"George" What I 'are pa 'old.

Auckland Star, Volume LXIII, Issue 135, 9 June 1932, Page 22

"George" What I 'are pa 'old.

NOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS,

GEORGE RAWLINGS, a barber's assistant, wins £7000 in a football competition, tlius bringing upon himself I lie attentions of many friends and sharks, and incurring the jealousy of his elder brother, Stanley. The event means luneli to ETHEL WAGLEY, an assistant in a sixpenny bazaar, with whom George lias been keeping company. On receiving the money George's lirst action is to go and interview a hank manager, who is interested in tile Town Football Club, for which George plays centre-forward. The manager, MB. STIIAWBRtDGE, gives him some sound advice, with the result, that George leaves £(>SOO on deposit and sets aside £.">OO in a current account for such expenditure as George feels disposed to indulge in. One of George's earliest actions is to take his Ethel for a walk, in the course of which they call at a jeweller's shop and Elh emerges with a diamond ling upon her engagement linger. They decide to celebrate the occasion in the dining room at the King's Head. HECTOR CHERRITON, a local tobacconist and honorary secretary of the football club, begins to take a keen interest in George and invites him to a tripe supper after the match. George is the hero of the hour when next ho turns up at his club. He does not play particularly well, and contrives to secure 'one goal, to the delight of the crowd. As lie is leaving the ground a fellow-member of the train attempts to borrow £'J0 from him, but he does not succeed. At Cherriton's, after supper, George is introduced to a MAJO RUPEX, whom Chcrriton describes as "one o£ the best, and as straight, as a ramrod." In the course of conversation the Major talks of a horse which has been tipped to win a race at Gatwick, but he may not disclose the name. Chcrriton asks the major to put £.">0 on the horse. George timidly asks if he may have £10 on it also. At lirst the major refuses, but later agrees, hut he will not lake the money which George offers. Hth, in response to George's request, fixes the date of the wedding, and George begins to make preparations. It is decided to have tifty guests and to serve a meat tea from a local hall after marriage in a register office. At another supper at Cherriton's, George again meets the major, and receives £10 in respect of his hot, although he has never paid the stake. Confidence thus established, the major begins to disclose a sc'-eme for a new company to exploit a Russian invention for driving motor cars with water. As a special concession George will be allowed In take up a substantial interest in the company. Fortunately. Genrce is not in the habit of carrying his cheque bookabout with him.

CHAPTER VIT. The Marriage Feast. The wedding day came, as weddinp days will. George and Eth, accompanied only by Stannerley, apparently as best man, and Maud Sellars, a friend oi Eth's, presented themselves at the singularly uninspiring room in the Town liall of Tringstead, where the registrar proceeded to marry tliem with an efficiency and finality that was rather disconcerting. The registers were signed, and the registrar made a few of what are known as well-chosen utterances. "Is that all?" Eth asked. "That is all," the registrar said, without a smile. "You arc now Mrs. George Rawlings." "Seems easy," said George, and moved by some impulse he kissed his wife. "I . . . I suppose we'd better be getting

on t" The registrar shook hands with both Mr. and Mrs. Rawlings, gathered his papers and departed, followed by his clerk. "I don't feel married," said Eth. "You arc, though, my girl," Staiinerley said. "Every bit as much as if you'd been married in Canterbury Cathedral. There was a small but enthusiastic crowd outside the Town Hall, and the horse play incidental to such weddings was indulged in cheerfully. St. John's Hall was not more than a couple of hundred yards away and those of the party who were not already assembled tliero followed on foot. They entered the hall to the strains of the Wedding March, which is definitely not as impressive on a small jazz orchestra as it is on an organ. Winthrop Baxter was enthusiastically supported by his colleagues, particularly by the one who managed the drums, triangles and what not; the volume of noise produced would probably Lave compared favourably with the output of the average organ, but the effect lackcd real punch. Still, as George said, it showed willing, and was generally held to have been very tactful on Winthrop Baxter's part. u There was a great deal of handshaking and a general air of nervousness seemed, temporarily, at least, to have settled on the party. The only real snag, however, became evident a few minutes after the party had arrived from the Town Hall, just when Winthrop Baxter and his band had changed over from the Wedding March to a foxtrot.

The snag was Uncle William who, although not invited, camo up smiling. He was suddenly there. No one—not even his niece, who detested the old fellow —had given him a thought, and there he was, with entire unconcern, shaking George very warmly by the hand and kissing the bride. He was swathed in a frock coat that had a pleasant shade of green superimposed on its original black, and a furry top hat of a type generally supposed to be extinct. He was still wearing the hat, I determined that it should be seen. Neither of these garments had been worn since Aunt Keziah's funeral, and the sight of them brought a sinking feeling to Florrie, who, complete with young man, was looking on in horror. Eth smiled bravely. 1 "I wishes you all I wish meself," Uncle 'William was saying. "Can't say more; nobody can." "Course you can't," said George. "Look 'ere, you go over there be'ind the band, uncle; Stannerley'U give you a drink." "Stannerley? Good hoy, Stannerley! 11l drink your jolly good health. Can't do more, can I?" Uncle William passed on and came upon his niece, Florrie, and the young man. "'Alio!!" he cried, and endeavoured to kiss her. "Watch you doing 'ere ? You wcrn't asked!" she said fiercely. "Course I wasn't arsked!" agreed Uncle William. "As if my nevvy 'lid think of arsking his Uncle William! Course he knowed I'd come! Your pore Aunt Keziah didn't arsk him to her fun'el, but I was there. Course I was there! And 'ow's yer young man? This is yer young man, isn't he?" "If you don't go away I shall . . . I shall . . . scream!" said Florrie. "You . . . you liarsty ole man!" "Tha's no way to speak to me," protested Uncle William, with deep feeling. "After all I've done for my nevvy." "What 'ave you ever done for anybody? 'Ere . . . come on." She grasped her young man's arm and turned her back on Uncle William, who politely

By . . . HOLLOWAY HORN.

raised his l'urry top hat, bowed, and went 011 his way toward that vague heaven at the back of the band. Uncle William warmly greeted bis nephew Stannerlcy and went on to impart tlie information (hat the bridegroom had mentioned the matter of a drink. "D'you think you could keep one down, uncle Uncle Williii.lll considered the question. "1 only take alkv'ol for me stummick's sake, like the chap in the Biblft, Stannerlcy," lie said, with a dignity that compared favourably with his top hat. Stannerlcy grinned. "There's beer," he said, but Uncle William's eye was roving over the array of bottles and he hesitated to commit himself without careful consideration. "Yes," iie said. "Go on. Beer's a bit heavy 011 the stummick, if you ain't used to it." Stannerlcy grinned again. He was, for Stannerlcy, in ail excellent mood that afternoon. "There's port wine," 110 said. "Nasty stuff," said Uncle William. "Too much acid in it. There's a bottle of black and white there." "That's for the band," his nephew lied. "For the musicians, you mean. I'm one of 'cm, Stannerlcy. I got me ole cornet. I let' it in a cupboard in the room where the chaps what are ashamed of their 'ats—and 'ave need to be —leP their 'ats. Now, you get a move 011 Stannerlcy and open that there bol! There's nothing oils me innards better than a little drop of Black and White." " 'Ere, 'elp yourself," said Stannerlcy, as he turned to welcome some of Eth's friends from her old shop. The cork was a patent one and worked with a little lever arrangement. It came off with ridiculous ease and there in the space screened off behind the band, Uncle William stood, holding in one hand a full bottle of excellent whisky and in the other a glass. To Uncle William it all seemed a beautiful dream. He had been invited to help himself. Ho did so. Stannerley was kept busy and took no further notice of Uncle William, who had taken a chair immediately behind the band and was sitting in a very inoffensive manner listening to the music. From time to time he raised his glass to one or other of his relations, particularly to his sister, ma, who was bitterly ashamed of him. Ma, of course, drank port. And with 111 a was Mrs. Wagley, Eth's mother, who also drank port. "It's a luvly wedding," said Eth's mother. "Luvly," said ma. "An' a fine set-up young couple." "My George'll 'old 'is own in any sos . . . so . . . anywhere." "So'll Etli. Come 011, pa," she called to her husband, who was drinking bottled beer with Saul Rawlings. "Let's drink long life and 'appiness to the young folks." "Not arf," said Mr. Wagley, and did

"Marriage," said Saul Rawlings surprisingly, "is a serious tiling." "Now, don't you start, pa," protested his wife. "'E always gets so melincoly," she explained to Mrs. Wagley. "If 'e isn't watched." "Don't seem so long ago that you and me started, missus," Saul went on, reminiscently. "It isn't so long .tqo, neither. Not what yer might call long," said Mrs. Wagley, coyly. "It's an important step," said Mr. Wagley solemnly, as if he felt that his fellow male needed support. "Damn important," he added. "Course it's an important step. But you don't need to get so 'eavy about it. You took it, and you 'aven't done so badly." "I wasn't eomplainin'. If we 'ad our time over again, we'd all make the same mistakes ... or worse." "Look 'ere, Wagley, don't you 'ave no moro beer," his wife said sharply. "You put everything down to beer. "Beer's all right. Better'n that stuff you're mopping up, anyway." "So you say." "Those young wirnmin oughtn't to 'avo no more," said ma firmly. "Our Stannerley oughter know better. Wha's that? Photo?" Ma finished the port wine hurriedly: 'Ere, come on," she said. "We pot to lie all took together. George 'as fixed up with Mr. Marchan, the photographev, to take us all, and Eth and him separate." "If you will kindly gather together on the steps leading down to the lawn," Mr. Marchan announced, "I won't keep you long." Thero was a general movement to the spot he had indicated, but first he posed George and his bride. "She oughtn't to clutch his arm like that,'' Ma said, critically. ""E's 'er hushing!" protested Mrs Wagley. "I've never seen our George look nurvis before!" Ma went 011. TIIO ordeal over, the party were in'vited to group themselves round the happy couple—Mr. Marchan actually used the phrase, and he was a man with no little experience of such affairs. One of Eth's friends—a girl in a blue beretwanted to be taken with Stannerley, but beyond this there was no untoward happening. "I said as 'ow she oughtn't to 'avo no more wine," Ma pointed out. "The parents," said Mr. Marchan, "should be together immcjutely behind the happy couple." The parents took up this position. "Tho best man next to the bridegroom."

Stannerley grinned amiably and did as directed. The girl in the blue beret ranged herself alongside him and held his arm affectionately, which made Staimerley grin even more. In all, there, were forty-six souls in tho group and, by the time Mr. Marclmn was officiating, at least forty were getting very cheery. The band was still playing, but by a happy thought of George's they were included in the group. This caused a certain re-arrangement, but Mr. Marchan was very patient. "Now, are we all ready?" he demanded at last. "No, we ain't. Not by a long chalk," a voico announced, and Uncle William, still wearing his furry hat, appeared from within the hall. 'iTe made his unsteady way to the front and sat down heavily on the feet of the violinist. Flo paled in fury. "I think'it would be better if you took your hat off, sir," Mr. Marehan sug- j ge*jj|d. I

'"Not me! I've never been pliotygraphed without inc 'at on. What's (lie good of having a hat if you don't wear it?" "I ... I was thinking of the composition of the picture," the photographer said meekly. "It's a good 'at," said Uncle William, pugnaciously. "As you "will." Mr. Marelian smiled pleasantly. "Now if you will all look at the camera, ladies and gents, and watch the lil bird fly out . . . Thanks!" The group broke up amidst laughter, and with some little difficulty Uncle William was hoisted to his feet. He sauntered off to ilie recess behind the hand, only to Jiiul, however, that Stannerlev had received instructions that he was to have 11" more drink. "IJight!" ho, said, and went off to the ante-room where he had left his cornet. Miss Minifcr, the caterer, attended in person, and it was generally agreed that she had done things well. George's football friends saw to it that the sausage rolls and s .oil-like came to their appointed end without undue delay, but the demand for tea and coffee fell rather short of her anticipation, owing to the prevalence of more popular drinks. From the outset, there was 110 doubt of the success of the party, and the band became every bit as cheery as the guests. Ma had not danced for many years, but didn't see why she shouldn't 'ave a shot at it. She did so with Mr. Wagley, but, it must be admitted, failed to stay the course. Still, she did her best, and there was not the slightest cause for Flo to.be annoyed. That young woman, indeed, as Ma told her, was the skelington at tire feast. She was getting so ladylike, as Ma confided to Mrs. Wagley, that there was 110 living with her. She always was worse after Uncle William had been on the warpath. Ma fanned herself with her handkerchief as she sipped her small port. "Time was," she announced, "when I could foot it with the best of 'em. When I was a gal they used to 'ave dances in the church 'all. And dancing was dancing then. Uncle William —lie's my brother, poor ole chap—was one of the best dancers. But he's pas' it now." "Ar," said Mr. Wagley. "They don't seem to 'ave real toons —not what yer / might call toons —in this jazz music." / "The young'uns seem to like it. Where is Uncle William? He's not in the 'all." "I tole Stannerlcy 'c'd 'ad enough." 1 "'E 'ad that. But 'e's a chap as can! carry it like a gent, I will say that for | 'im." 1 "You wouldn't think as he'd got a floating kidney, would you?" 111 a demanded proudly. "A floating kidney? No. It's the last thing I should have so . . . so . . . sochiati'd with him. I suppose it blinking well 'ad to learn to float or drain?"