TWICE TWO.

Evening Star, Issue 14184, 8 October 1909, Page 8

TWICE TWO.

[All Rights Reserved.]

By Rosxltok Masson (Author of ‘ Leslie Farquhar,’ ‘ Edinburgh,’ etc.)

Jftbe* Badger, the landlord of the Golden Cock, kicked away the snow that had drifted up into a hard ridge against the doorway of the inn, and stood for a moment peering into a darkness powdered with snowtlakes. Behind him, in the kitchen, the fitful sound of * Jew's harp was heard, mingling with the distant church bells, to w.hich Jabez had come out to listen, ringing for a service of carols in the little village church, half, a mile off, for it was Christmas Eve.

A sudden lierce gust blew the snow into Jabcz’s ever-open mouth, and lie turned, banged the door to, shot tho rusty bolt, lowered tho wick of the oil lamp that hung Above the 'nail table, and tramped buck to Ihc kitchen that led oft the cosy bar. It was karcly eight o'clock, but there was no likelihood that anyone would come that night to the front door, even though a stray herd might stop at the bar for something warm end comforting. Hardly, however, had Jabez reached the kitchen, told John, the ostler, to step his Jioise, and thus silenced the Jew's haip, Podded first ai Mrs Badger and then at liie kettle, as a suggestion to her to pul it on the fire, and sat down and begun to fill his pipe, when a resounding knock broke the tilcnce. Jabez Badger paused, his pipe halfway up to his mouth, his spill in his other hand.

“Go and see who that may be.” he remarked: find then, curiosity getting the hotter of ’afcinesss, ho rose and followed the boy into tlie hall. Framed in the doorwny, half seen hy the dim light of the nil lamp, stood a tall noting man, with a bag in his hand aod a pile of snow on his hat, and a thick coating of snow down that side of him that had faced the wind. “Can I have supper and a bedroom?” he demanded, in the tone of one angry with circumstances, and ready to blame the first comer. For answer, Jabez held the lamp aloft and Scanned him. The result seemed satisfactory. Light a fire in the coffee room, John." he said, and himself took the stranger’s bag. Tim young man, divested of overcoat" and nut, stood gloomily watching the progress of th « fire-lighring. He was', as Jabez saw whilst spreading a cloth on the supper table ▼cry young, very well dressed, vorv goodlookmg, and very cross. “ And a rtranger,” he reported to Mrs Badger, who was by now busily engaged in cutting thick slices off a bam, and breaking ffg? ‘ n ,t° 3 trying pan. “Swore at mo omble, John the ostler reported, ‘‘and stuck is boot into tlie fire, and the bout hissed and steamed like the 'at poker does xvhen missus puts it, into her beer; and says e: Can’t ycr light a fire, yer darned shaver? says 'c, and 'e took and put 'is boot mfo it and put tire fire out. And savs iV- , , woods .damp and musty, like everythink else m this blamed inn,' 'e says: ' aiid am t I going never to 'ave nothink'to eat 3 ’ e asks. Jlrs Badger smelt an egg delicately, and discarded it. Christmas Eve," she muttered, " ain't no good time for eggs nor gentlemen. Depend upon it, Badger, he’s been up to mischief, that young spark—eke why is he away from home and friends on Christmas Eve ?” I expects,’ began Jabez, when suddenly / "rtwupted by another resounding knock on the door. Inwp g j‘ n f oh “ h .S rrkd <wt A S« n Jabez fob owed. Again the opened door revealed the figure of a young man against the snow. I his one wore a motor cap, the flat top while with snow, and one hand rested on a motor frozen ground "* “ P * patch of tbe Can I have a bed and some food 3 ” asked Its Hu — “»«> .---nErJt’ZS" 1 thc ” d ■ !‘, Ta . fh fs round to-the stable. John ”he said, indicating the cycle. ’ 0 ouickly!' 16 S<able d! * mp? ” askcd fbe owner. it “ No, sir, it ain’t damp. My 'oss mhabits The stranger Jaughed. “All right. I’ll e-o to L C t ?” n U mySC f ’ later- What can 1 lm ve “You can ’ave ’am and eggs, sir and P Jf’ ' nd a joint ' Tire's another -Mtle man. staying ,« the house just about to ’ave gcthm' C ’’ ry S ° perbaps ’ave it tohc H sn2e ~tl Ti, ,e i oOr 0f t tlM ' room « he spoke. The interior of the room was full ot smoko from the newly-lit fire ™ \Z kcarthn,'”" wW T® fn>m knees on to i ,C was , en^a?ed >h trving " In ” ■'. he I dam P wood kindle. The two travellers took rapid and annoying stock of one another. They were very like", onh u°e fist comer was in a durk suit/and had straight, dark hair, and the new comer was "Recite le Y’ cur| y. fa *r hair, srrifa/, Sa,d the fair - baire<l new . " ! i . worse,” responded the other turning h.s back and atSiding to tho fire an?’ 0 fa 7if ired one walked round the room and carefully examined the four oteovraphl! +k *’ Evefy time that Ja bez Badger tT f t be t a Q h°,° r bri ? g in fcbe wherewithal heard t ° f frizzi ham was neara from the back premises, and presently an appetising odor penetrated akm Dead was° brougM two travellers drew up their chairs lnd h LI« be aD l? lrVeye<l a h,l " e dis h of Imm a *h^l!^L a^ b,B ? ous 00,4 P ie - front which a- three-cornered slice of flabby emit had Cheese rem P ved - a P<«* of orange-colored i. brown W beer with" a maifis tempting and Various otbej 1. ”Y • \_s’ ln , about starved out,” remarked one, who had arrived on the Wm/ZL 1 ’” kh allowed, Vhe V^istarf S lnd^l Prod T d hy the heat °f in© mustard and the excellence of Mrs Bad tW ° men thawed. Each was consumed by a curiosity fcou^ d th S r^ y as what, had rV- * th °i l,6r to an out-of-the-way inn nn Christmas. Eve. They rose frora the J tilb n ," : : n J ' aat u notb “ 1 , 1 ? cd] ble worth attention round » rt J and turned their two chairs round to the fire, now burning brightly and each filled his pipe. Jabez Badger, hkvmZ bl^ek^WtU 7 tbe , sn PPf> and having set a black boiUe and two glasses, a su<*ar basin and two candfesticke on the teibfe, and a’ kettle on the fire, and having asked if anvre T dre d for the night, reported that the young gents were seeming more amwole. D "What do you smoke?” asked one of th» other, when they were alone. "This isn’t wlmt I generally smoke It’s poor stuff, replied the other, With the'air of I>a rrying questio»is. Silence. hesimring to do you credit." Yes. Dh, I knew it would be all rifdit wlien the wood dried.” ngnt Silence. “Fancy we disturbed this inn a bit you V&JLirSP “ “Daresay.” Silence. Fity we haven t an evening paper.” Two evening papers.” “ Eli ? Oh, yes—two.” Silence. “ Say when.” “ Thanks.” Silence. Suddenly thc fair man looked up and found the dark one furtively regarding him. They both chuckled nervously, and it served to break the ice. “ Look here!” cried the fair one, his tongue loosened, ‘we re in for a night of each other’s society, you and I, it’s evident, and there’s -not a book nor a paper in the room, and it is only half-past nine. Wbat sliall we do to pass the time? I wonder if there are any cards in the house?” “ I’m in no mood for cards,” growled the other. “Besides, the*old Johnnie’s off to bed. I’ve had a long tramp to-day, and—•nd—and a bit of an unpleasant experience ” “Yes, that’s it. So have I.” “ Bh?” “ M’m.” "I wonder ” “Yos?” “Well. I wonder what the deuce has brought you on such a night—Christmas Eve, too—to this wretched little wayside inn.” “Weil, if it comes to that, what the deuce has brought you?” , , I don t mhid tolling you ” —it was the dark one who spoke. “It is a tiring that might happen to any man. Besides, yon don’t know my name.” The other looked np quickly. “Legal trouble?” " Certainly not. .Purely private reasons.” “Well, then, come, I say, let us make a compact. Let each tell the other his story, omitting all names.” “ like the pilgrims of old, let us beguile the long hours, Drue! Toss who'll begin.” Tlie other produced a coin and spun it. “ Heads.” “Heads it is. You begin.” "That is ani'f, j&gonplogicul, as I was the

first to arrive.” He slowly filled his Hass rom the kettle, and tasted it with appreciation. "Well, the truth is.” he said, slowly, " I came because—she refused me.” "Lord!” cried the fair one. quickly, “I came because she accepted me.” "The deuce she did, man! Who cares? Let me tell my tale first. I won the toss.” ’ “ Oh, fire away.” “I ve loved her for Tears—on and off This morning I put hj to tlie touch, to wiii or lose it all. I lost.” The other shook Ms head sympathetically. Aasty at the time," he owned; "but when you think it over in cold blood you are generally glad. No doubt it is all for the beat. Now, turn to my case ” " It may be all for the best, but I have not got over what you are pleased to call the nasty skige yet. She’s one of thc cold sort—a saint, you know. Makes you feel good all over.” “Fatiguing, cli?” “Sir!” “Oh, beg pardon! I onlv meant—the lady whom I ” ? b ? spoke very gently to me about a man s having a profession—l have none—and nor, being a cumbcrer of the ground. You see, her father’s a rector ” " Wiiat ?” “ Well,” the dark man cried, testily, “ there is nothing out of the way in being a rector is there ?” Oh. nothing! And she has no mother; lives alone with the old gentleman, vou said?” I did not say; but it happens it is so. Well, she is good as told me she would never marry a man who did not make something useful for the human race. I asked her what she thought useful, and she said such an odd thing.” “What did she say?” the other asked. He was leaning forward eagerly, but the speaker, absorbed in his story, did not notice. " She said—buttons were useful.” “Great Scot! The darling!” The fair youth rose and pranced. “ Sir!” The dark youth rose and glowered. Fires a bit hot, that's all. Go on; most interesting. You tMnk her refusal final? You are dead sure she does not care a brass cent for you ?” “My refusal shall certainly be final. I am not a man to ask a woman twice.” They both resumed their seats, and the dark man kicked the Ire. “She said she would be a sister to me," he growled; “I said I’d see her further first—or words to the same effect. Well, what’s your story?” Tlie fair youth, thus appealed to, half roused himself, as from an enchanting dream, which was making him smile inanely and gesticulate with hands and eyebrows. The other regarded Mm sorHlv. “ You said she’d accepted you,” he prompted presently. “ Oh, no. never! I never had the connive to ask her! I thought to approach her lofty ideals, her beautiful soul—ideals high and remote as Alpine peaks, touching the very heavens; a soul as pure and cold as Alpine srows, fallen from the very heavens. And then, such a common-place chap as I—l and my wretched buttons ” “What the deuce are you talking about? What rank idiocy are you mouthing? Man, you said you had come here because someone —it must have been a fool!—bad accepted you.” But the other was proof against offence. He boomed. "Of course; my mind was wandering. And so she refused you? What you must he feeling! No wonder you’re a hit put out! As for my story,” he loaat forward confidentially, ‘ she accepted me. How glad I am imw that 1 escaped! You see, it was this way: I went to stay for tMs Christmas week at a very jolly country house—an old house with a moat round it, and a haunted room in a turret, and a yew avenue hko :v cathedral aisle. Lot of young people staying there—rather sportive. I threw myself into H all. It is the way I have, I am Dish, you know, and not responsible.” “ No. I do not know.” “ Well, she didn’t either. Sire made me responsible—confoundedly responsible. She is a widow, very fascinating and vivacious— Irish too, for tho matter of that. She ought not to have stood under xbe mistletoe; but she did. I ought not to have; but I did. \Voll—was it only this morning?—my host, a stiff, pompous dog, came to me and made a most unnecessary fuss: said the lady considered herself engaged, and that she was his guest, and that both he (our host) and his wife (our hostess) considered it too. I could I’.ot face the situation—nor the widow 1 fled.” The other maintained an aloof silence, smoking steadily. “Eh?” “ I did not speak.” The fair Irishman’s ingenuous countenance clouded over. He looked pained. " I wish you would speak,” he said presently. “Well, I think you behaved uncommonly badly, then.” “Under the mistletoe?" “No, no; under the circumstances A woman does not like to feel neglected. She’s bound to feel neglected now.” The Irishman looked sorry for a moment or two; then be lit up.

«she!” he cried, with conviction. There's a whole houseful of them, and she’s the only widow there. The rest are all girls. “Is she pretty?”“Pretty as fire.” “Is she rich?" " Rich as Christmas pudding.” A sudden gust of wind shook the honse. and the snow fell down the chimney and hissed on the coals. The dark young man emptied his pipe and put it into his pocket. I.bo fair young man yawned and rose. By mutual consent thoy went to tire window. The snow was piled up on the ledge, and beyond was darkness, fitfully broken by a moon that struggled through. “ T suppose it ts time we turned in," suggested the irishman. They lit the two candles and blew out the lamp, ascended the rickety stairs, and nodded to on* another before taking their separata ways to two doors that stood open, showing the flickering firelight within each. The Englishman looked round his room disconsolately, felt the number of blankets, and spread Iris still damp overcoat on the top of the checked cotton coverlid.

“ It’s my cousin's house he was at,” 'he j muttered. “ I recognise the description— > n oat, and haunted turret, and yew avenue—nnd it is ,ust about ton miles from here. Yes. it was the Moated Manor, to a dead certainty , Pretty as fire and rich as Uhmtouw I wonder who she is? I • ■ , • 33 “Id as an icicle. Well, i.o doubt U»t chap was right—a man does not regret a thing long. . . . Mistletoe! Confound ms impertinence!*' \ And meantime the Irishman was leaning out of his window, gazing, with his soul in tns eyes, at the moon, which had now come out and was gleaming over the snowy coon- “ She said buttons were useful!” he murmured, "Oh, Helen, my darlings—my ladv ot dreams. And I thought you despised the buttons I make as much as voti despise the money they bring me! , . . And lie proposna to you. did he? Confound bis impertinence’! r Next morning at seven o'clock the Irishman crept down the creaking stairs, boots in one hand, bag in the other. It was quite as dark as it had been the night before. The , ! am P “ the hall was again burning, and 0} its light John the ostler was performing some perfunctory passes with a broom. He stared up at the Irishman, and tho Irishman stared down at him. Breakfast—never mind wbat—as quick as you can, and my bill and ray bicycle.” •• v s . lr " r John banged "down his broom. And, In! I say. Make no noise. I don’t \wtm the other gentleman wakened ” John grinned. “The other gentleman’s bn ...blasted and gone, sir—said as how 1 wasn't to disturb you.” tbcn'L 1 hIS COr,y An eutdy bird, eh?” he remarked. ’ SlF * Womler wtiat wor ™ he's after, , Iris l bm » n wondered too-wondered i “2. ,lrank 3 concoction Jabez Badger called coffee, wondered till he worked himself into a frenzy, and continued wondering as ho throbbed and foghomed off on his motor cycle down the pitch-dark, frozen road, leaving Jabez and Mrs Badger and John the ostler gazing after his track of light—John glowing with an enthusiasm towards the Irish nation born of the munificence of the tip he bad cnl J cd - , tbat , nc 7 bin S would ever eradicate, and that made him a champion, ot the Irish for all time to come. The road was frozen, and the Irishman—whose n*iii9, now ihui he was relieved of the society of the dark Englishman, may be acknowledged as Denis Owen—met no one all the six miles that lay between the Golden Cock and the little village of Lower Hep■vale—the village that enairined the lady of Ills dreams.

It was barely nine o’clock, and tlie morning was growing lighter, when, at. a turn in tlie road, Denis Owen sighted the village, nestling in a snowy hollow, the clustered roofs white and frozen, a faint smoke making itself felt against the dirty-white of the snow-laden sky, showing that beneath the little roof-trees the busy housewives bad kindled their household altars. Amongst the leafless trees that stood, a ghostly filigree, at the end of tho 1 village street, the square church steeple was Hotted, black and solid. Tlie windows of the church glowed richly with light from within. It was Christmas morning. Denis Owen walked his cycle up to the church door, lest its impetuous panting should disturb those within, and ho stept within the lyteh gate, reverently removed his cap from his curly head, and waited. The few early communicants came ont in twos and threes, and Helen Wyatt, the rector's daughter, came out last, walking with her father’s curate. The Irishman "glared with such ferocity at the curate that the curate became deathly white, and walked hurriedly away. Then Denis turned to Helen, and at the sight of her fairness, there in the shadow of the old church in the early gloom of the snowy winter’s morning, his eyes iit up and Ins voice trembled. “A merry Christmas, Mise Wyatt,” “ A merry Christmas, Mr Owen." It is a long, long time since I saw you.” “Is it? Where have you come from just now ?” "I am staying with tlie Cmmleys at the Moated Manor, but I have left. I cycled hero.” “ You must have left very early.” “Not a moment too soon!” “ Have you had any breakfast?’’ “ I shall be glad of some more.” “ Will you breakfast with ns? —father will like to see you.” “ And you?” “ Yes, I shall too.” “ You see, I always supposed I was such a stupid ass, quite unworthy ” "Of breafcfast?” “ No, of you.” They walked slowly back to tlie Rectory, and when they reached the gate, where the laurel bushes stood dark green amid tlie snow, Denis Owen knew himself the happiest man on earth, and tlie old Rector, standing white-haired in the porch, feeding the robins, was called on to give his blessing. Two hours later Denis sal alone in the old. dark eak, high-backed Rectory pew, and looked about Mm by the candle fight that half lit np the ancient church—for it was again snowing heavily outside—at the crumbling arched roof, at the worn altar steps, at the flowers on the altar, at the holly and evergreens that lay on the deep stone window-sills, at the ivy entwined in the chancel rail, and all the simple, faithful village decorations, and at the happy faces of the cMldren, and at the village folk in their best array, and then at a slender figure at the organ, and little hands busy among the slops. Suddenly, a* a fullthroated, vibrating chord thrilled the hushed silence, the congregation rose to their feet, and every voice took up the familiar Christmas hymn. Scarcely had the little choir boys, in their newly washed surplices, the young curate, and the old rector, filed slowly to their places on eitlier side of the chancel, when the hooting of a motor was heard outside, and the church door was opened, and, with a rush of cold air, a blast of snow, and the sound of many feet, about a dozen people entered and found places at the back. Tlie Christmas service was over. A thaw had set in, and the melting snow dripped off roof and trees, and the ground in front of the church door was tramped and soiled with many footsteps, and the cold was intense. Denis Owen wrapped Helen’s shabby fur cloak tenderly round her. “ She shall have sables some day soon, the darling!” he thought to himself. It was at this moment, be looked up and saw the Englishman of the uiglit before “ Hullo!” said the Englishman. Then ha

saw Helen Wyatt smiting at Denh’s side; and his expression of face underwent' a curious change. “Hullo!” responded' Denis. Then be saw the fascinating and vivacious widow, lately his fellow guest at the Mooted Manor, smiling inscrutably just behind the Englishman;. and his expression of face underwent a curious change. ' - I “ Marrnaduke,” Helen Wyatt said ten-' derly, fixing him with her gentle eyes, dim’ |twith comp.wsion for him, “ let me introI duoe to you Denis Owen,—my betrothed:!” ■ “Helen,” he answered, vouchsafing the j jubilant Irishman only a side glance of conI temptuous amazement, “ let me introduce i you to Mrs Filzma-urice,—my fiancee!” The little Irishwoman, blushing and sparkI Kng and smiling over her rick furs and j laces, held out both hands, —one to Helen . and one to Denis. In a moment they were surrounded by a group of cliattering, laughI ing people,—part of tlie house party from j tho Moated Manor, who had motored sixj teen miles to attend Christmas service at i the famous old churah of which Helen Wyatt’s father was the rector. Donis Owen j feH his arm caught, and turned to find his j lato host, red in the face with cold and ; mirth combined.

, “ Well, you’re a nice chap, Owen, to give us all the slip. Took it seriously, did you?” "It was you took it seriously.” “ Mon, the whole thing was a concocted plot between that little witch Mab Fitzmaurice and my wife! I was to go and preach to you and frighten you, ns a just punishment for your—well, your Irish impetuosity.” “Then, she didn’t ?” “Of course not, you conceited ass! Why, site has been in love with my young cousin, Maimaduke Jones, ever since—well, it would be indiscreet to say. But tlie story goes that she married’ Pitzmaurice because Jones was too poor to support her, and now she's rich enough to support Jones.” “ In love with that cfasp over there?” asked the Irishman, incredulously. “ Yes, for years.” “ Well, there's no accounting for a woman’s likings!” Denis answered, with a touch of pique. “Queer chance Jones turned up to breakfast this morning, wasn’t it?” “ queer.” “ I say, who is that young lady there, with thc regal air, talking to Jones and Mrs Fitzmaurice?” “ She is Miss Wyatt, ray future wife,” < “Whew! Congratulate you, old chap! And no wonder you ran away! How my wife will But you never told us.” “ I did not know myself til] this morning.” “Great Scot! Then that is the second engagement this morning!” “Christmas morning—so ideal!” lilted the Irish widow, joining them. Denis Owen and Helen Wyatt stood and watched the Moated Manor party struggle into their coats and wraps, and tie on their veils, and pack themselves back into their motor; and then, when the motor bad throbbed and snorted and backed and jerked, and finally started off through the sleet and slush, Helen tamed her dove-like eyes to her lover. “ How soon men forget,” she said. “ Not all men, darling,” he breathed in re-' ply. “ Oh, Denis—that, poor woman! How little she knows! Fancy, if I thought you had come to me straight from making love to another woman!” “Shocking!” answered the Irishman. The Rector, seeing their friends had gone, disengaged himself from a knot of his parishioners and approached thorn, his fine old face lit up with happiness. He placed a hand in his daughter’s arm, and rested the other momentarily on Denis Owen’s shoulder. “ The turkey must be growing cold, young people,” be reminded them. “ Dinner jtows cold, though love never can. An ideal Christmas, eh?” he asked them, glancing whimsically from one to the other; “an ideal. Christmas?”