SOAPY AND THE SERGEANT

Auckland Star, Volume LXVII, Issue 238, 8 October 1936, Page 26

SOAPY AND THE SERGEANT

SOAPY saw it all happen. It had been raining in the Eastern Districts, and the car, as it came round the bend, skidded sideways on the greasy surface and plunged down the bank. Soapy moved more quickly than he had ever moved in his life. He rushed to the front seat and wrenched open the door. Taking hold of the limp form of the man huddled over the wheel, he dragged him out, and laid him on the moist earth. The man "lay quite still. -His hat had fallen off and"a dark, red stain of blood disfigured his temple. Soapy took all this in with one swift "lance." He bent over him and began to go through his pockets. He had already drawn out a handkerchief when the body stirred. Soapy hastily moistened the white cambric in a pool of muddy water and bathed the blood-covered forehead. The man's eyes opened and lie looked around. "Mister," said Soapy, "you've had a nasy crack. I wouldn't go jumping up as though I'd just missed the step of the bus." The man raised himself on one elbow. "Where did I come?" he asked dazedly. "The car fetched up in the creek," replied Soapy, "and you 'it a 'ole in the 'ood -tyitli vour 'ead 'aid enough to out a nig! It was lucky for you me being around, and aving studied first aid with the Kalgoorlie Volunteer Fire Brigade, 'Course I- was a bit 'andicapped not 'aving me kit. You ain't got a drop ox brandy 'andy 'ave you?" The motorist .nodded, and, rising unsteadily to liis feet began to feel?in his pockets. Soapy returned to the creek and examined the car. "The near side iunning board is torn off, but she looks as though she'll go," he said.

The motorist replaced the papers in his po.cket. I don't know who you are," he said, "but you came at the right time to my rescue. I might have lain tlieie in the river many hours. I am most grateful. "Had you put your hand in my pocket you would have found five hundred pounds. But I see you are as honest as you are good. You are what we call in the trade a 'rough diamond. "My name is Guberstein, of 'Guberstein and Guberstein,' jewellers, Perth. I have in my car some of my stock which I have brought with me back from Kalgoorlie. I would like you to accept of me something to show my gratitude for your kindness and your honesty. "It is one of our British levers," he said, "non-magnetic, jewelled in every movement, and listed in our catalogue at twelve guineas; we issue with it a guarantee for ten years. I tru6t that you will find it a most, reliable keeper of the time." >,'• < ; "Five 'undred quid!" muttered Soapy —as Guberstein drove off. "Why did I stop to drag 'im out of the car?"

Soapy was a sundowner. He had roamed the "Fields" from Cue to Cool* gardie, Bullfinch to Marble Bar. The lust for gold was in his blood, but it fought a losing battle with his loathing for work. The sparkling amber gold of "Kalgoorlie Big K." was his god, and he did his prospecting around the bar entrances of those imposing structures that are the architectural glories of the Goldfields' towns. Soapy had been to Southern Cross on a skin-buyer's track. But the new finds had proved to be no more than a few odd pockets in the old diggings, discovered by impoverished wheat farmers. At Bullabulling he was overtaken by a Grey Wolf three-tonner. It was "Scottie" Duncan back from Perth with petrol and potatoes. Soapy climbed in beside him. and recounted his adventures with Guberstein, the jeweller and showed Scottie the watch he had been given. Scottie regarded his passenger quizi- . cally for a moment. "Five hundred pounds in his pocket and you didn't touch it?" He handed back the watch, at the same time adding: "We'll be in Coolgardie in half an hour and you can try Mike Feinberg. But if the Sergeant O'Dowd is around when anyone asks you the time I shouldn't go flashing that thing to all your swell cobbers." Soapy paused before the establishment of Michael Feinberg, known by its blazoned sign above as the Coolgardie Loan Office. He looked right and left,* more from the association of environment than from actual fear, and dived past the hanging travelling rugs and . bush blankets that bordered the doorway into the darkened interior. But his very action of precaution- was. to'lead to hie undoing. True, there lmd been no one in the street, but Soapy, had forgotten for the moment that wall 3 have ears and passages eyes.

(SHORT STORY.)

By FRANCIS VEAL.

Sergeant- O'Dowd, entering the Homa from Home Hotel in pursuit of his duty and the drink that he know would be waiting for him in the private ollice under the stairs, emerged just in time to witness the obvious attempts at stealth of the unfortunate Soapy. Soapy was in the act of handing over the watch to the bald-headed, greybearded man behind the counter when the shadow of the sergeant loomed large in the doorway. "Sure, Soapy," he said, "and it's an ilegant bit of" joolry that your father has been alter laving yez, but the police will lie disputing the will. Youse just come along with me to the Station and tell me where yez got it," Six months later, one day in September, found Soapy out ten minutes early for his morning exercise. Sergeant O'Dowd led him to the wood pile and handed him the axe. The day was cold, the air was keen and Soapy chopped as he had never chopped before, that is, he chopped. Between each measured stroke and slow, lie took a deep breath and a vindictive fflance in the direction of the office building. O'Dowd disappeared for a moment and SoaW, left alone, dropped- his axe and moved quickly to the open doorway that led to the private office. The sergeant, like many Goldficlds public men, was a spare-time prospector. At the head of the desk and doing duty as a paper weight was a lump of highgrade quartz. Xext to it there were three _ little Vellow slugs that glinted brightly. Soapy left the quartz—it was too big to pocket—and when the secant reappeared Soapy was letting his axe fall with -the listless, lazy stroke of one who had had all that he wanted of that kind of thing before he started.

On Saturday, at mid-day, Soapy was given his freedom, a parting meal, and a salvo of, sound advice from tlie sergeant in his best address-to-pnsoners-making-a-new-etart manner. It was a little after sundown that Soapy appeared, dusty, and with an air of contented fatigue. Sergeant O Dowd was standing at the Town Hall comerthere were pictures on that night, and the sergeant had to be present to maintain law and order. , "Sergeant," said Soapy, "I've bin taking yer advice. Larry Jenks went out to Widgiemooltha this after and I went with 'im. 'E got a blow out at the 19-mile peg, and I got out and began to scout around while 'e was putting on the spare. _ _ • "It looked a bit promising, so I told 'im I'd stay and 'e could pick me up on the way back. I collected a few bits that ought to be worth a few notes, but the blimey bank's closed. "A fellow what's worked all the afternoon deserves 'is drink, don t e? T e Bank don't open till Monday. I was wondering if you'd spring me a tenner for the lot/' Sergeant O'Dowd as a spare time prospector knew the value of gold. "Show me what youse got," he said. Soapv held forth a grimy handkerchief. Reposing in the bottom was a handful of quartz .and pegmatite graveJ in which three little yellow slugs glinted britrhtlv in the light of the stieet lamp. The sergeant had a fortnight's pay in his pocket. He drew.out two five pound notes and handed them over. "Sure Soapy," he said, "it s belavin c yeZ I couldn't over that watcl, business but it does me eyes good to sec ye/, turning over a new lafe and workin 0 honest."