FOR LOVE OF BETTY

Auckland Star, Volume LIII, Issue 54, 6 March 1922, Page 10

FOR LOVE OF BETTY

3Y MAY CHRISTIE

LIU. A OR- FOR MERCY. Torrents of rain were pouring down on a depressed universe when Jack Trevor woke to the jolting of the train which was bearing him to Maine, and stretched himself within the narrow confines of his "sleeper." •"Must be nearly there, now!'' he reflected, glancing at his wrist-watch and yAwning lazily. "What a bore these night journeys always are!" There was no anticipatory pleasure in this business visit. To have been torn by mere mundane affairs from the delights of Betty's presence and summoned to New York was bad enough—but to be further dragged to the far north, willy-nilly, putting hundreds of miles between himself and his beloved, was cruelty indeed!

"Confound that fool who stuck the notice of my failure in the papers!" venomously remarked the love-lorn Jack. "If 1 had him here I'd knock his head off."

As he stepped out from the comparative warmth of the sleeper into a cold, dismal and exceedingly draughty station, his spirits had metaphorically dropped to zero. ""Cgh!" he shivered, tugging viciously at his suit case, and barking his shin against an obstructing baggage-truck. "Was there ever a more, unlucky chap than myself? Was there ever a more infernally rotten day than this?"

He wouldn't go to a hotel, he reflected. Beastly, dreary place, the average hotel. Xo—he would look up that motherly old landlady at whose place he'd stayed the last visit to this town — what was her outlandish name? — MeTavish? Macintosh ?

"Hanged if it wasn't Mac Turk'" A gleani of pleasure at his own brilliantly retentive memory flickered in his eye*. "I'll go to good* old Mother Mac Turk and sec' if she can put mc up for a day or two!"

Thanks to an agile porter, Trevor soon found himself and his luggage stowed away within a taxica'h, and speeding towards his destination. "Mr. Trevor from New York—by all that's wonderful—come in!" gasped the hospitable Mrs. Mac Turk when the taxicab deposited Trevor on her doorstep, and she ran out to greet him. "And I see you're just exhausted!" the added. "And you've grown thinner, too!" "I'm splendid, thanks—and how are you?" Trevor was smiling now. fc Oh, I'm all right!" .came the blithesome answer. "Handsomer than ever. Mrs. Mac Turk —and even younger-looking, I do believe!" laughed Trevor. Giggling delightedly, the old lady led the way into the rather fearsome apartment set specially aside for paying guests. Mr. Trevor was a particular favourite. '•I'm only up for a few days, Mrs. Mac Turk, so don't worry yourself about mc," declared the latter," watching her antics with an amused eye. Mrs. MacTurk's attitude towards himself reminded him of some fussy, clucking old hen vigilantly tending her newly-hatched offspring. "Not married yet, Mr. Trevor?" queried the old lady artlessly, head cocked inquisitively on one side." "No one will have me—isn't it cruel?" "There isn't a girl living that wouldn't have you—if you asked her!" came the comforting response. Trevor nodded absentmindedlv, his thoughts far off. Perhaps he had been misjudging Betty Gordon? Perhaps she had really written nim after all, and given the letter to a careless servant to post, who had forgotten it? Things like that often happened. Perhaps that Irish maid at the Red Cottage had lost the precious missive? She might have forgotten to give Betty his new address in the north, too? The only thing to do—to clear the mystery up—was to write to Betty— and at once! There could then be no excuse for any further silence on Betty's part. ...

Before he went off on his business visit to. the docks and shipyards Trevor seated himself in Mrs. Mac Turk's best parlour—began his second love-letter to Miss Betty Gordon. "My Dear Betty,—l am more than surprised to have received no response whatever to my previous letter—" No, that opening was ridiculous! Betty had a sense of humor, he recollected—she would surely laugh. . . . The next attempt was lucky—and more natural.

Im missing you dreadfully, mv dear,' he wrote, "and al] the more s*o ! that I didn't have even a moment with you in which to say good-bye! I rushed down from town to the Red Cottage last night, praying all the way that I should find you at •home. But my luck was ° U < T * S ° WeTe y0U ' sweetn eart! «. I L Cft a lot of mes3a ges for you with that dragon of a maid, who guarded the door as though it were the entrance to Heaven! If you'd been home, it would have been-Heaven. I mean! (Love does make one frightfully incoherent doesnt it)?

" Anyhow, darling, do be merciful, and write at once. . . . Tf you only realised how much I love you, Bettv—>but honestly I haven't any words in which to -escribe it! It's Heaven, and—«, c other place as well! For the last three days it's been—the other place. "Write to the above address, or telegraph—and snatch mc from the abvas! —Yours always, "Jack Trevor."' Half an hour later, after he had consumed an excellent breakfast, he set forth in the driving wind and rain, the precious letter, stamped and addressed, accompanying him. With minute preckion he dropped it into a mailbox, and heaved a sigh of satisfaction and relief, as though a load had been lifted from his heart". LIV.—A BURNED EPISTLE. April Moore, on the afternoon of the following day, was rambling along the countryside near the Manor House, with pleasing reflections as her companions. "I never dreamed that things would turn out so well," she was telling herself, cheerfully. "There can't be any doubt now that I'll win Jack back!" Betty Gordon—the little simpleton— had been so gullible. "She cays she'll have nothing further to do with him! The plot worked wonderfully. There was a contemptuous little smile on April's lips. The task of estranging Jack and Betty had been so pitifully easy! Betty's credulity and trustfulness aroused in April not only a feeling of contempt, but

Author of "The Marriage of Anne," "Helena's Married Ufa," and "At OupiTs Call."

of positive dislike! For the latter, in her heart of hearts, realised Betty's infinite superiority. . . . She wasn't quite so sure of Trevor's gullibility. That young man could display remarkable and disconcerting perspicuity when he so chose. . . . He bad, ere this, unearthed a few of April's schemes, and completely routed them. He could be unusually and unexpectedly shrewd at times! '■Xet's hope I can properly hoodwink him over this affair!" April was determined to be optimistic. The only difficulty in her path 'was— the mail. "If he writes to her from Maine, then I'm—sunk!" The thought was scarcely soothing to April's mind. "He's pretty sure to write—and the letter will probably arrive this very afternoon —1 must be on the look-out.'" April's rosebud mouth set tightly. She looked no longer young and kittenish and fluffy—but as old as Egypt! The postman? He was elderly and stupid and rheumatick! Still, she couldn't ask him to hand her over another girl's letters: he wasn't entirely doddering yet! But he was lazy. April remembered that. He had often asked her to carry the letters up to the Manor House for him to save him the long walk. What would he say if she offered to take the afternoon mail to the Red Cottage? He might refuse, of course, but there would be no harm done. "It would look much better if I were in the car," she reflected shrewdly. "I could tell him 1 was passing the Red Cottage —it's a bit out of his way." She hurried into the garage of the ■ Manor House and borrowed a two-seater motor. April was an expert driver as well as an expert borrower—two useful arts —and was soon skimming along the roads which led towards the local post office.

Soon she espied the postman coming towards her. She drew the car up sharply.

"I'm goin_ buck to the Manor House and then on to the Red Cottage for tea," she observed, smiling radiantly at the old man. "If it's any help to you, I'll take the letters for both places." "If you'll let mc get in beside yoa. miss, and run mc to the Red Cottage, it would l»e a boon," he said, "for my feet are that stiff 1 can scarcely hobble along?" April, irritated, tried to maintain the sweet expression on her face. "Oh, I'm so sorry!" she cooed. "But I've only just enough gasoline to carry one—l'll have to get *r,7ne from the garage near the Red Cottage, to take mc home again—I'd love to give you a lift, but I can't possibly do it!" The old man hesitated. The afternoon I was warm. To have the letters carried Ito the Red Cottage was a tempting proposition! Surely, Miss Moore—the kind. I sweet young lady from the Manor House I • —would take every care of them ?" I Like the original Adam, tempted of I Eve, the old postman fell. . . And April, the mail for the Red Cottage on her lap, sped gaily off. Close to her destination she pulled up, hailing a little country boy who was passing. "Run up that path to that house with these letters," she said. "Push them through the letter-box without knocking at the door. Then come back here and I'll give you sixpence." There was an envelope in ber hand which she had selected from the Red Cottage mail, laying it aside for further inspection till the boy had gone. . . "Just as I thought," she told herself, grimly, examining the postmark from Maine. "But your lady love will never get this. Mr. Trevor!" She tore the envelope open and read its contents hastily. Then, with a contemptuous' little laugh, she drew a box of matches from her pocket and lit the corner of the letter. It blazed up, burning every inch of Trevor's handwriting. . . . (To be continued daily.)