MONEY

Auckland Star, Volume LXVII, Issue 102, 1 May 1936, Page 15

MONEY

By t HOLLOWAY HORN

IT is a mystery to this day wliy she married Tom Prestley, arid to no one more than Tom himself. « He was doing fairly well in the garage on the Oxford Road, but, after all, he was a mechanic, a man who worked with greasy hands,, while Myrtle was not merely the acknowledged beauty of Mossford, but the daughter of a bank manager. She could have married, if local gossip were true, such desirable young men as Dr. Jevons or John Rossiter, the town's leading solicitor; yet she chose Prestley. If he had been romantically goodlooking one could have understood it; but he wasn't. He was on the small side, with simple, honest blue eyes and a pleasant smile. He would have made an excellent husband, people said, for a girl of his own class, but tliey w.ere many who shook their heads when it became known that Myrtle Redlev was to be Mrs. Prestley. He knew his job and was making money, and the bungalow he built by the side of the garage was quite a pleasant little place. He wired it for electricity himself and installed many labour-saving gadgets. For the time being there was to be no maid, but if things went on as they were going it wouldn't be long before he could afford one. As he explained to his wife on their short honeymoon, the possibilities of the garage were unlimited. They could start tearooms, and install a dozen more pumps, for example. "I believe you want to get back there, she said, with a laugh. - "Well . . . that fellow Jim really isn t a lot of good, Myrtle." » » • *

They were back after a week; lie to the garage, she to the little bungalow. It would be much simpler—and much| more satisfactory —if one coulcl record that the critics were wrong, that the marriage turned out to be a triumph of Romance, that Tom made a fortune and Myrtle became steadily prouder and prouder of him. But, unhappily, one cannot, for the marriage was a failure; before the honevmoon was three months behind them Tom's very virtues irritated lus wife. , _ Take the matter of the caf, for instance. She wanted a car; her married friends nearly all had cars. Surely, she argued, eince she had to manage w itliont a maid, she could have one, particularly since he was in the business and could get it for an old song. "There's one coming in to-morrow— I've taken it in part exchange—we'll keep that one for a while, anyway, he said. "I'll have it as sound mechanically as any car on the road." He " kept his word. The car was mechanically perfect, but it was also 192G —and looked it. "Later on, Myrtle," he said apologetically as he noticed the look in her eyes, "we will have a more modern one. You see, that new inspection pit Is cost( ing rather a lot. After all, the car won t let you down—l've seen to that and that's more than you can say for many of the flash ones on the road." "What did you allow for this one? she asked, coldly. "Five pounds fifteen." "I suppose that's all I should expect —a five-pound car!" "That car's worth twenty pounds now, Myrtle," he protested. "I've put in some solid work on it." "Solid work," she echoed, and laughed. There was also the matter of washing for lunch. It took Tom 20 minutes to get himself really clean, and he simply had not the time in the middle of the day. He suggested that he should have his mid-day meal in the kitchen, and she agreed.

Every morning he was up at six find, in the garage by seven. He worked there until seven one evening and nine the next, after which he wanted to sit by his fireside and listen to the wireless. Mvrtle wanted, naturally, to go out. It is doubtful whether Tom realised the way things were drifting. To him, marriage was the end of romantic ad\enture. He was a married man and was getting down to his main job in life the garage. In ten years he was going to have the finest establishment on the Oxford Road. It was just a matter of capital —you had to have that—and he watched his balance at the bank zealously. After all, lie argued, he was doing it for Myrtle as well as himself, and, of course," for the kiddies he hoped one day would come. And, above all, it was the work he loved—absorbing, even thrilling. I There is no doubt, however, that 'Myrtle Prestlev saw the drift; she had more time to "think than her husband. 1 She saw with tragic clearness that she had made a mess of things, appreciated, as the days went bv, that she not only did not love Tom, but had never loved him. . .

He had been different from the other men she had known, less of a type. His overalls, as he worked in the garage, had once seemed rather romantic, now they were alwavs with her, oily and disgusting. This detail, more than anything else, showed the change m her point of view.' •, , Her father's retirement from the bank, and subsequent move to the south coast, rrave her marriage its death blow. ° It would have been very awkward for her parents if she had left Tom while they were in .Moseford, where everyone knew them, but when they went the opinion of Mossford became soon after her father's retirement. Prestley had been called away to a breakdown. He was absent only 7 a couple of hours, but when he came back his wife was gone. In the "bungalow he found a note she had left f °"Dear Tom,—l am leaving you. I'm sorry but I" can't stick it any longer The whole business was a mistake. I n I meeting Mr. Jonson in London and thu, evening we're going abroad together. I hate hating you, but that's how things ar prestiey carefully read this characteristic letter twice before he put it back in the envelope. He then had a crust of bread and cheese and a bottle of beer while he thought the matter out. She had gone and wasn't coming back that was the main fact. And with Mr. J °Tom' knew Jonson slightly. ** eh * d overhauled his expensive car_ and occa sionallv had filled up his tank. He: wa I T wealthy widower-and something ; vague in the city. # * 1 Ravin* thought it over, Prestley went ~S| J'K E following afternoon John Rossi- £ r e P p" e l> P he fard S to aS Tom.;:Tm afraid she'll have to be 'deeoked in a week or *o."

(SHORT STORY.)

Prestlev nodded. "I say, Prestlev, what's this I hear about Myrr.lt ? Forgive my butting in,' but I knew her well." "I know you did. you didn t marry her."

Rossiter was silent. "It's quite right what J»ou heard, Mr. Rossiter. She's left me." ' "I'm sorry, Tom. I a bit upset when you married her, but I had no

hard feelings." "As a matter of fact I shall have to see you," said Prestlev. "Suppose I shall" have to divorce her. Seems a waste of money, though, and I want all the capital I can get in the business. You must have capital in this line.

"Who's the man?" "Jonson—that old chap who lives at the Towers." "Yes. I heard so. Well, if she's after money, she's got it this time. He s old enough to be her father. By the way, you should —it's ratlier difficult —but it does seem to me a case in which substantial damages should be paid." #*» - »

Tom Prestlev elvook his head. "No," he said. "if "i can't get in a better way than that, 111 go without it." "Ah, well, that's a matter for future consideration. Look me up when and if you feel like it. You'll certainly get your costs out of Jonson, so you needn t worry about the expense of the case.

But, as events fell out, there was no j divorce, for three days later the news reached Mossford that Myrtle Piestley was dead. The aeroplane in which she and Jonson were travelling from Paris to Berlin had crashed. Jonson had been killed immediately and Myrtle had died a few minutes after reaching the hospital. . _ 4 People said it was the finger of Fate, but people say all sorts of things at such times. Tom Prestley said nothing, but threw himself into his work in an effort to forget his trouble. The bungalow wa3 in Myrtle's name; Tom was buying it through a building society. He saw Rossiter about it. "You're certain she left no will?" Rossiter asked. "There's this," said Tom. "We both made wills while we were on our honeymoon, leaving everything to the other. It was Myrtle's idea." Rossiter glanced at the paper. "Rather quaintly worded but fairly wateitiglit," he said. "Did she leave anything else?" "Nothing, so far as I know. "I'll fix things and get the dcede put in your name." * » » #

But a day or so later Rossiter pulled up at the garage again. "What would it cost to rebuild this place?" he asked when Tom had filled his tank. "To make a job it would take three thousand at least. I'll have it with luck —in about five years." "You'll have it much sooner than that," the lawyer said. "What do you mean?" Prestley demanded. "I mean that for once justice has been done; in a case of this kind it's rare, believe me." "I'm sorry, Mr. Rossiter, but I don t know what you are talking about.' "The night before they left England, Jonson took your wife to his solicitors and altered his will." "Well?" "He left her £->000 free of duty." The lawyer paused a moment before he continued. "He died before her, so the money actually goes to her estate. And, in the terms of her will, everything in that estate . . . comes to you, Tom."