irik my life *ith Mr. Tracy's." That was all. but she had seen her uncle's face grow white with suppressed passion. He had made Kfe unbearable for her after that, an,! there was nothing •eft to her bat to cut herself free. As she sat there in the rail'vav carriage with tho green fields flashing by her. she felt horriM.v alone tr. the world. life at her had been almost as secluded as that of a monastery, and London was nothing but a name to her. It loomed up •n tront of her now like an open maw. iin EPnse and stgittic. ready to suck her in and swallow her up. There wns Delia, of course, but she had Hardly =e Pn Delia since she was a girl in short frock.;, and even now her elder sister l>nld have little time to .see her. She w is a nurse in a hospital on the other side of London from Dobbin and Carter's, j nr J had little time to spare. Before ■tulle's imagination the future stretched or: terribly blank and terrifying, and a •imp rose in her throat, but she tried to J'dl herself together. "Little coward thnt I am." she thought, biting her lip,. "What is tn 're to be afraid oi?" dut the emotional stress of the la-st months had been too much for her, n<l tieiorn , n « knew it ber body was flaking with an uncontrollable fit of =t>»Lirg. she tried to restrain herself, out :t sPenipd as if she had not power S»er her nerves. The voting man in the torncr opposite looked' troubled. He put down his book sio-wly, and an expression oi nervous hesitancy flitted aero*., h; s tMp , Suddenly h"e spoke *'ta -•■ rr:t athetie softness. •'-xus .;,, Hut—is anything -Tn.;-;- • the sound ..f his voice made Millie reElm her composure. Though her eyes *'«. mi_tv sne gave a plucky- smile.

"Xo." she said, jerkily. "I'm a little baby, that's all. It was the thought of 1,..n.h.n and — and other things that made' t.-ie a. ■_ ii that silly way." She was glancing at him shyly, and there was -omothin"; about him that won he r confidence. His clean-shaven face had a boyish freshness, but the kindness and understanding in his grey eves were 'ho f a man who knew how bitter The world can sometimes be. Somehow or ..-.her his i nn k now was like the grip of a friendly hand. "i.'oing a;, for the first time?" he queried gently' j V.-.-. -he stud. "And it's like goins, to a new s, hool when you're a child, and! don't know any-one. and everyone else | - en:- bigger than yon are." He -miled. ■i know." he said. "It's not so very j many years since I first went up myself. ! I had lived in the country most of my life. too. you see. and I was in a blue funk. I can sympathise with yor.. I ■ IsSLire yoil.'" His big figure in tweeds, and his frank, pen face suggested such manly inde-fendern-e that the very idea of hie being rerv -.::.- made her smile. "It's true, really it's true,"' he said, reassuringly. "But one soon feels at home and makes friends. You'll soon make plenty and—-.veil, will you let mc Hi.- bis-brotherly kindness made her fo-1 ct oase in a moment, an 1 a flood of gratitude welled up in her breast. "Ym're very kind '" she began. "Not a: all." he said brusquely. "It's mere decency. And I'm -urc you miijst. be hungry. As a proof of goodwill, will you ho kind enough to share my lunch?" lie produced a Thermos flask from lis ■ bag. and spread a serviette on the seatThere was no withstanding his boyir-h friendJine-sc-. MU'.i* felt somehow as if a great weight had been lifted from her mind, and speedily forgot everything but the happin.-ss of the moment. H bbin and Carter's. It was ahsurd to let <-T i.ge-fright affect her at the thought of _-oing into a big establishment. If only the peo>le tit-re were as kindly and hu-m-in h-T i-omp-ani,m. she would fee! :>-,.-.rp at home than she had ever done - : -.-e as a child she bad stood c-ibbing ! hrs-Me her dead mother's bedside. 1 Ta-> little villages whizzing past the closed window grew more and more oonipa.it. and the dropping sun became ob- ! scured in a dull haze of smoke. But ! Millie was so engrossed in her com- | panion's Ught talk that she had forgot- ; tern how near she was to her journey's ■ end. she watched his rugged, handsome I face anil his grey, serious eyes, and won- , dered if slip would ever meet him again in the great maze of London, which presented itr--!f to her imagination as a ■ wilderness where a hundred intimate acj quaintances could be swallowed up and | lost. They were just rolling into Bliaton jv, hen he stood up -suddenly. ! "Hctp we are. I'd almost firgo-tten. i This journey isn't often so short as this." A flush came to her face, and a slight I mist swept before her eves. I 'You've been very kind. I seem to have known you fur ever so long." He looked down at her hesitatingly. ■ "London's a big place, but—we're I bound to meet again. If ever there's I anything I can do to help you " | He fumbled in his pocket for his card. but they had swept into the station, and the porters were swinging the doors open. Bofore Millie could speak again, Delia had jumped into the carriage, and in the overwhelming joy of meeting her sister : she forgot everything else. London, with . its myriad people and its teeming life, | seemed to be closing in upon her and up- | setting the balance of her thoughts. I "I've only a minute." said Delia. "Just ■ time to see you into a taxi." I Then for the first time Millie noticed | that her companion had gone. The rpst- | less surgincr crowd on the platform had j swallowed him up, and she had not taken j bis card: she did not even know his name. ' Only the memory came back to her of his j kindly smile and the friendly look in his ; deep, grey eyes. I And outside the station London was roaring on its way—the relentless Lon- ; don that throws people together for a i while, and then without warning tears them apart. CHAPTER IT. AT DOBBIN AND CAitTER!S. I i The firm of Dobbin and Carter's, with ; its dozens of glittering windows, fronted ; orte of the principal streets of South Loni don. and on spring afternoons fashion-ably-dressed women fluttered ro>md it iike butterflies round a flower-bed. EveryI thing about it seemed spacious and ideal, I from its neat front to its airy showrooms. ; Leisurely ladies, sauntering from counter !to counter, looked at the trim assistants ; through their lorgnettes, and thought ; how lucky they were to be serving in so I palatial a place, where the wheels of business seemed to be oiled with courtesy and kindliness. People said that the senior partner, John P. Dobbin, had made a fortune j within a very few years, and probably it was true. His name always stood high I up on any newspaper list of contributions |to charities, and he was talked about as ■ one of the most generous of men. Everything about his well-fitted showrooms • betokened largeness and ease, and his fitrure could be seen every afternoon pacing from counter to counter, his hands behind his back, and a courteous smile on his white-bearded face when a customer happened to be near. That evening he had waited to exchange a few words with the housekeeper, and the housekeeper in her turn ' spoke to the cashier: •'There's a new "irl coming this evening. Miss Martin. -She will share your bed. and you can let her know all about the rules of the house." Miss Martin, a tall, handsome girL, looked up rather sullenly. "Aery well, Mrs Day." So it was that Millie was deputed to Miss Martin's charge. She had driven up to the place a little nervously, impressed by the magnificence of the shining plate-glass windows and the dazzling lights, and her brain was bewildered. Yet there was pleasure and anticipation in all her being, for she felt that life among enoh fine surroundings would be easy and full of happiness. She had escaped into a new world where she could he a free woman, earning her own living, and dependent on no one but herself. It w-as only when -the housekeeper led her through a series of long corridors that her heart someihow began to sink. "This is your bed-male. Miss Martin." she said. "'-She will explain everything ;to you." Miss Martin looked her up and down from her hat to her shoes, and then said I .cdeHys

"This is our dormitory. You'd better come in now. The porter will fetch up your things later."' She opened the door, and Millie suddenly felt something revolt within her. It was a stuffy little room and the windows had evidently been closed since morning. 'When the gas was turned up it disclosed the pitiful bareness of the floors and the torn wall-paper. There was hardly any furniture in the room; indeed, the three d-ouble beds did not leave room for anything else. It was at them Millie was looking. "But," she sai.l doubtfully, "haven't we got a r<WTti to ourselves." Miss Martin sat down on the bed and laughed harshly. 'Likely:" she said, "it's no use putting on airs hero, or talking about what you were used to at home."' "Oh. 1 didn't mean that." said Millie, Bushing to the rooto of her hair. "We're lucky to have only six in here." | went on MUs Martin, bitterly. "There i are eight in most "f the other dormi- | tories. Dobbin and Carter's have no I empty spaces to waste." She went on talking in a jerky, sullen I voice, but Millie was too dazed to take lin what she was I ell ins her about the 'rules. It was all so different to the life .she had expected: everything seemed 1 bleak and bare and hedged round j with restrictions. When Miss Marj tin went out. she sat by the window lookine nut on the cobbles of the ' narrow lane and the brick wall opposite. which shut out the liw, and she felt her heart sink within her. But suddenly she rose and smiled pluckily. "Oh, well." t-he murmured, "it's got to be faced. 1 don't suppose it will be so dreadful after all." Before sic- went to sleep she took out a nhoto of Delia from her box and tacked jit'to the wall by her be.!. It w.is the only thing that brought brightness :nto I the room ami helped to connect her with the world outside. The other walls were I bare and bereft o? any picture or orna- . men: whatever, and she wondered if the I other girls had no friends: slip was still i wondering when sleep caught her up. I And as she slept she rtrenmed. but it w.i_ not of Dobbin and Carter's and the | bleak, hire walls about her. l-'rom somewhere a pair of gr?y pyes seemed to be j looking down at her assuring her that I things would surely come right in the ; end. A sense of happin.ss and security filled her. She sleot like a tired child til! the misty morning light came with a chatter of sleepy voices "•Time to get wp." said Miss Martin, sharply. She rose hurriedly and put nn her : thine--. It wis bitterly cold and the ; room was so crowded that -he had ! scar.-ely space to turn. A little darkj haired girl was looking curiously at the | picture of Delia on the wall. I "Who put that there?"' she asked in I surprise. ! "I did." said Millie faintly. "It's my ' sister." | "Better take it down before the housei keeper sees it." said the girl quickly. "It's sixpence fine if you put anything jon the walls." I Millie stared. She thought nt first j that the gni must Ih> joking, but the ! serious look in the other's eyes showed j her that it was no josT. Biting her lips. I she took it down and put it in her box j again, then hurried'down with the o:hers ito breakfast. There were crowds of g : rls ; coming out of tin? corridors, completing their toilette* ns fhev ran down tho stairs, and the dark winter morning was raw with a cold that made Millie's lit* ' blue. Breakfast was laid in R lon_-. low room in the basement, where the flickering gas showed row after row of tables covered with oilcloth. Pkites of thick bread and btrtter were lying about, and the other girls were eating hastily. Millie tried to take some food with the resit, but the stewed tea and thick bread revolted her. "Doorsteps and scrape." said the girl next to her. "That's what we nail it. You'll get used to irt after a while." They were chattering away about the details of the business and Millie fixed her eyes on the framed lisit of rules and fines that was hung on the wall before her. The ixttri(__cy of it all made her head swim- There seemed to be rules for everything and .4ic was sure she would never remember them all. She looked around the dingy basement, with its bare waills and its stained tatole- ' covers, and thought of the cosy breakfast room at Eastwood that she had left behind. Was it all a lie. that gaudy shop-front with its gLittering windows and its. airy showrooms? Was rt merely the showy covering that hid all this?" She tm trifling with the remnants of heir breadand butter and musing thauishtfuily on the deception of it all when a 'bright faced girl caime up .behind her. "Come along." she said. "You're to be at my counter, and I'm to show you how to do things. I'm Cissie Maitland. and I'm sure we'll be friends." There was something about her lively eyes and eynspafahetic face tliat won Millie's heart from the first. "Thanks," she said; "I feel lost iußt now. It all seems so strange." Ilea- companion smiled. "I know, but everyone's got, to go through the milL Here's a list of the rules. You'd better learn off by heart the ones that mean dismissal, and the others yorull pick tip bit by bit. You can't hope to escape fines for something or other, so they don't matter. I've been here two years, ami I don't believe a month's passed without my having something docked from my wages." That day seemed to Millie like a wild dream. There were so many things to be learnt, and it appeared to "her as if she would never master them all. But Cisevie was beside her all the time .to help her and teach her, her cheery jokes tiding over many awkward places. When half 0.-dozen ladies came to Che counter at once all impatient and exacting, it was Ci-ssie's good hmmour that pacified them and her quick hands that found the right quality of gloves for them before they had time to complain. She was the life of the glove-counter, with her alert, eager face framed in its brown curls, and Millie felt she had found a friend indeed. Dinuer was a wild scramble down in the basement, everyone hurrying over their stewed meat and potatoes, for it was a busy day, aud they could only cci off a few at a time. The afternoon shoppers came early, and the showrooms were full of dainty women, who sauntered about from counter to counter. Through all the bustle and confusion John I. Dobbin moved serenely, his courtly figure bowing to a lady here and there, and his keen, grey eyes ready to wither in a flash any assistant who was not moving about quickly enough. " Such a nice place," Millie heard one lady say. " What an easy time the "iris in here nrast have." She was nearly dropping with fatigue, and her finger 3 fumbled as she tied up the parcels. It seemed as _T the end of the day would never come. Her feet ached with continual standing, and her limbs were numb; when she thought of the dreary room in the basement where supper would be served a feeling of nausea came to her and her appetite faded away. But Cissies merry laugh was always sounding out beside her and cheering her on.

'• You've done very well," said the latter. "'You're quicker than moat girls who've been bcre for months. But — what made you come to a place like this? It isn't the *ort of life for you. Anyone with two eyes can see you've been bronght up different from the rest o? us.' , Millie's face flushed, and she bit her lips.

" There were reasons—l couldn't live where I was any lonjrer."' The quick eyes of Cissie saw and understood. Her brieht little face was full of sympathy and friendliness. " I know,'' she hurriedly. " Well Dobbin and Carter's don"t give yon much of a life, but it's better than .some things. Marrying a man you don't love, for instance.'' Her clear insight seemed to read Millie's story like a book. 'Hie last customer had gone now. and the girls were tidying the counters and putting boxes away on their right shelves, while the big iron shutters outside were coming down with a rattle. There was a dazed weariness in Millie's brain as she left the shop to go down the corridor to th* 1 basement: .she was walking slowly along with downtnrned cyrs when a man hurryins- along the corridor tilted into her. Ho muttered an apology, and then, glancing up at her. gave a queer gasp of surprise. "You!" he said breathlessly. (To be continued daily.)