The Other Romilly

Auckland Star, Volume L, Issue 52, 1 March 1919, Page 22

The Other Romilly

BY E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM Author of "The HiUmm.," "A Man and His Kingdom," "The Mysterious Mr Sabin," "A Prince of Sinner*," "A Maker vf History," etc, etc.

CHAPTER Hl.—(Continued.) " That's nothing to go by. their clothes ain't," the man replied. "They upend all their money on their 'backs instead of putting it inside. If it's Mis. Grimes you're waiting for, you're in luck, for here she is, first out." Philip drew a little into the background. The girl came down the stone passage, passed the time-keeper without appearing to notice his familiar "Good evening!" and stepped out into tho murky street. Philip, who saw her face as she emerged from the gloom, pave a little start. She seemed paler than ever, and she walked with her eyes fixed upon vacancy, as though almost unconscious of her whereabouts. She crossed the sidewalk without noticing the kerbstone, and stumbled at the unexpected depth of it. Philip stepped hastily forward. "Miss Grimes!" he exclaimed. "Martha! Why do you look at mc as thouyh I were a ghost?" She started violently. It was certain that she saw him then for tbe first time. "You! Mr. Ware! Sorry, I didu't ■ c cc you." He insisted upon shaking hands. Tliere was a little streak of colour in her cheeks now. "I came to meet you," he explained; ''I came yesterday and missed you. I have l>cen to your rooms four times and only found out with difficulty that you were working. The last time" I called, I rang the bell six times, but the door wus locked." "I was in bed," she said shortly. ''I can't have gentlemen callers there at all now. Father's gone off on tour. Thank you for coming to meet mc, but I don't think you'd bettor stop." "Why not ?*' he asked gently. "Because T don't want to be"seen about with you." she declared, "because I don't want you to look at mc, because 1 wish you to leave mc alone." she added, with a little passionate choke in her voice. He turned and walked by her side. "Martha," he said, "you were very kind to mc when I needed it, you were a companion to mc when T was more miserable than I ever thought any human being eouid be. T was in a quandary then—in a very difficult position. T took a plunge. In a way I have been successful." "Oh, we all know that!" she replied bitterly. "Pictures everywhere, little bits in the paper all the time—you and your fine play. I've, seen it. " Didn't think much of it myself, but I suppose I'm not a judge." "Tell mc why you came out there looking as though you'd seen a ghost?" he asked. "Got the sack," she answered promptly. "Why?" "Did a faint yesterday." she went on. "and was a bit wobbly to-day. The head clerk said he wanted someone stroncer." 'TSrute!" Philip muttered. "Well, that's all right, Martha. I have some work fnr you." "Don't want to do your work." "Little fool!" he exclaimed. "Martha, do you know, you're the most obstinate, pig-headed, prejudiced, ill-tempered little beast I ever knew?" "Then get along and leave mo," she insisted, stopping short, "if I'm all that." "You're also a dear!" She drew a little breath and looked at him fiercely. "Now, don't be silly!" he begged! "I'm starving. I had no lunch so I could dine early. Here we are at Durrad's." "I'm not going inside there with you," she declared. "Look here," he expostulated, "are we going to do a wrestling act on the sidewalk? It will be all in the papers, you know." "Spoil your clothes some, wouldn't it?" she remarked, looking at them disparagingly. "It would indeed, also my temper," lie I assured her. "Wo are going to have a j cocktail, you and I, within two minutes. j young lady, and a steak afterwards. If ] you want to go in tliere with my hand lon your neck you can, but I think it j would look better " I She sot her feet squarely upon the I ground and faced him. | "Mr. Ware," she said, "1 am in rags— I anyone can see that. Listen! I will not jgo into a restaurant and sit by your side to have people wonder what wastrel from the streets you have brought in to give a meal to out of charity. Do you hear that? I can live or I can die—just by myself. Tf I can't keep myself I'll die, but I won't. Nothing doing—you hear?" She bad been so strong, and then something in his eyes, that pitying, half-anx-ious expression with which he listened, suddenly seemed to sap her determination. She swayed a little upon her feet. She was indeed very tired and very weak. Philip took instant advantage of her condition. Without a moment's hesitation he passed his arm firmly through hers, and before she could protest she was inside the place, l>cing led to a table, seated there with her bade to the wall., with a confused tangle of words still in her throat, unuttered. Then two great tears found their way into her eyes. She said nothing because she could not. Philip was busy talking to tbe waiter. Soon there was a cockt.il by her side, and he was drinking, smiling at hei, perfectly good-natured, obviously accepting her momentary weakness and his triumph as a joke. "Got you in, didn't T?" he observed, pleasantly. "Now. remember, you told mc the way to drink American cocktails —one look, one swallow, and down they g°-" •She obeyed him instinctively. Then I she took out a miserable little piece of a handkerchief and wiped her eyes. . I "What's gone wrong?" he asked I briskly. "Tell mc all about it." "Father went off on tour," she ex- ! plained. "He left the rent owing for a ! month, and he's been writing for money i all the time. The agent who comes round doesn't listen to excuses. You pay, or out you go into the street. I've paid somehow, and pretty well starved over it. Then I got this job after worrying about it Lord knows how long, and this evening I've got the sack." "How much a week was it?" he inquired. "Ten dollars," she replied. "Little enough, but I can't live without it." He changed his attitude, suddenly realising the volcanic sensitiveness of her attitude towards him and life in general. Instinctively he felt that, at a single illconsidered word, she would even then, in her moment of weakness, have left him, have pushed him on one side and walked out to whatever she might have to face. "What a fool you are!" he exclaimed, a little brusquely. "Am 12" she replied belligerently.

(COPYRIGHT.)

I "Of course you are. You call yourself [ a daughter of New York, a city whose motto seems to bo pretty well every one for himself. You know you did my typing all right, you know my k play was a success, you know that I shall have to write another. What made you take it for granted that I shouldn't want to employ you and go and hide yourself? Lock the door when I came to see you, because it was past eight o'clock, and not answer my letters?" "Can't have men callers now pop's away," she told him, a little brusquely. "It's not allowed." "Oh, rubbish!" he answered irritably. "That isn't the point. You've kept away from mc. You've deliberately avoided mo. You knew that I was just as lonely as you were." Then she blazed out. Tbe sallowness of her checks, tlie little dip under her cheekbones—she had grown thinner during the last week or so—made her eyes seem larger and more brilliant than ever. "You lonely! Rubbish! Why, they're all running after you everywhere. Quite a social success, according to the papers! I snv, ain't you afraid?" "Horribly." he admitted, "and about tho one person I could have talked to about it chucks mc." "T don't know anything about you cr what you've done," she said. "I only know that the 'toes " lie laid his hand upon her lingers. S*. snatched them away, but accept .1 bis warning. They were served then with their meal, and their conversation drifted into other channels. "Well," he continued presently, in a perfectly matter-of-fact tone, "I've found you now, nnd you've got to be sensible. It's true Fve bad a stroke of luck, but that might fall away at any moment. Fve typing waiting fnr you. or I can get you a post at the Xew York Theatre. You'd better first do my typing.' I'll have it in your rooms to-morrow morning by nine o'clock. And would you like something in advance?' "No!" she replied grudgingly. "I'll have what I've earned when I've earned it." He sipped his claret and studie.l .• r meditatively. "You're not much of a pal. are you?"* She scoffed at him. looked him up and down, at his well-fitting clothes, his general air of prosperity. "Pal!" she jeered. "I.onk at yon— Merton Ware, the great dramatist, and me—a shabby, ugly, bad-tempered, indifferent typist. Bad-tempered." she repeated. "Yes, I am that. T didn't start out to be. T just haven't had any luck." "It will all come some day," he assured her cheerfully. "I think if you'd staved different." she went on thoughtfully, "if you hadn't slipped away into the clouds shows what a selfish .ittle beast I am. Can't think why you bother about mc." "Shall T tell you Why, really," he asked. "Because you saved mc. — I don't know what from.'The night we went out I wa« suffering from a loneliness which was the worst torture I have eccr felt. It was there in my tliroat and dragging down my heart,' and T just felt as though any way of ending it all would be a joy. All those millions oi hardfaced people, intent on their own prosperity or their own petty troubles, goaded mc, T think, into a sort of silent fury. Just that one night I craved like a madman for a single human being to talk to —well, I shall never forget lt Martha —" "Miss Grimes!'" she interrupted under her 'breath. He laughed. "That doesn't really matter, does it?" he asked. "You've never been afraid that I should want to make love to you. have you?" She glanced round into the mirror by their side, looked at her wan face, the shabby little hat, the none too tidily arranged hair which drooped over her care; dawn at her shapeless jacket, her patched skirt, the shoes which were in open rebellion. Then 6he laughed, curiously enough without any note of bitterness. "Seems queer, doesn't it, even to think of such a thing! I've ibeen up against it pretty hard, though. A man who gives a meal to a girl, even if she is as plain as I am, generally seems to think he's bought her, in this city. Even the men who are earning money don't give much for nothing. But you arc different,'' she admitted. "I*ll be fair about it —you're different." "You'll be waiting for the work at nine o'clock to-morrow morning?" he asked, as indifferently as possiWe. " I will,"' she promised. He leaned 'back and told her little anecdotes about the play, things that had happened to him during the last few weeks, speaking often of Elizabeth Dalstan. By degrees the nervous unrest seemed to pass away from her. When they had finished their meal and drunk their coffee, she was almost normal. She smoked a cigarette, and even accepted the box wheh he thrust into her hand. When he had paid the bill, she rose a little abruptly. "Well," she said, "you've had your way, and a kind, nice way it was. Xow I'll have mine. I dor't want any •politeness. When we leave this place I am going to walk home, and 1 am going to walk home alone." "That's lucky," he replied. "because I have to be at the theatre in ten minutes to meet a cinema man. Button up your coat, and have a good night's sleep." They left the place together. She turned away wih a farewell nod, and walked rapidly eastwards. He watched her cross the road. A poor, little waif. she seemed, except that something had J gone from her face which had almost i terrified .him. She carried herself, he fancied, with more -buoyancy, with infinitely more confidence, and he drew a sigh of relief as he called for a taxi. CHAPTER IV. Elizabeth paused for breath at the top of the third flight of stair . She leaned against the iron balustrade. "You poor dear," 6he exclaimed. "How many times a day did you have to do this?" "I didn't go out very often," he reminded her, "and it wasn't every day that the lift was out of order. It's only one more (light." She looked up the stairs, sighed, and raised her smart, grey, tailor-made skirt a little higher over her shoes. "Well," she announced heroically, '"lead on. If they would sumetiines dust these steps —but, after all, it doesn't matter to you now, does it? Fancy that poor girl, though." He smiled a little grimly.

"A few flights of stairs aren't tho worst things 6he has had to face, I'm afraid," he said. "I am rather terrified cf her," Elizabeth confided, supporting herself by her companion's shoulder. "I think I know that ultra-independent type. Kick mc if I put my foot into it. Is this the door?" Philip nodded and knocked softly. There was a sharp "Come in!" They entered. "Put the key down, please," the figure at the typewriter said. The words had scarcely left Martha', lips before ehe turned around, conscious of some other influence in the room. Philip stepped forward. "Miss -.'rimes," he said, "I have brought Miss Dalstan in to sec you. She wants " Pie paused. Something in the stony expression of the girl who had risen to her feet and stood now facing them, her ashen paleness unrelieved by any note of colour, her hands hanging in front of her patched and shabby frock, seemed to check the words upon his lips. Her voice was low but not soft. It seemed to create at once an atmosphere of anger and resentment. "What do you want?" she demanded. "I hope you don't mind—l am so anxious that you should do some work for mc." Elizabeth explained. "When Mr. Ware first (brought mc his play, I noticed how nicely typed it was. You must have been glad to find it turn out such a success." "I take no interest in my work when once it is typed." Martha Grimes declared, "and T am very sorry, but T do not like to receive visitors. lam very busy. Mr. Ware knows quite well that 1 like to be left alone." Elizabeth smiled at her delightfully. "Rut it isn't always good for us, _ it," she reminded her. "to live exactly as we would like, or to have our own way in all things'.' Thet-e was a moment's rather queer silence. Martha CI rimes seemed to he intent upon studying the apne:irance of her visitor, the very beautiful woman familiar to nearly everyone in New York, perhaps at that moment America's most popular actrcs. Her eyes seemed to dwell upon the little strands of fair hair that escaped from beneath her smart but simple hat. to take in the deprecating lift ofj the eyebrows, the very attractive, half appealing smile, the smart grey tailormade gown, with the bunch of violets ill her waistband. Eliza.beth was as quietly dressed as it was possible for her to be. but her appearance nevertheless brought a note of some other world into the shabby little apartment. "It's the on'y thing I ask of life," Martha said, "the only thing I get. I want to be left alone, and I will be left alone. If there is any more work I will do it. If there isn't, I can find some somewhere else. But visitors I don't want and won't have." Elizabeth was adorably patient. She surreptitiously drew towards her a cane chair, a. doubtful-looking article of furniture upon which she seated herself slowly and with great care. ''Well." she continued, with unabated pleasantness, "that is reasonable as far as it goes, only we didn't quite understand, and it is such a climb up here, isn't it? I came to talk about some work, but I must get my breath first." "Miss Dalstan thought, perhaps," Philip intervened difiiaently, "that you might consider accepting a post at the theatre. They always keep two stenographers there, and one of them fills her time by private work, generally work for someone connected with the theatre. In your case you could, of course, go on with mine, only when I hadn't enough for you, and of course I can't compose as fast as you can type, there would be something else, and the salary would be regular." "T should like a regular post." the girl admitted sullenly. "So would anyone who's out of work, of course." "The salary," Elizabeth explained, "is twenty-five dollars a week. The hours are nine to six. You will have quite a comfortable room there, but when you have private work connected with the theatre, you can bring it home j if you wish. Mr. Ware tells mc that! you work so quiokly. You will finish' al! that you have for him to-day, won't you?" "I shall have finished it in half an . hour." ', "Then will you be at the Xew York I Theatre to-morrow at nine o'clock."! Elizabeth suggested. "There are some, parts to be copied. It will be very nice! indeed if you like the work, and I| think you will." The girl stood there irresolute. Tt; was obvious that she was trying to bring ' herself to utter some form of thanks.; Then there was a loud knock at the' door, which was opened without waiting, for any reply. The janitor stood there with a small key in his hand, which he : threw down upon a table. ! "Key of number two hundred, miss.", he said. "Bet mc have it back again to-night." He closed the door and departed. (To be continued Saturday next.)