AN UNNATURAL FATHER.

Press, Volume LXII, Issue 12379, 19 December 1905, Page 5

AN UNNATURAL FATHER.

» Bγ Barry Pai.v. Mr James Cray had as a boy been called Jnmes. That throws some light on his character. The days of his boyhood were- long past. He was now a good-natured methodical little man of forty-five, with a plaintive eye and no indications of any remarkable strength of personality. Ho could not have been a leader of men, but as Fate merely required him to be tho father of a numerous family and clerk to a solicitor, this did not greatly matter. ' He studied politics, and in conversation it was his wont, and even his pride to be\caustic. He would aim now and then at a daring originality. To accuse him of audacity, would- have been to give him the flattery dearest and most welcome- to him. Jie returned from town every night to his well-ordered suburban home. t He travelled in a second-class smoking compartment, generally with friends of his who lived in the same suburb. On this occasion, finding that there was but ono place vacant in tho carriage as he got in, ho observed to the company generally "Got room for a little oneP" This need not necessarily be taken as a specimen of his daring originality. It was his custom, tho formula or shibboleth which ho always pronounced on making tho full complement of a railway carriage. Many nten of his class suffer from it. The correct answer is an appreciative smile or personal remark of a humorous and satirical character. On this occasion Tarraway replied that there was room for one man, or for three specimens like Mr James Cray. Tarraway ,was a bachelor in great social request in his suburban circlo; believed to bo gifted with a pretty wit, but admitting at;times a vein of tender 6cnti-. mentality. *- ' "That is as it may be," said Mr Cray He found this retort useful for most purposes and generally final. He took his seat, unfolded his paper on his knee and addressed the carriage generally. "What I should like," ho eaid, "and what would do mc. good would be to have just six minutes' talk with Mr Chamberlain. I could say what I had to say in six minutes, and I venture to think I could point out to him a few facts that have ©scaped his observation. He might agree with mo or he might not, but I fancy he'd bo a surprised man by the time I had finished. Take for instance this use of the word Imperial." "Drop it," said Mr Beadle, a plaoid and obese old gentleman." "Once you and Tarraway get on to politics, there's no peace for anybody. ■*. Just as you came in Tarraway was telling us how much ho envied you." . "Might I ask in what respeel?" asked Mr Cray, almost vindictively. "Mr Beadle," eaid Tarraway, "is not putting my case quite fairly. Envy," so far as I am aware, was not the word that I used. All I eaid was that they were happy people who had a wife and children waiting for them when they got home. Here I go back to my lonely lodgings. I may be out in the*evenings more than some people,",hut aground-of amusements doesn't make up "for tho waiit of homo life. It's too late for mc to talk about it now, but I ought to have had a wife and children.' Bleeped is tho man who hath his quiver full of them. 1 ' , Mr Beadle permitted himself to ob6ervo that in this country people who had their quiver full of wives generally got into serious trouble. . "You aro perfectly well aware what my meaning was," said Tarrawpy with dignity. "I was reforrinc to cjnldren. I daresay many wouldn't think it, but I love children. I wiah I had a dozen of them of my own." ' "Do youP" said Mr Cray. "Well, you can have any of mine you like, or all of them if you like. If you care'to buy them I'd consider three pound.ten α-pkoo and a fiver would make it a certainty. If you knew what children were us I do, you wouldn't be co keen about having 'em." , ■ "Been having any trouble with them?" asked Beadle. • . , "Trouble? There's always .trouble and nothing, but trouble The other day their aunt, who might tovekmron better, told Guinevere (that's -the vouno-est girl) come fool of a story about tho 3«ert. What's the consequence About the: middle of the night. I_ get u'oke up with that child crying. 1 go to see what's the matter. She cays ehe wants to be a camel.. Those-were her very words. And you can t reason with a child. I told her she h" a caniel. and that she wouldn't like, it if she -were. I asked her how 6he would caro-to go for the-best part of fl fortnight with- nothing to drink, which is I believe, the ca«e habitually,with camels The word drink reminded her that she was thirsty, end I bad to go dewn to get her some milk. bne finished that, wiped her mouth, and s,vd 'I want to be a camel,' and started baring again. I was up the best part of the night with her. And what aro you like next'morning when that happens? You can have that lot for three-pound-ten, or an offer would be considered. Now, than, Mr Tarraway, what do you 6ay to that?" ■ The rein of tender sentimentality woe strong in Mr Tarraway that night. "That," ho said, ''is what might be called one (=ide of the picture, i'ou forget their affectionate, caressing ways, their silvery voices, their " "Talk about something you understand," eaid Mr Cray, c-avagely. "If you had once heard half-a-dozen of kids rearing out a music-hall song they'd learnt from the girl, you wouldn't have any more to say about silvery voices. Silvery lunatic asylum, with the parrothouse at the Zoo on top of it. , And then it's tvn to one when I.'come to go into the thing I find tliat song .isn't the kind of thing for children, and that moam a row with tho girl {or having taright them it, and weeks and weeks cf hard work in , trying to make them forjrtt'it. The" only things childieu pick up easily are thing-! they oughtn't to liave, such as slangy gongs

and measles and firearms; and they stick to them like gum. I like to hear a bachelor talk about their tender, caressing ways. That's quite a general idea., that children are fragile- little things and can't hurt you. Mine got active about six in the morning. They wake mc up and play at being an orchestra, and use the tenderest parts of mo ns the drum. They've got no sense, of courao, and if yoii say that you'd rather they didn't jump on your face they think you're being unkind to them. If that's the kind of thing you envy, you can have' it. If I were going back to smoke my pine and read my paper in peaco and quietude, same as you are, you wouldn't find mo grumbling about it. If you're so keen on children take on some of mine. Pick whore you like, and we change all bad nuts. Let's call it three pounds for one or two for a fiver. I'll sell at that. And you can afford it." ■ "I expect," said Tarraway, "that if I pulled that five-pound note out of my pocket and - handed it over to you, you'd soon sing another tune." "Would I?" said Cray. "Just hand ifc over and try mc." Mr Tan-away did not hand it over. This was .partly because he rather felt that Mr Cray.was speaking in earnest, and partly because he did not happen to have a five-pound note. "I tell you," Cray went on, "I get regularly sick of 'cm. As often na not. it's a comfort to mc to got away to my work in the morning and bo quit oi 'em for a bit. If you ask my opinion, the only people who -want children aro the people whd haven't got them.. That speaks for itself, and " The sentence'was not finished because at this moment tho train reached Mr . Cray's destination. Ho got separated from his friends in the crowd-leaving tho station, and in his absence Tarraway confided to Beadle .his opinion that Cray was an unnatural father. The twins, Gladys and Gwendolen Cray, aged eight, stood outeido the station waiting for their father. They wore pretty girls, with dark hair, red tarn o' shantere, and an expression of eerious firmness in which their father waii totally wanting. They flung themselves on him. ; "Have you got them, pa?" botH asked). together. _v" Pa eaid he had got them. Ho added that it had taken- him the best partof his dinner-hour to get them. Hβ had thought there was a shop just outside Lincoln's Inn Fields, but the shop had nothing of the kind in. etook, and, he had been compelled to eeek- further. He did not say thie consecutively, because he was nob allowed to speak consecutively. At every three words he had to stop to answer a question from one'of the twine. Ho then produced from his pocket two toys of a eimplo nature. They consisted of a mouthpiece with a balloon attachment. You first of aJI blow up the balloon; as it ■ collapsed the air passing through the mouthpiece mado a noise like a cat in its death agony. They -wore not perhaps suitable presents for a m#n to grre who loved peace and quietness; but tho choice had not been his. Mr Cray now walked along twin.on each siclo of him. Aβ they went they tested their new toys and made tho street hideous and caused horses to ehy. Mr Uray i smiled with satisfaction. . "But," he • asked in a momentary lull, "where's HectorP I thought ho was coming to meet jne as well tonight." -' . , , . ■ "He's ill," said Gladys. "HeY been sick," said. Gwendolen, giving further details, which showed her , to be of a somewhat morbid disposition. Tho smile of satisfaction vanished, from Mr Cray's face at once, and bo hurnod home. It seemed .to him that his wife should be placidly engaged in planting French beans in the strhTof garden at the back. "Hpw'e Hector?" he asked feverishly. "He's been a bit upset," eaidi lire Cray, "but he'll be all right? to-night. I guessed what it would bo. yesterday. You can't help giving that boy anything he wants to eat, whether it's good for him or whether it'e - "Never mind that," said Cray. "Have you had a doctor to him?" "Doctor? No, of course not. Wo don't want a doctor for a eiraple little thing like that." • "But," objected Mr Cray, "it may not be what you tlunk. It may,.be the beginning 6f fever or diptheria or measles." In his vivid imagination ho already saw tho boy expiring from a complication of these three complaints. "It would easo my mind a good deal if » doctor saw hhn. I had .meant to do a ) bit of gardening, but I may just as well/ walk round to the doctor's instead. Ho walked round to the doctor's with the twins and two others. The case be- • ing represented as urgent," the doctor came at once, and found a remarkably energetic little boy in bed, afflicted with , a great desire to get op, and a still greater desire to eat a square meal, end with nothing else the matter with him. But the doctor was patient—doctors learn to be patient. A day or two afterwards Omy happened to heai» that Tarraway had spoken of him as being -c cold-blooded brute. Cray said he would have to have rb out" with. Tarraway. Secretly, ho wae delighted. %