OUR 'ORACE

Auckland Star, Volume LXVIII, Issue 281, 26 November 1937, Page 19

OUR 'ORACE

By E. M. GLEAVES

661¥THATE\ I'-K did ver £ive me a YY name like Horace for - ;'' naid my brother bitterly one Sunday afternoon about three weeks or so after the work's annual picnic. Well, Im blest." My mother paused by the oven door with the meat-tin in her hand: "Ver want summit ter giuint about, our 'Orice, that yer do, yer otfglit to l»e thankful as I stuck out a ,r en Archibald."

"Wat d'ye mean?" Horace kicked the, poker and to:igs muttering a little word forbidden in the Pottses' household. "Well, out wi' $t, oo's the young madam wat ojects ter yer name? Oh come now." (Mother can put on a wheedling tone as well as anyone when she likes.) "I 'avna 'ad the doin's uv yer, 'Orice Potts, fer nearly twenty years wi'out knowin' yer from A ter Z. I can read yer like a book, but that don't stop me from sympathisin' wi' yer all the same.

" Vw's a body ter know any road wat a girl nil object to? Stands ter reason as ideas i* twenty years; I thought "rice nice. I'm sure."

"iou would," said Horace ungraciously, but mother actually winked at me.

ou wouldn't know 'er if I was ter tell yer 'er name," he conceded after a short silence.

"So," said mother, "I dunna suppose as I should, but yer might "five us a chance."

"Well, a« ye're so anxious ter know,, it's Pamela Shaw then, an' row I 'opes ye're satisfied. She does nothin' but jeer at me. 'Oh 'Orice!' she says when I asks 'er anvthin'.

"I says to 'er ... I mean (he corrected himself with a frown at me) I said to her 'Don't you like my name?'

And the says 'I think it's a peach of a name, 'Orice,' an' laughs every time she goo. through the shops. - ' "Yer dunna mean widder Shaw's Pam, our 'Orice? Oh. bless my *oul, I bet she does think 'er penny good silver an' all now she's gotten a job i' the office. I suppose you wus soft enough ter say as 'ers wus the luviest name on the face uv the earth." "I did nowt uv the kind, she don't give me no chance for one tliinjr. ' 'Orice,' she says," he finished bitterly, forgetting to talk what my mother calls "dutch" her expression for ordinary English. "I sh'u'dna werrit son," she said gently, "I'll seee wat yer uncle George says . . " "Nay, mother, wat I've told yer is in confidence-like, I don't want anybody ter know." "Uv course yer rlnnna, wat. d'ye tak' me fer! I only thought as I'd see wat yer uncle George thought about askin' Mrs. Shaw in ter tea, she's bin settin' 'er cap at Mm fer this month or more. ever sin' e's bin workin' agcn at the owd Blackwood; she little knows George Kelshall if she thinks as c'll stick at a job; once yer father comes 'ome 'e'll be off, but yer never know. . . ." She broke off while she opened the sugar canister. .. " 'Er late 'usband was a fireman as well, an' wat is ter be will be, I says, yer canna get round Fate no road." Horace looked his surprise, but mother only said, "If some uv you young folks 'u'd tak' th' trouble ter look under yer noses instead uv goin' searching a mile off, ye'd see more p'raps, an' 'appen fare better." I think Horace kissed mother, but I can't be sure, they were in the back kitchen then. I was nearly as excited as Horace when four o'clock came. Uncle George had graciously decided to stay in for the tea-party, "as father was away," he said, but he smartened himself up and fetched a lovely bunch of flowers from High Lane gardens. After tea he and the widow discussed politics loudly while Pam Shaw (I think Pam must have taken after her father) and mother sat together on the old sofa. • • • • Horace, with red ears, had refused salmon at teatime and now was mending Pam's bicycle in the back yard ready for a ride after work on Monday. Mother seemed to take to Pam straightaway and I thought she was lovely; she wore somthing soft and blue and helped me with a crossword when we'd washed up. "Wat's this about 'Orice?" said mother, after g. bit. "Oh, Mrs. Potts. has he told "you ?" Pam went red. "Well my dear, 'e's not exactly told me, but 'e started ter grunt about 'is name an' I drawed me own conclusions." "You won't tell him if I confess, will you, Mrs. Potts?" said Pam, giving me a smile as well. "Last year Amy Grice went to the picnic with Horace and from what she told me he must have given her the go-by after they had been talking of names.'* "That madam!" exclaimed my mother. "Well, well, it's come ter summat when wenches like 'er objects to a name, but I'll say no more, go on, Pam." "But she didn't object, Mrs. Potts, she said 'Horace' was a fine name and her favourite; after that h-j turned

Short Story

round on licr and said that a pirl who liked tho mime Hora»-e ought to be hanged by the neck until she was dead. Amy was terribly cut up when she told mo, she's tried to make it \ip many a time lint lie won't even speak to her." " Yu've pot me beat, my dear, all the .same. I ennua sec wat ye're drivin' at." shook iier head.

'"No';'' I'am lias a little trick of smiling that's enough to make anyone fall in love with her. It's like this, Mrs. I'otts, I ye always fancied your Horace, so 1. said to myself, 'he aitrt exactly smitten with his name, and Amy put her foot in it proper' .... well, that's all."

.Mother began to laugh. '"Ye've got yer Vad screwed on pretty well, Pam Sluiw, that yer 'ave."

At that minute Horace came in wiping liis hands. " If ye've got th' job done, 'Orice, you an' Pam 'ad better go for a blow," said mother genially, hut both she and Pam had to hide their faces, pretending to search for something as he said grandly. "I shall 'ave ter find another name for yer, I'am, yer own fair gives me the pip. Come on."

"Well, Sally, me wench," said Uncle (leorge, when we were alone after supper, "next time yer starts matchmakin' ve'd better leave me out uv th' reckonin', widder Shaw 'as fallen in luv wi' me name.

' George she says, 'it's a king's name an' a man's name.' When it comes ter that, our Sally, there's nowt fer it but ter jack up me job an' skoot; a man 'as no chance at all agen a determined women, never mind a widder." * • • *

I laughed and Uncle George glowered at mo, "W at s wrong wi' von Georgie is 0 s pot more than 'is fair share uv ears, if 1 was 'is father I'd show 'im 'ow ter

shorten 'om ; they grows a sight ter long listening' ter wat wasna intended fer 'im to 'ear.'' ""IT tor bed. Georgie," said mother, "yer uncle 'as 'ad a narrer ".scape Wat's iu a name? I'd said yesterday 'nowt' an' now, wat wi' our young 'Orice an' you, our George, all I says is that Life's rum watever road ver looks at it."