IN TIME FOR THE POST.

Auckland Star, Volume LVI, Issue 112, 14 May 1925, Page 18

IN TIME FOR THE POST.

(By J. B. BOYNE.j

(SHOUT STORY.!

It was the evening before Christmas j Eve, and it was snowing. Young Charles Horton laid down his pen with a sigh i of relief, and reached fur the whisky. I He then paused for a moment ami . glanced out of the window. . '"Tut," muttered Charles. ''Snowing . hard: I'd better," he continued to himself, "post this letter first, and then I can settle down for the evening." Looking regretfully at the cosy fire in ' his stitting room, he put down the whisky bottle with every care, and i prepared to go out to the nearest pillar- < box. He put on his overcoat, seized an umbrella and—telling the cat to keep ' an eye on things—closed the door of his ] flat behind him. j As Charles pasßed along the deserted I road outside, the door of a comfortablelooking villa cm the right suddenly ; opened, and a girl came out. She was wearing a long coat but no hat, nor had she even an umbrella. ; She tripped towards the garden gate, slipped over a stone, and fell gracefully on to the neck of the astonished Mr. Horton, who happened to be passing at ■ just that moment. He promptly lost his i balance, and sat down in the snow with great suddenness. .So did the girl. For a moment there was a brooding . silence. Then the girl sprang to her ' feet. "Oh!" said Olive Home. ''Not at all," . murmured the young man politely. "I—l beg your pardon," she continued, "I'm—l'm dreadfully sorry. Are you hurt?" "Not at all," repeated Charles. Without taking his eyes off Olive, he struggled to his feet and closed his mouth, which had opened automatically on first beholding her and remained open. With a great effort lie pulled himself together. "It was my fault entirely," he declared. "I ought to have seen you coming. Really I ought. I must have been blind:" he went on in hushed tones. Charles had cause for emotion. Olive Home was a pretty girl at all times, and now, with her soft eyes shining with excitement and the snowllakes crowning her dark hair, she seemed, to a lonely man like Charles, like an angel from. the skies. Again he pulled himself together. "You were going," he said, "to the post? So was I. Can I post anything for you ':" "It's awfully kind of you," said Olive. "But I couldn't think of troubling you; especially after—er—knocking you down like that." "Don't mention it," said Charles. "You can't think how I enjoyed it. I mean," he went on hurriedly. "I was only too glad to be in the way; to—er—break your fall, so to speak." She regarded him gravely. "Still, if you won't let mc post your letter," he went on, "you simply must share my umbrella. You'll catch a dreadful cold if you don't, and you don't want to be ill on Christmas Eve. Now, do you?" "No," said Olive. She hesitated for a moment, again regarded him gravely, • and then, apparently satisfied with the result of her scrutiny, put her left car under the umbrella. "Come right inside," said Charles. It's big enough for two. That's better." They began to walk towards the pillarbox at the end of the road. "It's rather late for the post, isn't it?" resumed the young man, walking as slowly as he dared. "Yes," she said. "But I often post daddy's letters about this time." "Good. I mean," went on Charles rapidly, "it's a strange thing; but I often post my letters about this time, too." "Indeed!" "Yes, very often. And it's going to be oftener—now," he went on cheerfully. "Here's the pillar-box," said Olive hastily. "So it is," said Charles, who had half hoped she wouldn't notice it, so that they might go on towards the next. They posted their letters and turned round. "Have you ever tried," asked Charles, "going for a long walk in the snow?" "No." He sighed.. "That's a pity. Believe mc it's an experience not to be missed. It's so quiet, so unusual, and so—er — solemn. It's like being in a new world!" "Is it?" Olive opened her blue eyes a little wider. "I'm sure it is." "But, haven't you tried it?" "No, not yet," he confessed. "But I'd like to. Especially now that'we have some snow to walk on." Olive looked down at her feet. "So should I," she said softly. "If—if it's as nice as you say." They had now reached the garden gate and she halted. For a moment they looked at each other. "Good-bye," said Olive suddenly, "and —and a Merry Christmas." "Good-night," he replied, with a hint of reproach. "A Merry Christmas and — a Happy New Year." "Good-night," murmured the girl, and, turning swiftly, ran up the garden path and into the house without looking round once. Charles remained staring foolishly after her until a policeman hove in eight. Then he, too, went home. "Upon my word," said Charles, as he entered his sittingroom. "Upon my word, that was a pretty girl!" The following evening—Christmas Eve—Mr. Charles Horton went home early. He ought to have gone to a party, but—he didn't. It had been snowin" most of the day, but cleared towards the evening. Charles noticed the fact and then settled down to spend a cosy evening with a novel. Towards nine o'clock, however, he became curiously restless, and put on his boots. He next made up the fire, informed the cat that he was goinf to the post, and went out. ° As he came abreast of the house wherein dwelt Miss Olive Morne, he paused and .sighed. Evidently there was a party of some sort taking place, for the place was lit up from top to bottom and sounds of revelry rolled out into the night. Charles listened, enviously. Restraining a strong desire to enter tho garden and peep through the windows, he was about to move on, when he noticed that the front door was slightly ajar. As he watched a figure stepped out from bohind a bush near the front steps and glanced quickly round. It was the figure of a man, short, thick-set, and with a muffler round his neck. Altogether a furtive and shifty looking customer. Ihe man looked round again, walked up the steps, halted and appeared to listen Then, as if his mind were made up, he gently pushed the door open and stepped into the hall, but leaving the door still slightly ajar, _

Charles held his breath. He had never peen a burglar before, but it was hardly to he doubted that he saw one now, nnd. moreover, professionally engaged. Something simply had to be done. Chiiiles had very little time in which to make up his mind; and he was of nn impulsive nature. He walked quickly up the garden path, pushed open the front door, and stepped into the house just in time to see the burglar mounting the stairs. Without stopping to think, Charles took the stairs three at a time, and caught the shifty one entirely by surprise and the slack of his trousers. The man fell forward on the first landing with a startled wail. "Hell!" cried the burglar, or Charles thought he did. " Now, now," said Charles, in loud ferocious tones. " That's quite enough of that." " Help ! " yelled the burglar, in a voice that echoed all over the house. He twisted so suddenly that Charles lost his balance and fell. A sharp brisk struggle now began. The burglar clasped Charles lovinglyround the neck, and tried to throttle him. In return, the young man jabbed his knee in the other's stomach and hung on to his right ear, which "as the only thing available at the moment. With a squeak of anguish, the burglar lifted his hand and smote Charles violently on the nose. As if anxious to join in the revels this began to bleed copiously. At this point about a thousand hefty young men—or so it seemed to Charles —sprang up the stairs and hurled themselves joyfully upon the struggling pair. t liarles. firmly disengaging a hornyhanded young gentleman from the back of his neck, endeavoured to make himself heard. " Excuse mc," he began, and stopped short. " Oh. Uncle John, what is the matter ? " asked a well-remembered voice. Miss Morne pushed her way up the crowded stairs and flung her pretty arms round the neck of the batteredlooking burglar. " Oh, Uncle," cried Olive, " what has this awful-looking man been doin" to you ? " All eyes were immediately turned upon the awful-looking man. After his recent exertions, the appearance of Mr. Horton did not altogether belie this description.

His hat had disappeared and his hair bore a close resemblance to a very wild wood; his collar had finally parted company from his neck; he was not so much breathing as snorting; and all the time his nose was bleeding merrily. "What a dreadful type!" remarked a young gentleman with spectacles and , a high brow. Charles glanced wildly round and met the shocked, indignant face of Olive. He stared helplessly at her, while the truth slowly dawned upon him. She had not—as yet —recognised ' him. He also realised that this was not to he wondered at, after his heart to heart little affair with Uncle John. Charles was a young man of impulsive nature. Suddenly lowering his head j he butted the horny-handed young gen- ] tleman —who was still clinging affee- j tionately to him —violently in the Stomach. The young gentleman gave j a groan like an expiring balloon and collapsed into the arms of the other young gentleman with the high brow, j The two of them proceeded to roll down t lie stairs as if exceedingly anxious to reacii the bottom. ■ Unfortunately for Charles, this cut off the best means of escape. Seeing no other way of leaving the house lie dashed up the next flight of stairs and reached the landing above. There was a door open immediately in front of him. He rushed through this, banged the door to, and, finding a key in the lock, turned it. For a brief" moment, he was safe. The room was a back bedroom. He 'opened the dindow with frantic haste: and looked out. Joy ! A sloping! kitchen roof led down to within a few i feet of tho garden. Inside three !seconds Charles had slid down the roof j and jumped—into the awaiting arms of an outsize in large policemen. . " Now, now," said P.C. Gand'.-r, kindly. " Are you going to he good like, or Charles moaned and gave in. Layi ing his head on P.C. Gander's manly I chest he intimated to that gentleman ! that all he wished was to be as good ns gold, i " You ain't 'alf a mess," said Mr. 'Gander wonderingly. "Wot 'aye you been a-doing 1 Well, well, afore I take you to the station, let's go inside , and hear what the old gent 'as to ' say." j ' He half led and half supported his j broken prisoner into the house, t he inmates of which had already discovered I the capture. |

" This way, constable," said an angry voice, and Charles and his captor were conducted into the drawing-room, where a crowd of excited faces immediately surrounded them. "Do let the poor fellow sit down," , said a voice Charles almost swooned to | hear. " lie looks as if he were going to faint." A chair was pushed forward. Charles gratefully sank into it, and waited for the next item on the programme. He tried to tidy himself a bit and began jto look like his real self. | A sudden gasp made him look up to find the blue eyc< of olive Morne staring at him in mingled horror and amazement. I "Well, sir," asked a gentleman, who j bore a striking resemblance to his j daughter Oiive, " anything to say before | the constable marches, you to the police j station ': " Charles gulped and tore his eyes away from Olive. "Yes," lie said, "I—l have. I'm not what you think at all. -As I was on my way to post a letter I saw your 'door open nnd this gentleman—pointing to I'licle John, who now stood revealed as an elderly gentleman of rotund and benevolent aspect —" behaving just like a burglar." (Uncle John here started indignantly.) "So I—er —tried to catch him for you." The young gentleman with the high brow laughed unpleasantly. "The things they'll say," remarked P.C. Gander. " Upon mv word," began Mr. Morne j incredulously. "Ono moment," interrupted Uncle John. j "There may be something in this. The | door certainly was open. 1 found it so myself when I was going to the post, and T tried to find out who had opened it." "It's no good, John," said his brother. "This fellow was after no good. Although he doesn't altogether talk like •' "Father," said a very clear voice. Everybody turned and looked at Olive. "This gentleman,'' she said calmly, "is speaking the truth. 1-1 knuw him—■ quite well. It wns I who left the front door open. I had tn go to the post, and I wanted to see if ii was still -mm. • ing. So 1 opened the dour and left it open a minute until 1 was ready to go out." j "To the post:'' echoed her father in I dazed tonos. "What for?" I "To post a letter, of course," re- | turned his daughter almost tartly.

There was a long silence, broken at last by Uncle John. "Dear, dear!" he remarked. Mr. Morne turned to Charles. "Young gentleman," he began, ''what can 1 say? We owed you thanks and you received—this." He waved his hands in au embarrassed manner. "And what about me:'' asked Uncle John. Everybody laughed and a very awkward moment smoothed itself out. "Have a drink, old chap?" said Olive's brother. Dick. "Thanks," said Charles; and bad it. "Mr. —er- " began Mr. Morne. "My name is Horton." said Charles. "Mr, Horton. The best wav of showing that you forgive our inhospitable treatment of you is by staying with us for the remainder of the evening. Will you?" "Thanks very much." he murmured fervently. "I shall be more than delighted." "Good." said Dick. "Come upstairs, norton. nnd let's freshen you up a bit." Escorted by the grinning Richard, Onirics went iipstairs. and spint twenty minutes in making himself ns nearly normal as possible. When they came down again the party was engaged in waving good-bye to a much refreshed !'. ('. 'lander. "Mr. Horton." culled n 150 ft voice from the bottom of ihe stairs. "Kxeusc mc." said ( liarles to Dick and followed Olive into the study. She closed the door. For a moment they stared at eaeli other ill an embarrassed silence. Then tiie girl's eves dropped and she besan to blush. Next she began to laugh. "I —Olive," stammered Charles. The door opened quietly and Uncle John entered. In his hand he held a letter. He beamed on them both in a very friendly manner and cleared his throat. "1 have not yet." he said, "posted my letter. Have you posted yours?" "N-no," said Charles. "And you, mv dear? he demanded of Olive. "N-nn." "Shall I," offered the intruder, "post them for you.' Or you won't be in time." Charles started. A flush spread slowly mer his slightly damaged features. "As a matter of fact," he stammered, "I haven't got one." Uncle John stared at him curiously and then turned to his niece. "And yours, my dear?" She blushed crimson. "I," snid Olive, and stopped, "I haven't got one cither," siie murmured at last.

"I'm," said Uncle John, drily. He surveyed them for a moment with a slow smile. "I wonder." said Uncle, giving his letter to Charles, "if you two would care to run to the post—for mc?" He opened the French window, and, with a benevolent chuckle, pushed them outside into the snow-covered garden. Not a word was spoken until they reached the road. Then Charles coughed nervously. "Uncle John," he remarked, with intense conviction, "is an old sport, a real Father Christmas. Don't you think so?" "V-yes," murmured Olive. "I ought not," he continued, "to have mistaken him for a burglar; but—iut I'm not a bit sorry that I did." They had now reached the pillar box and halted, while the snow fell fast upon them. "Olive," said Charles, " are you sorry!" For a moment there was silence. "Say—no, dear." whispered Charles. "N-no," said Olive; and she laid her head on his shoulder and buried her little nose among the snowflakes. 'Well, well," chuckled Uncle John as, some considerable time later, he met them at the front door, "have you posted my letter?" "(ireat Scott:" ejaculated Charles. "We've —we'\e forgotten it."