Shadow and Sunshine

Cromwell Argus, Volume LXVIII, Issue 3482, 16 August 1937, Page 7

Shadow and Sunshine

[A Personal Experience.]

"Why don't you let me fetch in the doctor?" asked Betty, very earnestly. "You can't make yourself -well by keeping on saying that there's nothing the matter with you. That's not courage, to be afraid of finding out the >—sUth!" David Simpson looked in surprise at the speaker. Betty (I must explain) was one of the helpers at the house where he lodged, and she was certainly a most efficient and painstaking member of the household.

Up to now, their only conversation had been when he teased her about her young man. He had never taken her seriously before. But the girl, who was sharp enough to see that he was ailing, and frank enough to talk to him about courage, was a new sort of Betty to him. "Doctors don't know," he said at last, sipping some of the hot water which she had just brought up to him. "And if one told me to stay away from work, where would I be?" "You're just afraid of what he might tell you," persisted Betty, who had a side to her nature which felt capable of mothering this man who was older than herself. "But think what suffering you might save yourself. It's best to face it." As he didn't answer her, she felt she had offended him, and went downstairs. But she had said enough to set him thinking hard. In fact, as he told the writer afterwards, he thought about little else for the next twentyfour hours, and his opinion of Betty kept on rising. "You seem to be a little witch for seeing behind the scenes, Betty," he said to her the next evening. "You're right, of course; I know I'm ill, and ought to see a doctor, but when I had these same internal pains before, a doctor warned me that if they came back, it would probably mean an operation."

"Oh!" Betty was all concern. "But even so," she said gently, "it's best to know the truth. You've got to face things in this world. This doctor may knov/ a way of avoiding the operation that the other doctor didn't know. Perhaps it isn't really the same thing at all this time. Now, will you let me fetch in Dr. Bennett?" - David smiled, watching her eager, wistful face. "You're telling me again that I need courage," he said, "and that's a hard thing for a man to hear from a woman. Courage is a big word, I know, but how many of us have it?, Have you?" "Yes!" declared Betty.

He shook his head slowly.

"You told me once, Betty," he said, "that you'd been courting for two and a half years. But you haven't a ring yet, and the chap hardly ever comes to see you. How do you know he still loves you; when he lets years go by and doesn't acknowledge any engagement?. You talk of my pluck. Where's yours?"

There was no doubt that he had touched a vital spot in her heart —and he had meant to. Seeing that she was trying to be a friend to him, he meant to be as great a friend to her. Her evasive reply was an admission that she was desperately hanging on to her sweetheart in spite of his neglect. "Courage!" David chaffed, yet seriously. "It takes courage for me to see the doctor, Betty, but it will take even more for you to face up to that young man of yours and tell him you're fed up with his shilly-shallying. Now, here's a bargain. If I see this doctor and take my chance, will you be just as plucky—see that young man. of yours and make him tell you how you stand with him? Will you?" She flushed, and was silent for a moment or two.

"Yea, all right!" she breathed at last. "It's a hard bargain for both of us, but I'll take it on!" David was well enough to be about the next day, and made an evening appointment with the doctor. Betty, it being her evening off, was still out when he reached the house again and went to bed, almost at once. But she came back in time to take him up a light supper, for which he had asked. "Well?" he said, as she handed him the tray. "What about it, Betty? Have you kept your bargain?" "Ye-es." "And what happened?" The tears rose to her eyes, which were already suspiciously red. "He —he doesn't want me," she confessed. "All that I did by tackling him waa to give him the chance of telling me so. But it's better I should know it, even after two and a half years. He never meant to marry me. I'm glad 1 know the truth. And you? You saw the doctor?" "Yes." "And what happened? Were you any luckier?"

"I got the same as you did," answered David. "I asked for the truth —and I got it. For you, my dear, it's a jilting. For me-r-it's the operation." He went into hospital to face it. Betty stayed at home with her own misery. The brave bargain had been carried out, and the truth, which is everybody's friend, could do them no harm. They knew the worst and could start afresh, which is a thousand times better than the coward's way of shutting his eyes, and then saying that things aren't there because he can't see them. David went through a very dark day, but there was sunshine for him at the other end of it. Betty believed ber life had broken in two, yet she had not been jilted a week before she real'!£ed'"tuat the weakling she had imagined she cared for was not worth anmoment of worry. "Yes, I'm better, Betty," said David, when he came back from the hospital. "But you know ail-that already. I took it in time —thanks to you—and I'll be as fit as a fiddle once I get my strength back. And you? You've been in my mind all the time I've been away

You’re either my mascot—or my good angel. Has it been hard to live up to the truth?" “No!” Betty whispered. He took her hands into his. Then, before either quite realised what was happening he had kissed her. A new day was dawning for these two who bad dared to face things.