Just an Affair of Temper.

Dunstan Times, Issue 2317, 15 January 1906, Page 6

Just an Affair of Temper.

i. Michael Ryan, the carman, looked clumsier than ever. Love had that effect on him. When attended by extreme anxiety its effect was tenfold worse. ‘ If it rested with myself, Betsy,’ ho murmured, with dolefulness that was simply appalling. ' ■ Betsy Harris reflected that Mr Wicharall, the retired greengrocer (aud owner of eleven houses), called her Maud, which was her other and more valued Cbriitian name. For the past fortnight ho tad haunted the vicinity of Sir Peter Corrucrth’s mansion, iu which Betsy Maud was b/ far tho prettiest housemaid. They had inked her about him in the servants’ hall, ani she had been passionate in contempt of .Jm. ‘ Anybody can see as your affection isn’t nothing more nor a holler sham,’ said Betsy Maud. ■ ;

Michael the carman stood up as if she had rr n a needle into his lame log. .

‘My dear,’ ho stammered, * you’re not meaning that?’

‘ But I am meaning it, and more also, and I’ll trouble you, Mr Eyan, to giver over calling me your dear.’ Betsy Maud tossed her head, and there was beautiful rage as well as tears in her blue eyes. Her hair was loose, which added points to the picture she made. Then Michael began to work his eyebrows whore he stood looking at her. His voice was quite broken with emotion when he spoke again. ‘She’s been a good mother to me, and you know it,’ he said, ‘ and doctor says she can't live long, and there’s nothin’ (not even you, Betsy) that can make me say to her, ‘ You must find a homo for yourself, mother, for there ain’t no longer a corner in my house for you.’ I couldn’t do it, Betsy-" not. even for you.’ Whereupon Betsy Maud herself also stood up, trembling with anger, disappointment, and extreme unhappiness. ‘ You're not asked to do nothin’ of the kind, Mr Eyan,’she said, flashing wrath at him. ‘As these are the last words I’ll Aever do myself the honour of Aaddressin’ to you, allow mo to wish you ‘ good afternoon.’ She did not give him the chance to get in another word, but whisked horse If away from the big oak tree which had heard so many of their tender confidences. He watched her further whisk herself out of % the Banning Recreation Grounds, of which the oak tree was a conspicuous feature. Then, with a sturdy affectation of courage, he smiled a dreary smile and went off to his car.

He was not really very lame, and apirt from that bo was a fine figure of a man. Also, he was a good fellow, as others in Dannington knew besides his sick old mother. ‘ 1 don't see how it’s to be helped,* he muttered.

To tell the truth, he was not so very hopeless. Ha .and Betsy had had tiffs ere this, though none ending with such theatrical spice. But exactly one week later (Betsy having in tho meantime kept herself aloof from him) tho veil was completely lifted from his eyes. 4 Michael,’ said Mr Brow, who owned all the cubs and hearses in Danningtou, ‘ there’s a job for you at Sir Peter’s place next Tuesday. It’s fixed up sudden, I reckon. That old fool Wichorell is wedding one of Sir Peter’s servants—quite a young girl, I’m told—and is in such a hurry about it that he’s arranged for a license. The order is that you must drive the bride. That’s preferred to Sir Peter’s own brougham and double-barrelled head coachman, which they eay were ollored to them. See what it comes of being a popular man, Michael.' ‘ Very good, sir,’ said Michael. He hid gone wild at first, but now ho just took up the order-slate and entered tho engagement quite calmly. ‘ Did you hoar the girl’s name f’ ‘ A Miss Harris, I believe.’ ‘ Thank ’OO, sir,’ Tho days until Tuesday were pretty bad for Michael, hut he had a certain distraction in the fears occasioned by his mother’s condition; Tho old lady was slipping her anchor, slowly but surely; though this the doctor had not told him./ "" ;;

Nevertheless, on Tuesday there he was,, spick-and-span, at Sir Peter’s door, with a white favour and all. Ho paid no hood to the nudgiugs and whispers of tho small crowd and tho other domestics, when Miss Harris appeared in her bridal paint. Ho scarcely looked at her, yet noticed that she was very rod. So to tho church. Afterwards his was tho honour also of driving Mr and Mrs Wichoroll back to Sir Peter’s, whore they wore to breakfast. This lime, however, at the church porch, he gaaod full at Betsy Maud and saw that she did not look happy. ‘Hnrry in, Maud, my love,’ said tho transfigured ex-greengrocer to his bride. But before jumping in, Mrs Wichorell lifted her eyes to Michael. Her expression gave him abundant material to think about for many days.

Betsy Maud’s honeymoon in London was not entirely delightful. Me Wichorell was a very largo man, ho was fifty, aud ho did not seam to mind what happened so long as ho could call Betsy Maud his own. Ho made her cut ridiculous figures several times, and once, when ho ran his arm round her nook in Regent Street (it was tho shopping hour), she could have torn his eyes out—almost. Tho worst was, however, the gnawing knowledge that she despised him, and that if eho had kept her senses she would never have married such a thing.

She returned to Dunaingtou with several trunks full of new frocks and fripperies. These gave her, at any rate, a certain pleasure. ‘ Who’s tho bell tolling for P’ she a:ked on the afternoon of their arrival. Mr Wichereli was smoking a cigar, with tho air of a man who had nothing to do but draw hie rents aud spend them.

‘ A party named Ryan, as you did ought to know, my darling,’ was tho reply, with a particularly aggraving smile. ‘The presuming follow, ever to think——* ‘ Do you mean Michael Ryan ?’ oried Betsy Maud, with her hand to her heart and glaring at her husband. ‘ His respected mother, my sweet; not his respectable self.* Betsy Maud’s sigh of relief was not lost upon Mr Wichorell, hut it did not touch him ; ho was, moreover, far too important a person to bo jealous of a mere carman. Ho rambled on with pleasantries until Betsy Maud was nearly wild. ‘Look here, James Wichorell,’ she exclaimed at length, ‘ I’ll not be called your darling aud your duck and such foolishness iu this town where I’ve been brought up. You may as well know it.’ * Hoity-toity!’ said ho, smiling. ‘Does it repent of its hubby already ?’ 1 Don’t treat mo like a baby neither, or else ’

She stopped, and turned away with fierce tears in her eyes ; and when Mr 'Wiohorall, who really seemed to enjoy these little whirls of temper in his young wife, told her to get her bonnet and accompany him there and then to the Danningtoa trimming store ‘to buy some more finery,’ she flounced out of the room. She had a cry upstairs, with the last tolling of the bell in her ears. Now and then afterwards she saw Michael on his car, though never to speak to. Bat tho avidity with which she marked the forlornness in bis face!

It took her three months, however, to determine to do a certain thing. She called one day in tho back street where Michael still lived, and inquired about him from a goesipplng neighbour woman. * H'vo lost his sperrits sadly, poor man,’ said the woman. ‘Bein’ all alone, you sea— ’ But Betsy Maud interrupted and, crimsonfaced, sprang her plan on tho woman. ‘ I’ll give you half-a-crown every week, Mrs Stubbs, if you'll fettle up for him—clean the house, light his fires, and that; but you’re not to breathe never a word about why you do it.’ Mrs Stubbs leaped at the off or. ‘ Thanking you kindly, mum,’ she said, ‘ I’ll do it gladly.’ ‘ Swear you’ll not mention me, Mrs Stubbs,’ urged Betsy Maud; and, with duo solemnity, the woman swore it. Thenceforward, Betsy Maud felt more at ease, though never happy. She had the greatest difficulty to keep from developing into an out-and-out vixen, tho more so since the ex-greengrocer seemed as if he desired no heartier amusement than a raging wife. She paid tho half-crown regularly, and regularly also bit her lip when Mr Wioherell with great force stirred the demon in her. Bat in the eighth month of her marriage, one day they brought home Mr Wioherell in a cab. Ho had fallen down somewhere in a fit. It was Michael’s car, and Michael was one of those who helped to carry him indoors. He did not wait for his faro afterwards. 1 Can you bear some trying news, Mrs Wioherell ?’ asked the doctor, after the examination of the stertorous patient. Betsy Maud nodded dimly. There was a becoming frown on her forehead. It meant, among other things, her firm determination to do her duty, whatever happened. The doctor was right. Mr Wicherell did not recover from the fit, and four days afterwards there was a funeral. Michael had charge of the coach in which Betsy Maud sat with the late ex-green-grocer’s sister. He looked at hor simply from under his bent eyebrows when she alighted at the cemetery. •„ —. ,i.’ in. As a widow, Betsy Maud was a very charming spectacle. Sho was also discretion itself. Mr Wicherell’s sister had offered to live with her for a timo for company, and she bad accepted tho offer. Mrs Stubbs called for her weekly halfcrown now. That seemed the better arrangement. Also, it gavo Betsy Maud an opportunity for more lengthy conversation about Michael, who was more than ever in her thoughts. When her inner consciousnes protested agamst the propriety of thus thinking about Michael, she had a retort ready. ‘ I've three pound ton a week of my own for life, and surely I can please myself what 1 think about; and where’s the barm ?’

By and by, however, she had something else to think about. Ono beautiful May morning sho gave birth to a beautiful babj girl. ‘ How proud poor James’ (the. late Wicheroll) * would have been,’ said Miss Wicherell. Betsy Maud, in her happiness, assented ; but sho knew perfectly well that sho no longer missed her late husband. Somehow, Betsy Maud did not pick up after her illness as the doctor would have liked.

‘ You must have gentle carriage exercise,’ lie said. ‘ I’ll speak to Mr Brew about it.’

That was how it came about that Michael was bidden daily to take the phaeton to Mrs Wicherell’s and drive her carefully in the fresh air for an hour.

For three days Betsy Maud endured the silence and mental agitation of these airings (in company with Miss Wicherell) uncomplainingly. Then she braced herself, weak though she was. On the fourth morning she asked Miss Wicherell to stop the carriage at a certain cottage and see how the inmate was. No sooner was Miss Wicherell inside the cottage than Betsy Maud touched Michael on the coat tails with her parasol. * Have you quite forgotten me, Michael f’ sho asked when he looked round.

* Hardly likely, Mrs Wichorell," said hc» vcith a tortured smile.

• Then will you come and see me P I ain’t a bit changed really. Say ‘Yes’ quickly, and call me Betsy, as you did used, or 1 do believe I’ll die of starvation, Michael. I’ve bin a wicked girl.’ tv

When next Betsy Maud and Michael drove out together, they were side by side. Michael’s, days on the box; wore at au end. *