ADVENTURE FOR TWO

Auckland Star, Volume LXVI, Issue 180, 1 August 1935, Page 22

ADVENTURE FOR TWO

r W% ■»■■■■■ ■ ■»■•■■ a vm w N Author of By " " G cierk:>" ct'c aRk Holloway Horn

CHAPTER IV. Better News. Rossiter's holiday in Germany that your wns a failure. He did the usual lliinps—which would have amused him on an ordinary visit —but his father's death and the uncertainty of his immediate future overshadowed him. He had several German friends, but tlie political situation appeared to obsess them; they were taciturn and depressed; and although they insisted that it was not the English they disliked, Rossiter failed entirely to recapture tlie charm of his earlier visit. Perhaps it was his fault; one should not attempt to recapture a memory.

At the end of ten days lie decided to return to London, and the two hours he had to spend in Ostend waiting for the boat were very depressing ones. The parish front irritated him unreasonably and he was glad to get away. He had decided to spend the week-end in London, as Ellen, in any case, did not expect him back until the following week.

He dined in a little Russian restaurant behind Piccadilly Circus, where the food is both cheap and interesting, and pondered over the changes that awaited him in Mossford. He realised with disquietening clearness that in effect he would be Ellen's guest. It was obviously up to him to get a job at once. Any job, he decided. Afterwards he went to a cinema, but the films were American, and poor stuff after the pictures he had seen in .Berlin. Altogether he was in a very disgruntled frame of mind when he sought the moderately-priced but excellent hotel in Leicester Square where he liacl taken a room. Life can be very black when one is young. He looked out from the window of his room into the square. The sky signs were shrieking their messages untiringly. At the far side people were moving up and down as untiringly as the sky signs; everywhere was movement, restlessness. He had never felt so intensely alone in his life.

It was a depressing hour, hut youth is resilient, and depression can be caat aside with the morning. That is where youth scores; every awakening may be the prelude to adventure. It was a Saturday morning, and Rossiter decided to walk down to Bedford Row on the off chance of finding one or other of the Whipples in their fusty office. London is a pleasant place on a spring morning, unless one is hungry, and Rossiter knew that in spite of the catastrophe he was a long way from that. Was it Voltaire who said that man can stand anything if he have but bread? Rather to his surprise he found that the senior partner was in. "Hallo, Barney!" the grey-haired solicitor greeted him. "It's a long time since I saw you. Sit down, my hoy." "A long time, sir." "I was deeply shocked by your father's death, Barney. Still, when one has been in the law for half a century one becomes almost familiar with death, as it were. As far, that is, as one ever becomes familiar with jit." ■ The old man, Rossiter noticed, was upset and nervous. It was unlike him to waste words. "I hear you saw Paul a week or so ago?" he said suddenly. "Yes." "Well, we've been going into your affairs, Barney, and they aren't too promising, I'm afraid. Xot too promising." "I'd gathered that, sir." "There will be just under a thousand when everything is settled up. Everything will be paid, as your father would have insisted." "You mean a thousand free of debt . . . mine, as it were?" "Yes." "Frankly, that is more than I anticipated. It looked to me like a complete and utter smash. Poor old dad!" "The actual figure is *not yet ascertained. It will be very near to nine hundred and eighty pounds. If your dear father had retired twenty years ago he would have died a wealthy man. That's the tragedy of it all. I saw it coming and urged him to do so. But he was a difficult man to influence." "He was a fine man. What he did, he did for the hest." "I agree, wholly. I did not see eye to eye with him on certain transactions, and events, unhappily, have proved I was right, but I yield to none in my respect and affection for John Rossiter." "Thank you, sir." "What are j'ou going to do? A thousand is not a great deal, as you know. Used wisely it is useful, of course, but ..." "I intend to get a job, sir." "You have a degree in languages, I remember your father telling me." "Modern languages, sir." "You know, Barney, if there's anything I can. do, I should be delighted. I know several headmasters, for example." "You're very good, sir. I'd thought of the stage, however. I've got a knack of singing and dancing. It's in my blood, I think. I did rather a lot in an amateur way at Cambridge." "Your mother was a dancer." "Was she? I never knew that . . ." he said, in surprise. "She would have gone a long way if she had stuck to it. ' But she loved your father, and gave up her career fer him." "Funny father never mentioned it. But then he practically never did speak of her. He never got over her death." "Xo. It was in this very room that she met him. I introduced them —- nearly a quarter of a century ago. Strange how things happen, Barney. By the way, what am I to do with the money when affairs are finally settled up ?" "Send me a cheque, I suppose. Don't worry," Rossiter added with a smile. "I shan't blow it!" "You all right for ready money?" "Only just."

"Better have a cheque then. Let, me know, won't you, what you are doing. Keep in touch!" "Rather, sir." "And doii't forget if there's anything I can do, Barney." "Thank you, sir. I shan't hesitate to avail myself of your kindness." He walked along hurriedly once he had left the fusty office. A thousand! Well, he knew how he stood, that was something. He had an education about as good as money could provide and a thousand pounds. And youth! Spring Morning. It was a lovely morning. Barney Rossiter felt young and strong, and everything seemed possible ae he walked along without any definite destination. It was rather fun, just walking, on such jv morning.

But depression was lurking round the corner in spite of the spring. Everywhere he went were crowds of people, unknown, alien. He was alone. The old solicitor had been very friendly, but to him lie was merely a client of little and decreasing importance. It was all very well saying one would go on the stage, but how did one get there? There was a theatre just across the road from him, with the names of actors and actresses blazoned outside. How had they started? There was a time when their one connection with the was a desire to get on to it! He bought a newspaper and took it with him to lunch. He propped it up ill front of his plate and looked down the long list of situations vacant. Most of the advertisers wanted men who could sell things—that wasn't his line. And a lot of others wanted to teach him things. Damn it, he'd wasted enough time and money in learning! Partnerships were offered at sums as small even as his available capital, but one had to he careful with these things, he knew. Most of them, he had heard, were traps. The paper, indeed, was not too helpful, but it was a Saturday, and the worst day for such advertisements. He left the paper on the table and went out into the sunshine.

And suddenly, out of the blue eky, came the memory of Malcolm Tennant. There, anyway, was a possible jumping off spot. He found the card in his wallet. Male lived in Rutherglen Court, March Arch, W. 1., and in spite of the pressing need for economy, he took a taxi.

It seemed a fairly prosperous kind of address, and Male had been left almost as badly off as he was, a year or so before. The taxi was maddeningly slow, but at length it pulled up noisily at his destination. Rutherglen Court was not as imposing as it sounded, but clearly Male was not doing too badly to have a ilat at all in that part of London. Male himself answered Rossiter'e ring. "Good Lord, if it isn't Barney. Come right in. My mother's init, Barney, and the maid's out too. Had lunch?" "Yes, thanks." "Good. We should have had to go out for it. I say, it's good to see you again! I was most fearfully sorry to hear about your guv'noi!" "Yes. It's no use beating about the bush. Look here, Male, I want a job." "But what about the business?' "That's gone phut! I've got a few hundreds, but I want a job. I must get a job!" '"Good Lord! What kind of a job?" "Something on the stage. You know the kind of thing I can do? Is it any good? Is there any money in it?"

"Your stuff's a sight better than mine, and I make a living of sort.* out of it. You know I had it in the neck when ay cid pater died?"

"J gathered you did." L wanted a job. I heard of a m'an called Silas Porritt. It sounds a nasty name, but he's really a very useful institution. And lie's straight. He may not be beautiful, but he's straight.' , "What is he?" "I'm telling you, Barney. He's an agent. Fixes you up. Look here, we could probably get him at his. office now, although it is Saturday—it's in Whitecombe Street. I understand he sleeps there." "But what is it you are doing exactly?" "I'm an entertainer, Barney, heaven forgive me! You know, songs at the piano, funny stories —heard that one about the girls' school?" "Yes," said Rossiter, who hadn't. "Pity. And topical songs, Winston Churchill and the 8.8.C., and everything else that's in the newspapers. Remember that song you wrote for me years ago about the 'Next War?" , "Xot particularly. I wrote a lot of verse." "This one . . ." Male sat at the piano and rattled off a ditty to the tune of "Men of Harlech." "Oh, that!" said Rossiter. "Why I can churn out stuff like that by the yard."

"It'e a good song," said Male solemnly. "I tell you what, you'd be invaluahle to a concert party at the seaside. And it would be good experience for you." "Pierrote?" "That sort of thing. A chap who can write verse—even rotten verse—is very useful. The local happenings can be introduced and a topical touch always goes. Let's go and see Porritt. You might easily strike lucky!" "If you think it's any good." "Course it's good! It's no use, laddie, hiding your ]i<, r ht under a bushel in the profession. Whatever you say in this .game's going to be heavily discounted because we're all the most infernal liars. So talk bip;! Bluff! Twenty per cent of what you'll say'll be believed." (To he continued daily.)