THE REAL ADVENTURE

Auckland Star, Volume LIII, Issue 104, 4 May 1922, Page 12

THE REAL ADVENTURE

Uv \\. M. UOU.SK.)

Short Storr.)

Ihimld l.iiu*im! sat i;i his comfortable suite in the hotel and gazed sadly at hi* ii-ele-» che<|ue-book. Very nearly hopeless longing was in hia pale-blue '■yes and U:e stamp of unfulfilled desire upon his not unpleasant face. a« he -tared from the depth? of a cushioned i-hair at that which could command all I hiiis;.- .-nve t'le one he mo»l wanted. llaruld Lansing was twenty-six years .■ld. Mini lie hail never had mi adventure in his life. Three months before he had been a fairly well-satisfied clerk with a zest I.iv liisturii-nl novels and sweet chocolatn. By day he toileil and by night in; ->va-h-bin-klcd through past centuries j i:i his hall bedroom, dreaming- of advcut UIV-. HU dream- migiit have faded into nothingness had not his aunt died ana ■ cit him with something like a thousand it year mi hands and f:i? gates of the world wide open. He plunged into .in orgy vi historical novels, from which iie I'liierjjCi! with a soul-moving desire rictuully [ii .rus.s rapiers fur the love of .i damsel. Rti! i'h' world wa,- cold, and on the night whi'ii he >o sadly considered his cheque-book he would '!iave shut his eves and held out his gold-mounted l'ountain-pcn to anyone who would have inrninhed him with a ready-t.o-cliinb parapet- a romance with adjustable parts. He sighed, and rose to his full, slender height of live lect six. Tiicre was nothing to do but get another book from the library: lie had seen ove.ry show with a Bword-thrust or a gunshot in it. Outside his moodiness leiL him. He was once more a cavalier. i"or the love of an imaginary Princes* Yvette. tvlm ••lung to his arm, he iliruet at an unreal villain. Tie cvi through a corner of Solio. Small, decaying houses and poorly- j lighted streets took on a mediaeval look. Harold oonkl feel the plume nodding from his jaunty hat. and again hi* t-tiek became a glittering rapier. He nas in old Pari.s. braving a jealous rival's men-at-arms for the pressure of a fair hand that reached to him through a jrrateil window. The dream vanished as the door of j n house immediately in front of him was suddenly flung open and a woman's voico cried out. Jarred 'back to reality. Harold stopped. At, the top of the gteps ~tood a wonderful creature who might have been the Princess Yvette or the Demoiselle de Beaulicti. Her golden hair gleamed.. Her robes—Harold could not name those graceful garmente a dress—clung to her perfect outlines, undulating as she moved. "Zc tops , . A moi!" she cried; and then fiuiur back into the house a stream nf beautiful words which Harold knew must he French. His heart pounded, for he felt, that at last Adventure had noticed him. But, he suddenly asked himself, what if, within t.hnt romantic house, therewas a hard-jawed, hanl-fisted creature who hnil never read an historical novel? •'Helji mc. monsieur!' In an instant *he had reached the sidewalk and was dragging Harold by the arm up the .-tpps. "Keel him for mc!" They were in a tiny hallway. Harold swayed, but the grasp of tha lady's firm j white hand was not to 'be denied. Moreover, she was as 'big ac he was. I From a room at the left came a masculine roar. For ;! heart-breaking moment lights danced before the eyes of Harold La::?:njr, his mouth went dry, and then— He <.; C dd in the presence of the only man 1:- had ever seen whom he felt absolutely sure he could thrash! A diminutive Frenchman, not ajore than five feet tall, faced them. His hands wore buried in his abundant hair, and deep emotion distorted his features. ■Miserable:" he thundered. •■Beast!" retorted the lady. I "Have a care, mongsewer, whom you j insult!" It was Harold Lansing speaking now, with folded arms and a scowl. "I am here to protect this lady!" "Pooh! Pirr of a dude!" '•Venter Saint Grease!" shouted Harold, with the firm belief that he mm swearing in French. He launched a swift tbru.at with his cane. "Oof!" £ a sped th e little man. in universal language, as he reeled against the wall and placed both hands to his sirli». The lady clapped her hands together and laughed. ■'Ah! Tres liien!" s.he cried. ".Madam," the little man panted. "1 <rot I leave you!"' "Xo, no!' . She was swept from exultation to genuine alarm. "Remain. Pierre. I beg you!" "By the sword of—of —of " The champion faltered, while the others looked at him expectantly. The next in-r-tant he had leapt and "ripped Pierre by the hair and the necktie. "Where do you want him put, madam J" The Frenchman squirmed, but he was held in what his captor believed to be a. vice-like grip. The lady's hand went to her mouth in a pretty gesture of dismay. "Do not muss him up! Gently; For the iove of Mike!" "His life is in your hands, not mine!" And Harold tightened his grasp. •'Up ze stairs," she commanded, with decision. He shoved the little man up the stairs, and then Pierre disappeared in the dimiiese above. ""You must go now. monsieur!'" she said. 'But I want to—l mean I'd like to—. C-can't 1 see you again?" ft seemed that there was an invitation in her eyes, although her manner urged him towards the door. She smiled. and f-hrugged the shrug that he had read and dreamed of. "Me. I am here always!" Harold Lansing found himself backing out and down the steps. The door closed". He walked upon elastic pavements and i hrcugli ozone that sent the blood pounding to his head, blurring- streets and people. He reached his hotel in a whirl. Then a thought sent all the elation out of him. He sank into a, chair with a feeling of utter desolation as he remembered that he did not know her name or even the number of the house! One kind of despair followed another. There ivas the husband, tangible if small, to be reckoned with. He might even call the police! At the thought of a. policeman Harold Lansing shivered. Tt was close to noon when he awoke ami scrambled out of bed. Hall" a hour Inter a tray of food grew cold while Harold, dressed for the street, composed a note. When he had finished he read it over slowly, with the honest pride of achievement:— Mon Cher Madam wM?J iT" r S u akc X cannot corae for you »hile ho te there. Meet mc on the south

side of Charing Cross to-night at S p.m.. sharp, and ivp will go to a show. Vein , j till death. Hai-old Lansing. Willi ill— coat-collar turned up and his hat, well pulled down. Harold approached the block where *he lived—for he remembered lhat inucil—and iiegaii to patrol tlu> streei cautiously. An hour passed, while his hope wont down and down. Then the door of a house opened, and rthe tame forth. Undoubtedly it was siu , , but the heart of her lover was wrung. She was bareheaded, a lung apron covered the clinging garments, and in her hands a broom went deftly bail; and forth across the step?. •■Hist,!" he whispered, a< he caiuO to an abrupt halt in front nf the steps, lie held out the note. She backed away, with the broom held defensively. Harold swept off his hal. "It is I!' , he exclaimed, hoarsely. "Can you meet mc to-night? The billet dux tells where!" ' The lady beamed and grew grave all in a moment, took the note and hesitated. "For a show! Rend the note! Please.!" •Oil. ze theatre!" >he smiled. "Ton bet!" llaroM put on his hat with a nourish, and strode off. divided between joy at her promise nnd fear that monsieur, lurking a<. a ia«tlc window, might have seen him. Bark at (lie hotel. Harold telephoned /or a dozen white ties and began to assemble his costume for t*no eveiiinpr. When, after a bite of dinner, he arrayed himself, the mirror said that there would bo no more c«f»fully groomed young man in any London thentre that ingA beautiful vision in a long, sluni-raei-iiig coat and « big. droopy hat wne waiting for him in the place of meeting. It ivas she. ""Even your name remains a mystery| to me.'" he said, as they -walked along. "My name? It is Celeste Lapointe." What a fitting name for an angel was Celeste! But Lapointe! She had been married to thai fellow against her will, no doubt, as was the generally known custom i.f France. I He turned upon her a Took that wa< meant to convey unutterable things, but just then the curtain went up and his soul was carried aver the footlights into a world where daggers flashed and kingdoms were lost for the pressure of a lady's hand. It was before the laei act that Harold, finding that chocolates were ac much to I Celeste ac the age of chivalry was to I him, left hie scat. Half-way towards the door be whirled > and turned back. At the entrance was' Pierre: and upon his face dwelt a lookj of vindictiveness that augured ill for' anyone who might crocs lii 3 path. ] "We're followed!" he whispered to hi* companion. "We luuet leave this place at once!'' "We liavp to make the getaway?" asked Celeste. She gathered up her hai and her compostlre quickly, while Harold secured their eoat3 by lavish bribery. j "Come with mc. monsieur." *he eaid, when they got outside, "and I will make you one beautiful supper. I*ne salade! Et —one little "lass of wine?" "Won't lie be there, " "He? Pierre Xo! It is Saturday night and he will go to ze theatre. Sol until Sunday will I see him." This time Harold had opportunit} - t;>! observe in what manner of dwelling the] lady of his heart lived. Two rooms and a tiny kitchen she showed him, after she had exchanged her evening wrap for the cheeked apron of the morning. Thcj I rooms were as neat as housewifely care! ! could make them. I "Do you cook like thU all the time," Harold asked, ac she made the stipprr. "Yes," with a smile. '"'I cook, I sweep, I sew!' , "Zounds!" lie scowled. "A man who fftn't appreciate this ought to have his; head knocked off!" _ j Thereupon she again fell silent, andi began to crumble a bit of bread. She looked tip. Harold realised that she was struggling with some problem of importance. "You have ze good job, monsieur':" I "I've got a job that works while you sleep!" i It wae his cryptic, way of saying that j his money drew interest while he took his repose, but the effect upon her was jiot encouraging. A look of sorrow came into her eyes—her hpad dropped. "Ah!" she exclaimed. '•Liaten. Celeste! _ T " ''Pardon!" came in a sneering baes from the doorway. "Mc, T will have a word with madam:" Harold leaped to his feet. There etood Pierre the abominable. "Begone, vile wretch!" shouted Harold. 'Get out or I'll thrash you! You have made this tender, lovely woman's life a thing of scorn! Go!" "No, no!" She flung pleading hands towards her champion. "You do not understand." "this man must go out of your life for ever!" cried Harold. Pierre wavered an instant: (lien turned and fled. The front door elammod ■ behind him. Harold wheeled to find madam sobbing. i "It's all right," he eaid. tenderly, with .an arm about her shoulders. "I'll take 1 you out of here to some safe place, and then, when things are all fixed up, we'll " get married." p "I cannot, Harold! I cannot marry a—what you call it—a crook:"■ "Wlio's a crook?" he demanded. 1 "You have confess'!" she exclaimed. through her tears. 'Ton work while > people sleep! You run from v.c cops: A crook—not for mine!" ■"Heavens!"' exclaimed Harold far- ; vently. "It is soon—'but I love you like—any- • thing!" "Listen!" urged Harold frantically. , "My aunt died and left mc money. I'm I not a crook. And I can prove it!" j She raised a tear-stained face. "1 ■believe you/ she whispered. This was relief, but Harold's soul was r still shadowed. The outraged husband : might take it into his head to come back j with a policeman. "We'd better get away from here." j he suggested. "Mongsewer might come back with a cop." , '•'Pierre''" she smiled frantically. -'He k can do liot'ing!" "But, PiCTre " "Ze insect, Pierre? My husband? Almost I trow you down!" Harold ran shaky lingers through his , hair. •"But he acted like a husband, 1 and- —" "Oh! He is my 'boarder. The one who pays always' his rent! But he ; wants ze fresh towel every day! Who ■ is he to ask for zc fresh towel every • day?" 1 Harold suddenly realised that there ; were no barriers between them. He f swept her into his amis. Then it came to. him. in a flash of illumination, that perhaps he was enteri ing upon the mo=t potent and interesti ing adventure of them all.