The LAST LAUGH

Auckland Star, Volume LXVI, Issue 46, 23 February 1935, Page 10 (Supplement)

The LAST LAUGH

S By WINIFRED GRAHAM S j

CHAPTER XXVIII. The few residents of Hamedon who noticed the snake-pit glide swiftly through its streets the following morning little guessed the romantic import of that passing.

Not until the bride and bridegroom were far away did the news gradually leak out that the owner of Mistletoe Park had been married secretly that morning in the Cathedral to Miss Blenheim, of Corner Close.

Already their luggage had been conveyed by Clem's valet to the liner on ■which they had decided to take their wedding trip. An ocean voyage appealed to them both, and as they drove seawards, Clem's eyes glanced frequently from the wheel to the precious companion at his side. Could this cherished being really be his own at last? He felt giddy with elation, realising that now he could call his darling "wife."

800 seemed to him more than ever ]ike a beautiful jewel, something precious, rare arfd scintillating, which dazzled his vision. He revelled in the thought that this lovely thing, this bouquet of fragrance, was his own to hold and guard for ever.

"I can't tell you how I loved our quiet little wedding in the wonderful Cathedral!" said 800, with a deep happy sigh of content. "Nothing could have been nicer!"

"Thxt was because it was just for ns alone, all for us. It wouldn't have teen the same with a lot of fuss and pageantry." "We were practically married by stealth," said 800, with a laugh. "It seemed more like a delicious dream than reality." Her mind was lapped in glorious content, she cculd hardly believe it was possible for a human being to experience such bliss. "I never dreamt love could be like this," she thought. "How terrible it would be if I woke up to find it wasn't real after all!" "Shouldn't we feel isolated now without our love?" she said, in a whisper. He caught her hand and the snakepit swerved. "Be careful, darling," she cautioned him anxiously. "We have plenty of time." He wondered if she meant time for the boat or time for Presently he glanced at her again. "What are you pondering over so deeply, you thoughtful child?" he asked catching a very serious expression ok her face. "I was trying to remember Bishop Clayton's exact words in that lovely little address he gave us. I don't want to fOl get a single syllable. I •wish it could be written down." "I'll ask him to try and let us have a printed copy; he would know what he said. I have never heaTd him speak although it was only whispered to us. He spoke from his heart, didn't he ?" "Almost as if he had been married himself, or loved someone terribly," declared 800. "Oh, he's not the marrying kind! But, do you know, I felt as if he quite himself to-day. Perhaps he didn't feel very well and is overworked. I only noticed it as he said good-bye." "I know what you mean—there was a. kind of sadness about him. I saw him lopking at Aunt Lou as if he thought she might perhaps help him out of some difficulty." "I suppose bishops have their troubles, like everyone else. If he ever went for advice to a woman, I bet it would he to her!" "I'm so glad that he approved of me," ehe said. "It is something to be approved of by a bishop! He called me 'my little new neighbour,' and gave my hand such a squeeze when he said goodbye. The thing I like about his address in the Cathedral was the fact he just talked to tis; he didn't preach!" "Bishop Clayton always speaks in an everyday man's voice, however big his congregation. I've often heard him say°he hate's what he calls 'clergyman's throat,' that strange tone which gives monotonous unreality to so many services." "I hoped that he and Aunt Lou would have a jolly little time together after we left, hut she said she was going straight to London,. I wish she had not been obliged to hurry away." "Why did she rush off like that?" "Because she's planning a trip abroad, one of her roving moods. She packs up suddenly and dashes off. This time it is to be Russia —she is going to the forest region where she was born. She described those forests to me, with their impenetrable depths. I can imagine how they appeal to her." "Yes, there is rather an , uncivilised strain in that dear woman, especially when she talks of animals; almost as if they were her brothers." "I know," murmured 800. "She spoke quite bitterly last night of the destruction of the forests where she is going. She resents the hunters and especially the trappers; she even dislikes the prairies being sown with wheat. She would like them to remain all wild an uncultivated." "I hope," said Clem, "we shall see her often. I told her to look on Mistletoe Park as home."

"That was very sweet of you, dear, but I am afraid she will not come for a long time. She-is queer in that way, doesn't like intruding; almost as if she suffered' from shyness —"

Clem gave a hearty laugh. "Lou shy; Oh, that's great —you funny darling!" "Perhaps I used the wrong word, I meant mysterious. Surely you've noticed that queer trick of hers when she shuts herself within herself?"

"Well, whatever she does, she's a real good sort, but I can't talk even of her now, beloved. There's no one for whom I can spare a word or thought in all the world —but you."

Clem felt suddenly overpowered by the d?vine passion. With a sublimely contented air he dismissed the subject of Miss Woolfe, that supposed relative who had decided to glide peacefully, and perhaps thankfully, out of their lives, at least for the present.

Though Lou loved them both, she was determined to make her exit with her usual bravado. No sighing or regret that she would not see them again for a long period. But 800 remem-be-ed the last words her "partner" spoke before they left Corner Close for the great event: "You are going to trek across strange country; our paths must divide, but I shall always hold you in my thoughts, you have the winning cards in thong two

(Author of "A Wolf of the Evenings," "Tongues in Trees," "Experimental Child," etc., eto.

little hands of yours —love and safety; play those cards well, and may God' bless you, my dear, dear child."

No need for this injunction. 800 had made up her mind that the future should be a smooth one. She had learnt her ■lesson; she had come out lucky—more than lucky, a thousand times blessed.

Only one shadow lay across her life— the thought of Lou's future, whether she would stand apart from all the old lures, or go back to be a wolf of the evenings again. CHAPTER XXIX. Lou was determined to visit Russia. She had made full plans just before Gussie tempted her to take 011 the work at Hamedon; and having her passport ready, with a route mapped out by which she would travel in the greatest comfort, she felt the moment had arrived to indulge her impulse. Gussie came to see her off at Victoria. Ho looked a different man now as he bustled about in his light grey suit, getting her papers and telling her he had a handful of change for the porters.

"Just park yourself in the Pullman, my dear, I'll see to everything!"

She compared him to the trembling sobbing figure she had pushed into a car at Corner Close one dreadful evening not long ago.

"We've plenty of time," she said, when her neat hand luggage had been deposited on a seat by the window in the luxurious restaurant car in which she was to breakfast. "Let us walk up and down till the train goes. It was a kind thought of yours to come and 'see me off the premises,' as it were!"

"I wish, instead of dashing abroad to a God-forsaken country, you were coming to stay at my new place, which is worth seeing. I have taken it furnished, with a view to purchase —a gem of architecture and a garden that sets one thinking. lam beginning to believe there is some healing in a country garden, even for a mind like mine. I hope I shall be able to stick it. I am wondering how the new environment will suit me. At present I'm romping up to the idea." "It should give you a fresh span of life." replied Lou. "Anyway, I shall thank whatever gods there be, to my dying day, for your deliverance, Lou. To live with a thankful heart is something and should cheer me when I begin to totter under the misery of senility and the querulousness of old age." Lou laughed. "How good to hear Laughing Gas at her best again!" he declared. "I don't know about being at my best. Still, I'm pulling round after a nasty twist. It was a real tonic to see the young couple coming out of that grand Cathedral with Heaven on their faces." "It really seems," said Gussie, "that the girl has been picked out by some fairy of fortune. What a future, for her!" "Picked as a brand from the burning," murmured Lou. "You would have scorched her up finely, you old devil, with your red-hot fork in the fire. But there, we are forgetting all that now." The words were spoken lightly, they did not affront Gussie. "And we part friends?" he queried. "More than friends—-relations still. I won't disclaim you as a cousin, though I might have done if things had turned out differently." Gussie looked away. She had given him one straight from the shoulder and rather regretted her words. Slipping her arm through his, she said in an undertone: "One last piece of news in your ear, Gus —one final secret. Prepare for a surprise!" He raised his eyebrows. What could this astonshing woman be going to reveal? He waited a little breathlessly. Then she whispered: "Bishop Clayton proposed to me." Gussie gaped at her for a moment as if disbelieving what she said. Then, realising this was no joke, he cried. "And you turned him down?" "Yes, instantly —no dallying with such an idea for yoiir Lou! Even thieves play the game sometimes."

For a moment Gussie seemed at a loss for words, then he said: "I think, old girl, that's one of the most astounding things you have ever stolen, a bishop's heart." "But I gave it back very quickly; not quite whole, I fear, yet I do not flatter myself it will be long in the mending." "I shall never -understand you," muttered Gussie. "What' strength of mind to throw up a position like that!"

A warning from the guard made Miss Woolfe leap into the train, to continue her conversation through the window.

"You said one day you wondered if you would get the last laugh," he whispered, as she leant out to grasp his hand. "I think you've got it, my girl—not only the last laugh, but the final guffaw." As the train receded, Captain Woolfe stood picturing Lou leaning back on that cushioned seat, her cigar-case on her lap, her legs crossed, and that strange mysterious expression on her strong face, as she read the daily papers, with her mind far away. "WJiat a lot she has escaped!" he thought. "She might have been hanged —she mi<*ht have been hanged! . . This paralysing remembrance gripped him like a veritable hand on the throat; he felt his breath come shortly, his stout frame swayed. A kindly stranger, who had been saying good-bye to a group of friends, asked: "Are you all right? Can I help you 1" He thought this elderly man looked as if he had suddenly lost his bearings. "I turned a bit giddy." Gussie's eyes had a dazed expression. "I don't like partings." "Take my arm," said the young man. "You will be all right in a minute, I expect." "Yes—yes, quite right in a minute. The parting of the ways, you know, and all that . . . "

They walked together to the car, which Gussie had left in the station yard. "Driving yourself?" queried the stranger. "Yes, I always drive myself, and I'm off to Norfolk, where I've got a little place. Thank you for helping me; good-hye." "Good-bye, sir," replied the young man, and he raised his hat. He thought, as Gussie drove away: "He looked pretty bad at one moment but quickly pulled himself together—a real old sport!"

CHAPTER XXX. Mrs. King had been asked to prepare Corner Close for the Bingham's return. Lou felt it would do the poor woman good to bustle round again and be busy. When the owner arrived, it seemed quite a familiar sight to find Mrs. King standing in the hall, wearing a large white apron and looking wonderfully well considering all she had been through. "It is so nicc, your being here," Mrs. Bingham said, when slid had expressed her sympathy. "Some people thought," replied Donald's mother, "that I ought to leave the neighbourhood, but those were the ones who didn't believe in my boy, and I wouldn't be hounded out. Miss Woolfe said she know he was innocent, the majority agreed with her, and I shall proclaim my certainty of this fact until my dying day." The' owner of Corner Close looked leniently at Mrs. King. She thought how merciful it was the poor mother believed in her son.

With a desperate desire to change the subject, Mrs. Bingham went from room to room, taking in everything, remarking what an excellent tenant Miss Woolfe had made.

"Isn't it wonderful," she said, "her allowing us to come back and occupy | the house while she is still paying a big rent? We could not have let it to a more thoughtful and respectable person." "Not only respectable!" declared Mrs. King. "She was so good, such a true Christian, and she has left her mark on the place. Her influpnce will always be remembered." Mrs. Bingham gave a sudden start. "Good gracious! What's that?" She looked down, to find St. John rubbing his large hody against her legs. "Dear, dear, this cat's followed me again. I thought I'd locked him tip. I hope you don't mind, madam." "Oh, no! But I haven't been in the dining room yet. I suppose everything is all right there?" As they entered the room from the hall, an unusual sight met Mrs. Bingham's eyes. The door leading to the garden was set open, and on the mat a number of sparrows, who had boldly entered, were picking up crumbs which Mrs. King had strewn for their consumption. "Look at* that! The cheek of the birds! Surely you don't feed them in the summer, Mrs. King."

"Miss Woolfe started it. ' They are all so tame now they come into the room 'without fear. She said one should feed sparrows all the year round because —well, to use* her own words, madam, she called them 'gloriously greedy'!"

Mrs. Binjrham shooed them out and told "Mrs. King to shake the mat. As' she obeyed, the sparrows fluttered round, thinking this meant more food, and at the same moment St. John sprang into their midst, his gleaming eyes alight with fire, his claws outstretched to grab a prize, but Mrs. King circumvented the disaster by flinging a duster over his head. "Naughty St. John!" she exclaimed, as she snatched him up and held him fast.

Then, turning to Mrs. Bingham, added a trifle defiantly:

"I shall always feed the sparrows all the year round" from my cottage, in memory of Miss Woolfc, that pood woman whose kind hand never hurt anyone. She was so fond of the dear little birds!" (The End.)