Within an Inch of His Life.

Bush Advocate, Volume XI, Issue 869, 9 December 1893, Page 6

Within an Inch of His Life.

-■ . o ■ - |_Br Reginald TV amok.] Into a dingy, comfortless room in a squalid back street in Carlton the rays of the afternoon sun wero fighting their way through the openings in a dilapidated Venetian blind on a certain Monday in November, IS — . Without, even in that unattractive neighborhood, whera the gutters were redolent of cabbage stalkß and the cast-off armor of deceased crayfish, thero was a certain decree of brightness. A perfectly homicidal organ, played by a decayed Italian nobleman, and attended by a mournful and brckenspirited monkey, discoursed disjointed spasmodic valses and battered overtures for the delectation of ft mob of dirty, illclad children, who danced with joyous unconTentionality in and out of the gutter. A well-fed but bored-looking policeman stood at the corner of the' street musing upon the immense comprehensiveness of that elastic charge, " insulting behavior," alternately with a lazy speculation a-3 to -what would win the Cup on tho morrow. 2fo snn, however, could infuse brightness into the hopeless dreariness ot that scantily-furnished room. The boards were bare save for a tattered strip or two of faded carpet. The goods and chattels *>f tho inmates were on a par with tho general appearance of the room, for they, consisted of a shabby-looking trunk which had seen better days, A couple of ■well-worn chairs furnished the sitting accommodation of the room. On a chair, near the window, with his head leaning wearily on his hand, sat a man who, despite the haggard, worn look .on his face, could not fiaye been ' more than twenty- four jor twenty-five years old. His clothes ■were of that class best described as the relics of byegone days. They represented the" intermittent stage between the garments fresh from a fashionable tailor and the shoddy shining apparel of the ready - made slopshop. His hands, though not as white and spotless as those of the average Collins street masher, •were unmistakenbly those of a man ■who .was not 'won't to earn his bJead -by the sweat of his brow. Bitter and dejected though his expression was, there was thatin his face and thofranlc planco of his deep grey eyes which caused men to like him, and many women to tn.kfi an interest in him. ■On the bed lay a girl whose slight ■figure made her look almost a child. Her ' iace was pale, -and she looked as if an abundance o£ fresh, air and good food were urgent requirements in order to prevent s'er from fading away altogether. Every now and then the young man ■ -would steal' a glance at her and then turn back to the window with a sigh. This aroused the girl, and she would remonstrate. " Don't give way, Bert, dear. Things must chance for the better. We can't always have bad fortune." " Well, if the change doesn't come soon. I don't see how it can b« much use to us," replied the young man, moodily. Their story was not a very uncommon one. Bertie Melville was the son of ■an English vicar,, who, liko many of his class, . had _been , unduly blessed with a numerous progeny. The two oldest sons had' been sent to Oxford,, and one had achieved the dignity of a poorly-paid curacy, while the other was waiting for briefs in chambers in tho Temple. It had been a difficult matter to. mow what to do with Bertie, who was the next, and as be displayed a greater -proclivity tor athletics and horsemanship than for more remunerative ciualiScationß, he was at length, after the good' old English fashion, shipped off to Australia "to go and find out and be "blessed. He had loafed for some months in Melbourne aud Sydney, and had ■ -subsequently loafed a further poriod on the station of an acquaintance; , In-> fluence had obtained him a Cfovornment billet, and for a time he had duly put iv so nnny hours a day in the easy employ of his country. A wild epidemic or retrenchment had, however, cut short his career of usefulness in this direction and he was now forming one of the great army of the unemployed. His woes were doubly heavy, for rolyhig on the supposed stability of a billet under the Government, he had fallen in love with and married tho daughter of a Flinders . lane magnate. No eighteenth century papa could more thoroughly have cast off a disobedient child than did the man of commerce in this case. Toor Ella found herself Mrs Bertie Melville without a parent of her own, for her mother had died while Ella was a baby. At first things were bright and rosy.but after a brief honeymoon the young couple were faced with the stern necessity of performing that financial operation known as . " hedging. " Then had come the worst blow, and tha husTiand was out of work, while the wife had the added anxiety of knowing that there would soon be another to share the wretched miseries of a poverty which was daily growing more desperate and hopelew. Once she had written to her -father unknown to her husband, but the letter had been returned unopened, and she knew, that door was closed forever. At the present time thero were only a few shillings loft, representing all they had wherewith to face the world. Everything of the slightest value, including many necessaries, had gone to afford temporary relief and stave off absolute want. " You are tired, Ella," said the young man at length rising. "I'll just take a stroll round and see Martin. He may have heard of something, and I would not like to miss a chance, however remote." H« kissed her end went out in search of Martin. The latter was one of those rare individuals, generally impecunious themselves, who yet seem to shed around them an air of brightness and cheerfulness which, was absolutely infectious. Time after time ho had raised Bertie from the depths of despondency, and now and then had been able to assist him with slight pecuniary help. But Martin was an Irishman, and a pressman, and with this combination it "is hardly necessary to state that his own finances were generally at a pretty low ebb. Walking along with 1 his eyes on the pavpment, and his thoughts, if possible, lower still, Bertie came into collision with anan in Swanston street. Then he added, observing' the preoccupied look of his acquaintance, "I beg your pardon," he bogan, but altered it to " Hullo. Mark. i« that you ? Ton don't look particularly festive." " That's a case of the pot and the lettle indeed," responded the man addressed, a seedy-looking, middle-aged individual rooking with stale tobacco and inferior whisky. - You're hit the right mark," said .Bertio. " I don't believe I can <»et much lower. If I were only a bachelor lite you, 1 might try a new country ; but, hangit, I couldn't leave the wife even for a ween to face the music now." "1 suppose not," aaid his companion, only. "I don't understand that sort of tiling myself, and tins I do know that if I am not richer by a few hundred toworrow I'll eat my hat." "What do you mean?" said Bertie. "On, the Cup," he added, with a weary' (181)

milo. " I sup Dose you've got a dead ! >ird, then." - ''Dead-bird," said the other scornfully* '.' '-It's a bird that's not only dead, bus plucked and trussed ready for cooking, md I am going to eat it to-morrow. Why damme," he added excitedly, and ; then, as suddenly quietened clown, " Listen to me, Bertie Melville. I've known you for some time, and I like you. I know you dou't like me. You neodn't apologise, but you did me a good turn once, and I don't forget it. Coino m here." Bertio followed him into a neighboring hostelry. Mark did the honors. Over the liquids be became very impressive, and though at first inclined to reject the flood of advice poured in, Bertie, by dint of certain mysterious hints and glances at several greasy well-thumbed telegraph messages beeanio impressed with the sagacity of his friend. " If I only had a pound or two," he muttered. " You say it's at 30 to 1. Why it would tide us over for quite a time." " Well, my advice is, get it somehow or other," concluded Mark as he bade him farutvell, '• I haven't any money except what's on that horse. I wish I could put my shirt on him." A casual glance at what could be seen of. Mr Mark Fox's shirt, led Bertie to the conclusion that any high-spirited animal would kick with exceeding vigor if that garment were placed near to him. Bertie had half a mind to ask Martin to aid him in his plan, but he was afratd the latter would laugh at him, and besides, he had often heard Ella declaim against the evils of betting. A thought struck him, and he blushed with the. shame of it. "He need not knowit's for a bet," whispered the voice of temptation, and the voice promised a speedy victory. Martin was easily found, and, as luck would have it, had just got paid for some special work he had done. ■ 1 % Here's a note, my boy," said he, "and I hope, things will brighton up a bit. If they don't, send Mrs Melville down to my place — my wife will take care of her while you make tracks in search of something. One thing, Bertie, understand that pound, is not to co in betting. You don't bat, and I hope you never will." The genprosity ot tne man nearly took Bertio's breath ttway,andhedidnotdaro to look his friend in \hv faceasD»staramered his thanks. Still his mind was made up. Advice or otherwise, the money should ba ventured on this last chance. It was true ne no gambler, and it was no fondness for betting or even for racing which guided him in following the advico of that broken down worthy, Mark Fox. The sight of his young ' childrwife, with the color fast fading from her cheeks and the thought that within a day or two he would not have left the wherewithal to obtain even the barest necessaries- of life, had driven him to desperation, and he had accepted tho ntterances of that whisky-laden prophet, Mark, as the beckonings of an angel hand. Mark was so positive.' and tha information he possessed was no ordinary kind. Above all, Mark had bucked him as he had said almost' for his shirt, for Bertie had seeit the ticket. Ah! It must bo a certainty. There were many like him who had had tho goad fortuue to bo put on to a real good thing like this. Then he fell to musing on what he would do for Mark if it came off. ' If — perish the thought. Then ho found that he could fiud ample employment for the not very enormoua capital at M 3 disposal In the eveut of that outsider Mikado winning the Cud, and he brought niattera down to bed-rock by finding that if he shouted for Mark some of his pet whisky it would be about as much as ho could stand. He metthatworthyshortly after,and tho money so sadly wanted in the .dingy little room in Carlton was invested on Mikado at thirty to one. Bertie fait a pang ; of, regret: as he paid over what would have got so many comforts for the weary,, pale girl who was awaiting him at the only place they could cali home. ■ It was late before he fiot back, and poor Ella had fallen asloep through sheer weariness. Thero wore tears showing- on the dork lashe3, and Bertie could only pray that the morrow would bring them the small modicum of relief represented by thirty golden sovereigns; He fell asleep himself, planning where lie would take Ella fur a change. * * * * ■ The next morning Ella was tired, and while she still slept the husband rose and hastily dressud himself. Then raising the lid of tho solitary trunk ho took from ita recesses a little leather ciso. It contained a tiny revolver, which had been a present to him from his father when he left England, that sagacious English gentleman being under the firm impression that blacks marauded around Melbourne while bushrangers bailed people up in Collins street. Stooping down, he softly kissed his wife's pale cheek, and, placing nearly the whole of their ion remaining shillings on the bed by her side, quietly crept downstairs. How the day passed till he found himself at Flemington he hardly know ; indeed, he seemed in a Bort of stupor whiie the events which preceded the big race were decided. Then the horsef came out for tho Cup, and he hoard those around him criticising tho chances of the various animals. Ho noticed that, very little was said about Mikado, and his heart sank till he recollected the impressive fashion in which Mark Fox had told him how few were in tho know. At last they were oft, and not having been energetic enough to secure a good position, Bertie was, to a certain extent, dependant upon the voices around him for a knowledge of how affairs progressed. Name after name was shouted and dropped. Would they never mention Mikado ? The horses thundered by tho first time and he got a flashing glimpso of the color*} worn by Mikado's jockey. They were well in tho rear, and Bertie curned sick with dread. At length ho hears the welcome words, and they are accompanied with an oath. "By ■ , Mikado's cropoing up." The cry is taken up, and as the horses enter the straight there is a fierce yell of "Mikado." Bertio fancied that those around him must hoar tho boating of his heart even amidst the roar and excitament. He craned his neck, and the picture of the finish was indelibly impressed upon his mind. Mikado had just reached Barracouta by a grand effort, and for a brief second both were locked together. Then Barracouta's jockey seemed to lift him up, and he forged slightly ahead, and Mikado was a good second for the Cup. There was no question as to the result, and the win was a popular one, being greeted with enthusiastic cheers. Bertio's face was ashen grey, and a mist seemed to have come bofora his eyes. Mechanically he found his way back to the city. Thero was only one idea in his mind now. Taking a piece of paper from his pocket in Spencer street he scribbled a few linos on it and addresßed it to Martin, and this he placed in his pocket again. He commended his wife to Martin's care', and begged the latter to break tho news to poor Ella. Turning in to a hotel of popular resort li the city, Bertie pushed bis way to the >ar. The girl behind smiled a reccniion. "-Did you back the winner ?" °

I Bertie gazed at her abstractedly and I said abruptly-'---j "Give me a glass of brandy." It was supplied, and ho placed aflorin on tha countor and drained the claas at a gulp. Then ho moved, away towards this back, fueling at something in his breast pocket. " You look ill," said one o£ his acquaintances, "Are you goinp: homo ':" " Yes," said Bertio, quietly, " 1 am going home." 5 lie reached a little room at the back of the building. Quickly he drew the tiny pistol from his pocket, and raised it to his head. There was a smart step down the passage. " Now or never," said tbe wretched man, as he placed the muzzle ot the weapon to his head. " Bertie !" cried a voice. The latter turned, and at tho same time unconsciously pulled tho trigger. He staggered against the wall.and Martin caught him by the arm. " You madman, what are you doing?" Tho sudden turn of the head had saved him, and there was only a slight graze along the side of the scalp, while the deadly bullet had buried itself in the wall. For one moment the men gazed at one another. Then Martin said quietly, "You did not wait for your change. 1 Hero it is, and here is a telegram which, has been waiting for you all day." "Open it," said Bertie, hoarsely. Martin did so. It was from a firm of solicitors in England briefly informing him of his uncle's death, and of the fact that he had been left a handsome legacy. He was told where he could draw what ■ lie wanted at the present. " Great God," Baid Bertie. " How near ' it was being too late.' Then a thought struck him. " Martin, don't, for heaven's sake, tell EU about — about — that," pointing to the hole in the wall. " I won't," said Martin, " On ono condition only. You swear solemnly you'll nevßr wager anothor shilling on a race." Bertie promised, and in a few minutes was on his way to the dingy room in Carlton, where for that evening, at any i-ate, there was brightness and joy as a contrast to tho previous despondency. Theru are pictures which are indelibly impressed upon men's brains, and certainly Bertio Melville will never forget that finish for the Melbourne Cup.