The Second Son

Auckland Star, Volume LXVIII, Issue 31, 6 February 1937, Page 8 (Supplement)

The Second Son

I By ... I AGNES WINSKILL I «-sxjxJ>^xsxs-»<tXsKsxs>^<s.«><s>^xj>«xs;«^>^>< l .

Manly again. Years have passed once more, but time finds him married to a beautiful, pleasure-loving woman, and the proud father of two small boys. The period is a little beyond that of the present, and Edgar is the efficient pilot of one of the mail 'planes in regular service for the lons-discussed trans-Tasman hop. This is the story of Colin, his second son.

rpHE Manly 3 had christened their I homo "The Cables," and not without reason, for gables had long been a passion with the charming brido. and her suggestion that at least four i-l hi be included in the plans of the house met with no opposition. It was an attractive pines, in the way that the homes of successful people are attractive, with a broad, shelled. drive and smooth lawns, broken only by circles of wellkept (lower beds. 'it was thought by many in the neighbourhood .that "The Cables"' was on the Urge size for so small a family, especially when two were hut children of seven and nine; but the young Mrs. Manly was fond of gaiety and company, and in the frequent absence of her aviator husband banished her loneliness by large, dazzling house parties. That loneliness could exist behind those brilliantly-lighted windows was almost unbelievable, but in truth there was another beside the. woman who was often despairingly lonely, and—this was the greatest and deepest secret of all— whoso loneliness was made almost unbearable by an added sensation — fear. Stranger still, this other vvaa a child, the second son. His name was Colin. Colin, from baby days, had shown the difference of temperament that existed between himself and his brother Jeremy. Jeremy was his father's son, taking after him not only in looks, hut displaying, too, tho same carefree recklessness of manner. He was attracted, even now, by pageantry and numbers of people, and was content that his parents should but share in the affections he scattered far and wide. In that latter characteristic did Colin differ from his brother most. He adored hie father. There could bo found no other word to explain iiis affection. AH the love in his child heart w.-is, shared between his mother and his father, with perhaps a little to weigh the balance on the side of his bij, gay hero, daddy, who

could ride through the sky like a bird! But thus adoration mingled will, another emotion that was, on occasion, as greatj but daddy, who was Edgar Manly, airman, to the public, mado his'erratic home-com-ings and numerous farewells with his characteristic carelessness, all unknowing of the turmoil in the little soul that alternately worshipped and feared for him. Colin was waiting for him now in the dim evening light of the nursery, sitting alone on the window seat and staring out stolidly into tlio increasing darkness. Mother was having another party to-night. She was in her lovely bedroom getting dressed and, in" a little while, Colin thought to himself, she would ho in to kiss him good-night. He wondered solemnly if she was thinking of daddy. " The funny little clock on the nursery mnntle suddenly said, "Cuckoo! " cuckoo!" several times, and when all was quiet again Colin thought, "Eight o'clock. Daddy's half an hour late again." The thought made him feel funny. Ho felt tight inside of him, as though someone was squeezing him too hard. Ho wanted to cry, too. and he wanted to laugh. Hi" could not have told even mummy what was the. matter with him. and yet he knew somehow that if daddy came homo he wouldn't feel funny any more. Mother came into the nursery suddenly, like a breath from the garden.' Colin sniffed the perfume unconsciously: it was like the scent of the crimson roses. Mother was beautiful. She- had a simply-made black drive on, a dress that rustled when sho moved, and two shining she fingered ' the light switch ' and then hurried across the room to him. "Nighty-night, Colin! Nearly bed time! ' Esnie will lie up with •Teremv soon." She bent her fair, groomed head over him and kissed him lightly. "Look at your picture book till she comes." Colin shook his head silently and looked out of the window, mid mother exclaimed. "You've not read it already, surely, Colin? Why. daddy only brought it home for you last -week!" Baddy . . . Colin looked up with wide, questioning eyes, and whispered. "Has daddy—rang?" He always rang a≤ soon as he reached the aerodrome.

But mother shook her head sharply and said quickly, "Xo," and Colin saw that there "were little shadows under her eyes. Then: "Go to bed when Esme 'comes, Colin. You can se u daddy in the morning." The soft click of the closing door told the, boy she had gone. But there was nothing to he seen outside, for the night was block and the sky starless, and daddy's car had still not come when ten minutes later Keme came in with Jeremy. Esmo wus in between a mother's help and a nursemaid. She dragged a. squealing, struii-linu' Jeremy—"] don't want to go to bed! I shall •ret up again, so there!' - —into the nursery, calling to Colin as she went through the dividing door into the children'* bedroom. Colin did not answer, and five minutes later Esme came back to fetch him. "Bed, Colin!" 'she said brightly. Colin raised his head. He liked Esme. She stood waiting, her hand held out for him, and he knew she understood. "It's past eight. You can see daddy in the morning." .So mummy had said, too. But it was a long time till morning, he told himself: it was onlv bed time. He took Esme's hand and went with her. Where would daddy he while ho was sleeping? Daddy had told him once that where 'he went in his aeroplane there was nothing but grey, stormy sea—no land at all. And only this morning he had heard mummy talking with Esine of an airman' who was lost. Daddy was Into . . .he mightn't see daddy in the morning. . . . Esmo was struggling with his tight sock*. With a sharp cry he Hung his brown little arms about her and sobbed into her shoulder. "I'm frightened. Essie! T want daddy!" ' And Esme cuddled him closer to her and comforted him. Poor little mite . . . every time his father went away . . . He went to sleep iii her arms, and she put him into his bed at last, smoothing the curls back from the tear-stained cheeks. Jeremy had found himself tired, after all. and whs sleepins soundly. Esme crept out ami left darkness behind her. Colin awolce just in time to hear (lie ei.i-koo clock epenk iisMin. IT." lay still a moment and then, clearly oiit of the darkness of the nurserv. echoed "Cuckoo! Cuckoo!" He counted the cnlls carefnlly. Ten of them. Ten o'clock. ' Perhaps daddy was home! He was out of bed in a moment, nnd his bare feet nattered softlv across the floor and out into the hull. As the nursery door swung to behind him the strains r>f a gay foxtrot floated up from the illuminated lounge nnd drawing room lielow. And Colin. nyjama-clad. hung over the banisters inst in time to see mother in the midst of a fray company, just in time to hear her soft, appealing laugh, and practised repartee. ,

Colin felt a sinking feeling within himself. No onu \ra« troubling about daddv, alune ami helpless in the "rev skv above the gr-'.v sen. Even Jeremy, us lie, Colin, relumed to his bedside, with determined mind iilready making plans, still slept. But Colin had made up his mind; he would go to the aerodrome and 6 ea why daddy hadn't come. He knew it wasn't far: lie had gone often with Jeremy in daddy's car. It was a complicated task, getting into his clothe*, and for the first time he realised Ksnie'a helpfulness, lint lit hist he was ready, a ray of moonlight showed him his coat where "it him- behind the door, and with meat care that he was not observed at last let himself out into the coal night. The street light outside the gate was far from friendly. H glimmered high up, played a limelight upon the wide gateway, and made the further darkness shadowy and Coiin put awny his nervousness and went on. lie pawed at length th-'ongh the business area, now silent :iiid deserted, save where a late-hour confectionery shop brightened -the darkened row. From ' here Colin thought it was not far to the aerodrome. But beyond the shops the darkness became 'more intense as the scrap of moon hid itself behind a cloud, and peer though he might with his frightened, wide-open eyes, he could gaiii no glimpse of the gates he knew 'so well. A sound'on the path ahead of him brought him to a standstill, heart thumping. He must have made some sound, for on the instant a dazzling beam of light blinded him. "Whv. sonny! , : exclaimed the deep voice of a familiar helmeted figure, "whv are you running «round so la to'on vour own? Are you lost?" "Xo." "whispered Colin. "I'm going to the airy-drome." (He always pronounced it that way.) "I'm looking for my daddy." "Looking for daddy at the aerodrome, eh? Well, how about coming along with me?" "To the nirv-drome?" asked Colin, eagerly. "To find daddy?" The' policeman nodded. "I expect so. We'll see." Colin clutched at tho his "nnd happily. Just fancy meeting this nice man. who knew both daddy and the aerodrome. But it was a rather snmhre, unknown building , where thev reached at hist and went inside. Tho sergeant listened to the policeman's statement and nodded. "What's vonr nnme, little man?" he asked then. "Colin." was the timid answer, and the sereeant nodded again. "T thought so. Tt's Mnnly'« kid— that (lying fellow. T'll give the Colin was finding the proceedings extremely uninteresting. T le set on a liench'wnt and watched the man nt the desk dinl a nnmher. through sleepy eve*. TTe wonted daddy .. . "Aerodrome?" n=ked a voice, far nway. "P,»licc station hero. Ts Mr. 'M-l.lv there?" A pause, nnd then. "We've got one of your hovs here—lost. yes. Pays lie was lnnkon your way? Homl-hye!"