WHAT HO!

Bay of Plenty Times, Volume LXXI, Issue 13014, 4 December 1942, Page 7

WHAT HO!

A NOVEL

v u s another visit [f;3 [ L phelps,” said the U r f"eI« a ” arrange a perwith the ghost for Ltervfe* " u

, st( d«l=indo£you,” said Mrs

IP .j jiervin won’t let us said Mrs WyncooP- “Be“nt to see something of We’ll spend a few ■ f£SliDen , first. Mervin wishes |f Tower again and brush a ■'history: otis has a busine& ! If" .with Sir Peter Tyler; I f. perm, After that, we’ll t cbannel and jUSt S f\ .mine in L " I,tl0 "’” sald K: “At Hyfle Part Hot<:L h „st jet to *ort on my aim ,e,oareh. you know. ' antes later the earl stood 1., his handkerchief at a disapf* , Mrs Phelps waved fL car slipped round a bend. ! ,Lps had gone, taking with subdued and wordless Mer- * .J was on Ernest's immedi- | prison as lie and the earl started Lite castle. Lathis?” exclaimed the eail | -'Sink me. if they're not | ' jjjjck!” fit looked down the drive. A L ilie was coming toward them. I‘,'t be the Wyncoops,” said i s ( "Their car was old and I {This one is new and purple.” Impels and ministers of grace, Lj ds!” exclaimed the earl. I :i S like Funder’s car.” | Oder’s car it was. j • CHAPTER XII I a!"said Pander, “Plere I am.” Hoffjerdo?” said the earl. ‘‘Won’t | ime in?” | ins a needless invitation, for s«r, unbidden, had already pushJ nyacross the castle’s threshold. Ij; library Mr Funder took the Comfortable seat and lit a cor’d! cigar. H now, Mr Funder,” asked the i'Vhat’s on your mind?” pose-demand notes you signed — ipre mine now,” Funder said. “I Kt ’em, and I want the princiI'Toiir solicitor will tell you I ||e law on my side. I’ll trouble ifor twenty thousand pounds, jjii |o trouble at all, if I had it,” ijbe earl. “But I haven’t.” haow that,” said Funder, fiat do you propose to do, Mr fd 1 ' asked the earl. ‘ke week from date I move into H stle and you move out. Is that a English ? ” iwer heard plainer,” said the ; ’ B «t surely, Mr Funder, you ■ ! intend really to shovel a man dhis home on such short noDon’t 1? I said I wanted Place. Nothing stops Funder.” >J ivea week in which to pay?” ‘the earl. He spoke quietly, £ “ ne ®t c °uld see that inside he ho; quiet.

week. Seven days. Then out ol ' the bailiffs put you out,”

1 course, if I pay you the twenty ' # 'er the notes, and Bingley ''°l not*become Funder’s Pal,s not correct?”

:; lect is.” said Funder. ,'pou anything more to sav?” Mt searl.

K * have given your lordL P J eU y c ‘ e av idea of the prolT’, Sa Punder, stroking the 1C 1115 tall hat.

Ea!l s^ ot up from his chair, U^ haiid - “Then get the hell O’ you gloating grampus,” '"“ted.

‘ijj [. l§( , at §oes for me, too,” said yV” . I Said Ponder getting up reille mber those words.” trjj e a locking bow to Ernest C - , A ear ! i "PH be back,” he V Week bence. Till then,

v c , e ® cau do something,” : :’ e Sa id it to comfort the 'tj nt . «°uld be done Ernest V^Slne. H” th CaQ something, h qjji 6 ear l said. “I’ve left no W**’ Neither has Macros s °licitor, you know. fro 6 1 101186 W | lere 1 sit - Funny how H ola f ll, continued. “One v lie s^t 0 '^ ay is my birthday. I Ha r( ji y ' av * ng the bailiffs Oh Rly of a birthday Sg’ eU ’ being what it is, an d pot geraniums.”

gy RICHARD CONNELL

Five days limped by. Ernest brooded, but out of bis brooding no feasible plan came for raising the needed sum. He calculated that he’d have to stuff all the lions in Africa, all the tigers in India, and some dachshunds to earn it. The Earl of Bingley continued to pot geraniums, outwardly placid. And nearer drew the zero hour.

Just as the feathered songsters began to chirp the opening chorus of a new day, a figure emerged from Bingley Castle and bee-lined for the village of Pennyton. It was Ernest Bingley, all dressed up, and Londonbound. The misty, morning was no grayer than his soul as he settled into a corner of a third-class carriage. His luggage consisted of himself, nine shillings over and above his return fare, and a lunch of plum pudding and Cheddar cheese, wrapped in a newspaper. Some men there are to whom the feat of raising a hundred thousand dollars presents no more difficulties than unbuttoning a vest. Ernest was not one of theme. True, in a quiltbound reverie the night before, he had evolved a wildcat idea; but when examined in the morning light it looked decidedly anemic and emaciated. It was to seek out Otis G. Wyncoop in his London caravanserai and broach the subject of an international loan. , Closer study of this project convinced Ernest that he had the chance of a terrapin in a whippet race. Otis G. Wyncoop lacked some of the social graces, perhaps, but his sagacity in money matters was a byword in the banking set; and more plausible promoters than Ernest had discovered that when Mr Wyncoop’s fingers closed on the throat of a dollar bill, no bulldog’s grip was more tenacious.

As the train clicked in Ernest grew surer and surer that Mr Wyncoop was a's likely to unbuckle as Mr Funder was relent. But to see and woo Wyncoop was his only hope. To divert his mind from his wagonload of woes, Ernest began to read the day-old newspaper which/was wrapped around his lunch. As he was trying to decipher a report of a cricket match his eye was lassoed by a familiar name in the adjoining column, and read: SMASH-GRAB RAID FAILURE Boy Bandit’s Try For Crown Jewels Mervin Wyncoop, 13, son of wealthy American parents, tried to steal the crown jewels from the Tower of London yesterday morning. He threw a brick at the shatterproof glass case, and set off some fifty alarms. He was. promptly collared by the Beef-Eaters, soundly spanked, and turned over to the police. The youthful desperado was armed with an air rifle.

11l Marlborough Street police court, Magistrate J. G. B. Morris fined "WynCoop fifty pounds, which his father paid. The boy was discharged on his father’s promise to give him an oldfashioned thrashing and quit the country at once.

The angry parent, Otis G. Wyncoop, inflicted the condign chastisement on the spot, whereupon the Bench remarked, “You are a better thrasher than your son is a brigand. (Laughter.) The Wyncoops left, immediately by plane for the Continent, destination unknown. t Master Mervin made the trip standing up. Ernest groaned. What a frail reed his idea turned out to be! the train clicked on. The day was dreary,'but it was bright and gay compared with Ernest’s mood. CHAPTER XIII Once in London, Ernest encountered Fate, in the from of a bus. It stopped in front of him, and he swung aboard. Whither it was bound he knew not. But at the end of the run Ernest got off. Confronting him was a massive structure which, a bobby informed him, was the Bank of England. Ernest was wistfully inspecting the exterior of this monument of Mammon when Sir Peter Tyler, a most substantial and resplendent figure, issued forth. _ “Bingley, by jove!” he exclaimed. “What a bit- of luck. Glad to see you.” “How do you do, Sir Peter, said E mest. “Splendid, thanks. I rather thought you’d be in town to-day.’’ “You did?’’ said a surprised Ernest. (To be continued)