TEN MINUTES' STORY.

Auckland Star, Volume XLIV, Issue 77, 1 April 1913, Page 6

TEN MINUTES' STORY.

A SUDDEN RE-CONVERSION. (By J. S. FLETCHER, in "London Opinion.") Until she paid a visit to her aunt in London there was no young woman in Stilchester who walked as consistently as Clara Diplige did in the paths of soberness and circumspection. From the age of sixteen she had acted as cashier and book-keeper in her father's Italian Warehouse—by which name old Diplige called his grocery shop—and she had never been known to make a mistake about change or to be behindhand in posting up her books. Diplige considered her a treasure, and worth two men, and he was not over well pleased when she became engaged to be married to George Dabhs, who kept the drapery establishment next door. But Clara mollified her father by promising to keep an eye on the books even •when she had become Mrs Dahbs, and George said he was not exacting by nature, and that, after all, he was only going to remove Clara from one house to the next.

Clara's sound commonsei—, indeed, wae calculated to make everything run smoothly wherever she happened to. be, and out of the three thousand inhabitants of Stilchester there was probably not one less likely to cast aside the good garments of convention than she was. But with her visit to London everything was changed. It was considered necessary for Clara's health that she should take a month's holiday every year, and up to her twenty-second birthday, which was in July, she had invariably visited either Scarborough or Blackpool, sometimes preferring one resort and sometimes the other. But in that year, just before the time for her vacation came round, Clara received an invitation from her Aunt Spardue, who lived in Upper Tooting.

Mrs Spardue had two daughters, who were about own age; she thought it would be good for Clara to make their acquaint—mcc. One of them was a teacher under the London County Council: the other, having successfully learnt how to take down so many words a. minute in shorthand and to rattle a typewriter, was engaged in the City.

Mrs Spardue, in her letter of invitation to Clara, said that Miranda and Hypabia were both intellectual in habit, and that they would take pleasure in showing their cousin something of the higher planes of life in London, and as Clara had never been in London, and as George Dabbs said that it -was a sound business principle to see all you can, and as a visit to Upper Tooting would save the lodging and boarding money which would have been spent at Blackpool or Scarborough, Clara accepted the invitation, and old Diplige acted as his own cashier for the ensuing four weeks.

It was customary when Olara returned home from her annual holiday to celebrate the occasion by a little supperparty at Dipliges, at which nobody but the home circle and George Dabbs attended. IA particularly toothsome feast had been prepared to celebrate Clara's return from London, and it was filling the bouse with savoury odours when she arrived and -went up to her room to change her travelling attire for something more suitable.

There' had been no time to notice anything unusual about her when she entered the house, but -when she came down into the pariour, where her father and mother, her two sisters, her young brother, and George Dabbs -were assembled, it was at once noticed that a change had come over her.

There was a strange air of lofty serenity on her brow, and her hair, which up to then she had worn very prettily, was brushed straight back. Tliere was also a classic severity about her dress, and she wore none of the little ornaments of which she had been rather fond in the old days. Instead, she displayed over her right shoulder, crossing to the left side of her waist, a broad sash, the colours of which were violet, green, and white.

Nobody made any remark upon Clara's altered appearance, nor upon the calm and superior —lanner in which 6he greeted her family and her lover, to whom she presented her finger-tips instead of her cheek. But they stared at her very hard, and when all were seated round the table, and old Diplige .was carving the roast ducks, Mrs Diplige burst into speech. "Goodness gracious mc, Clara!" she exclaimed. "Wlvatever's that thing you've got round youV You look" for all the world like those Oddfellow chaps that walk in procession on Whit Mondays. And what on earth's come to your hair!" Clara smiled—the smile of "those who, sitting on the mountain tops, look down with pitying contempt on the dwellers in the valley— and, ahe shook her head at the plate which her father just then handed to her. "No, thank you,"-she said sweetly. "I have given up eating the flesh of fellow-crea-tures. I will take vegetables—a spoonful of peas." As Clara had hitherto been not a little distinguished for the healthiness of her appetite, the intimation evoked vast astonishment, and George Dabbs started as if ho had spilt hat gravy on his lavender trousers. There were various loiid exclamations. Clara preserved her loftiness and crumbled a piece of bread. "The fact is," she said, "though, of course, you won't understand it — the fact is, I have joined the Alove-meat." Old Diplige laid down his knife and fork and stared helplessly _ round the table. He tried to find words, and found none; neither did his wife, who deposited a quantity of green peas on the tablecloth instead of an Clara's plate. It was George Dabbs who managed to find a. voice. "Which," he said in a hollow tone, "which move-—it might you be referring to, Olara? Of course, i h-a-ve heard of thisi vegetarian movement, but " Clara smiled loftily. " I was speaking of the Movement, George," she answered, "the Feminist Movement. Of course, as I say, you won't understand. You have not been enlightened—as I have."

"' Ah!" said George. " Just so. And— and what might the objects of it amount to, Clara?" Clara coughed in the approved fashion of the platform. "The objects of the Feminist Movement," she said, " are the liberation of women from all control, especially the control of Man; the giving of every right to woman which'she should possess; the lifting up of woman to her proper pedestal; and the due recognition of woman as the superior animal. In sociology, in eugenics, in hygiene, 'in politics, and in " " Matthew Henry Diplige, go on carving them there ducks before they get that cold that nobody'll touch 'em!" commanded Clara's mother indignantly. "And for goodness sake, Clara Diplige, hold your tongue, and don't say any.

more of them foreign words, and if you can't eat yourself, don't go to take away the appetites of them that knows how to appreciate good food. Fellow-creatures, indeed!—l never thought to hear a daughter of mine call a dead duck a fellow-creature! And I should like to know who's been putting such soft notions into your'head—but I do know! It's them daughters of Mary Ellen Spardue's, with their -grand London talk. I said to father there that I knew what would come of your visiting with them. Give George somt more of that stuffing, Matthew Henry—yoz' fill your stomach, George, and let them n ;*i like cows and horses as prefers it!" There was no joy in the house of Diplige that night, and, in spite of two helpings of roast duck, George Dabbs went home sad at heart, for during the five minutes which he had spent alone with Clara, she had talked of nothing but woman's place in the universe, and the Higher Intelligence, and of superthis and super-that; and her eyes, instead of contemplating hw brown moustache, of which she had formerly been proud, were fixed on something far away, that George kept looking into the recesses of the Diplige drawing-room, under the uneasy fear that there might be a ghost there. And as he prepared for bed, he heartily wished that Clara had gone to Blackpool instead of to the cultured circle at Upper Tooting.

It was the custom of old Deplige and George Dabbs—and, indeed, of most other tradesmen in Stilchester —to. take a modest morning draught at the hour of 11; and when they met in the Fat Ox on the day which followed Clara's return home, both wore doubtful expressions and long faces. With a mutual understanding they carried their gl_ses into a quiet corner of the bar-parlour. Old Diplige tapped George Dabbs' elbow. "George!" he said, "George, this is a bad job." George Dabbs sighed deeply. " It's a sad job for mc, Mr Diplige," he answered. "A bad job and a sad job," continued old Deplige, looking wonderingly into his glass. "Ah! there's no less than three customers, George, has asked mc this morning what's come over her—-she takes the money with such, a manner, George! And the way she's a-wearing of her hair! I used to consider our Clara's hair was one of the features of my establishment, George." "You'd reason," said George, miserably.

he answered. "A bad job and a sad job," continued old Deplige, looking wonderingly into his glass. "Ah! there's no less than three customers, George, has asked mc this morning what's come over her—-she takes the money with such, a manner, George! And the way she's a-wearing of her hair! I used to consider our Clara's hair was one of the features of my establishment, George." "You'd reason," said George, miserably. " And I'm afraid, George," said Clara's father, " I'm afraid that she might take it into her head to begin wearing that sash, as she was wearing last night, in the shop, George! That would be awful! We should have all the errand boys in Stilchester coming in for ba'port—s of sweetstuff, just to look at her!" George drank deeply of his tankard of .bitter ale, and afterwards groaned deeply. "What's come over her, Mr Diplige?" he asked. " Has she been struck with something, or what? I'm sure, sir, the language as she used last night, and the way in which she looked as if she was seeing through the ceiling of yom draw-ing-room, would have frightened a Grenadier, sir! Did anything happen to her in London, Mr Diplige?" "What happened to our Clara in London, George,' was that. she got amongst a lot o' people what talks fine," replied old Diplige. "Learns all sorts of grand words and terms out of books, George, and shoots 'em .off unexpected. It's —it's affected her a bit, George. Young women," continued Clara's father, "young •women, George, is peculiarly liable to be led away. . You know it, not being a married man, but it is so. Get a bit touched, you know —same as if they had sunstroke!" "Oh!" said George. "Ah! I suppose it's a case that can be cured, sir?" "It's a case that's got to be cured. George," replied old Diplige firmly. "And, George, you're the man to do it!" George jumped in his seat. • "I'm not a doctor!" he exclaimed. 'You're the very doctor as is wanted. George," said old Diplige persuasively.: "Now, although it's against the rules as this is a very special occasion, we'll just have another, and you shall listei I to mc." / I.

The result of the conference that fallowed was that old Diplige and Geage went back to business looking n—ch more satisfied than when they hadjleft their respective, counters, and thaf ior the rest of the day each, when jkme, chuckled a good deal. And that aight, for the first time since he and/Clara Diplige had become engaged, Mr. George Dabbs was not seen in the bosonjof the grocer's family. Nor did he cane the next night, nor the next, ; nor tie next. And on Saturday night old Dijlige suddenly noticed his absence. / .

"It's a queer thing George pabbs has never been near us this weel"' he said, looking first at his wife, who/was mend-: ing linen, and then at Clan!, who was reading a pamphlet on ; k How Shall Woman Soar Upward?" "Be used to be in every night, did George/ "No wonder he doesn't'come!" said Mrs. Diplige. "What resectable young man, with thoughts of natrimony, 'ud want to come and see a" young woman as lives on the sort o' s/uff you. give to cocks and hens and morlteys, and wears her hair like them hatthens as comes round in the 'shows!at fair times? "Tisn't nature that hesliould.'f "Well, well," said ./id Diplige soothingly. "Happen Clarfll do be r hair like a Christian to-morrow, being Sunday, and George'll comeind take his bit o' pudding and foastjbeef with us, and •then him and Clajt'll: go ■-to church at night together asAsual. I hope so; it 'ud hurt mc a deal/if George had to take ta bad ways, aW spend his nights at the Fat Ox, antf happen get - walking barmaids out—if really would!" "It's what -will happen, then," observed Mrs. grimly. "And if you want to Ihow, George Dabbs has played billiard] at the Fat Ox every night this weel. So there!"

Clara tookiherself and her pamphlet: out of the/ room, and old Diplige i chuckled, and.Mrs. Diplige smiled. Clara ■ca-nie down jto breakfast next morning with her hair done properly, and when dinner -time, arrived' • she was- in the drawing r«om, playing George Dabbs' favourite piece of music—the "Washington Post/ with variations. But no George cime to hear it. Nor did he come to dinner, nor at all. But as the family yeTe at supper, Master Diplige came in/ evidently full of news. "I ew Mr. Dabbs to-night," he said, as his father helped him to cold beef. •He wis walking the barmaid of the Fat Ox ouf, and he'd got lemon-coloured kid gloves' on and his top silk hat!" Claia left her supper unfinished, and weny upstairs. She indulged in the luxury of tears for a while, and when that was over she tore her sash .to pieces, aud threw the pamphlet into the kitdieu fire. And on Monday evening Mr. George Dabbs came round as usual, and Miss Diplige played the piano to him.