Short Story.

Lake County Press, Issue 904, 29 March 1900, Page 7

Short Story.

An Episode of the Twentyninth.

By ROMA WHITE. •‘Thanks. Is the concert stuff

fidVe V” “ Yes. Throe Inches.'” “And that Kensington bazaar?" “One and a-quarter—brevier." “And Lord Wharton’s engagement ?” “Throe pars—two of thorn about the lady’s past. It’s all right—no libelonly revelations concerning the familytree. Her father was a butler, and her mother a lady’s maid. I’ve found out all the facts, given the names of their master ami mistress, laid stress upon the vigour and capability of char-

actor in the North, and ended up with the quotation, ‘ Howe’er it be,’ &c.” The girl who spoke stood leaning with - her back to an editorial desk, balancing herself up against it on one foot. In her hands she lields some manuscripts, written in a peculiarly ugly and illegible feminine scrawl. She was very pretty in spite of a temporary ink smudge upon her nose, with a little tributary from it running across one cheek. Her hair was soft and fluffy.

At the desk opposite to her sat a young man. with a tired, clever face. His hair was dusty, and lie nibbed rhe feather of a quill thoughtfully up and down his nose. An arrangement of pigeon-holes erected to his right hand was everywhere leaking large bundl >s of written and printed matter. He looked careworn ; and. like the girl, had dark circles under his eyes. “ I don’t believe in that verse of poetry, myself.” she said. “I think it’s only noble to be rich. I’m sure a kind heart isn’t half as valuable as a coronet—you might pawn a coronet, but yon couldn't possibly raise anything on a kind heart.”

“ Who wrote it ?” he went on. after a pause, as if to ask questions had become a habit with him. “ I don’t know—haven’t the faintest idea. 1 might address mvself about it in the ‘Sundries' column, mightn’t I ? Then I should fee] it my hounden duty to find out. Will you have some ■tea if I make it ?” . “ Yes. rather. Give me that stuff, and T'il take it across to the printer’s. I won't ho long.”

He stood up. stretched himself, and took down Ins coat from a neighbouring peg. The girl helped him to put it on. peering at him over the rim of r!n> collar with a look half-friendly, haif-ruof id.

“ I can positively count the threads now.” she said. “There isn’t a fragment of ‘ face’—do you call It ‘face’? —left nil it.”

The young man twisted his head round, and tried to peer at the collar.

“ Well, it can't be helped.” he said, in a resigned sort of way, as he wont out.

The girl moved across tire room to a little cupboard, and took from it a spirit-kettle, a teapot, and two cups. Running down the dirty dark public stairs, she penetrated ro the basement, and drew some water from a tap into the jug she carried. As she returned she became thoughtful. “ Mr. Lorrimer and T will both inevitably succumb, one of these days, to lead poisoning.” she told herself. “ 1 lie ■ Modern Minerva’ will end its days with an inquest and a sensational paragraph in the evening papers.”

She busied herself with her preparations for tea. looking rather ruefully at the dusty til's of her slender fingers. When the editor returned the little kettle was just beginning the give out jets .and puffs of (steam. The girl glanced up at him from under her eyelids, and saw that he looked paler and more careworn than ever.

She said nothing a*Jie sat down ; bur m a minute or two placed bis cup and saucer on the desk beside him. 1 hen he turned to her. »

“ I sav Mabel —Miss "Vote, I beg your pardon—-1 don’t believe they’ll go on printing for ns much longer if we don’t fork oni some cash.” Mabel filled her own cup slowly before replying. “ Have you got any ?” she asked at last.

41 Twenty pounds between—myself and starvation.”

‘•'Twenty pounds—can you live on it for twenty weeks ?” “ I suppose so—in a kind of way. I’ve lost nearly half-a-stone of flesh since I started this confounded paper !” “ And you’ve wasted a penny in being weighed !” she said, quite seriously. “No, I haven’t. 1 was weighed at the baths.' I’m obliged to have a bath,” he answered, looking injured. She stretched out her dusty little fingers, and laughed. “ Well, yes, I suppose so. Ido try to keep the place dusted, but it doesn’t seem to bo much use. when one Is above Ihe level of most of the London chimneys. I’ve got five hundred pounds. You can have it.” The suggestion came somewhat abruptly after her remark about the chimp neys, and Mr. Lorrimer started. MabeJ was looking soberly at him over he? Cup as she drank her tea. “Five hundred? It would give uj working cash for a bit, and help us. perhaps, to get through. But—but—is il all you have ?” “ Every penny.” “ And you’ve no friends ?” “ None—but yourself.” “ If I dropped your money ?” “Well, it couldn’t be helped."

“By Jove, you’re a brick ! But do you think I should bo such a cad ? Good heavens ! I shouldn’t sleep at nights.” “The girl’s eyes softened, and went, very gentle, as they met his glance.

“ I should like you to have it.” “ Yes, 1 know you would, but ouly because you’re such a little brick. Look at the way you’ve worked at this rotten affair, like that text in the Bible about believing all things and hoping all things. It’s been jolly hard for you.”

“ Hush ! You mustn't say that. Don’t you remember six months ago, when you first met me slaving away at the ladies’ column of the ‘Lens’for about twenty shillings a week, and offered me the sub-editorship of the ‘ Modern Minerva’ at twice the salary ?”

“Ay. but 1 In the beastly thing then, and thought that you and I were going to boom London together, and make our fortunes. Now it’s turned out a dead failure, and—hang it, Mabel, you must always have known why I wanted so much lo make an income.”

Young Lorrimer stood up, his whole face working, and made a step or two towards her. But she waved him off, half tearfully, half merrily, with the sugar-basin. “ No. don’t, yon mustn’t !” she cried breathlessly. You know wo—we work «loue here, and have done so for vr©~ w " *

You mustn't - . T couldn't come back tomorrow morning if you did.” Ho flushed all ove> his pale face, and sat clown again.

“ You’re a good w oman, Mabel,” lie said, after a pause. A true, good, pure woman, and you’re quite right, But—if

ever i am tn a position to marry——■ Lor:*!met* broke off, ami began turning over the manuscripts upon bis desk, knitting his Iwow disconsolately. “ 'Vo must get the paper out tills week, all the same.” he said. “ I want a subject for the leaderette. Gan you think of any tiling ?” *' She stood thoughtful, twisting a ring upon her linger. It appeared to give her inspiration. “ V hy not write one on posy-rings ? honk at this—-you see, it’s made like a wreath of tiny flowers going all the \vay run ml (ho finger. It was my greatgrandmother's and she was a Frenchwoman. It has an old Breton saying cut inside. I’m not sure of the exact translari n—something bv the effect that (rue love is rarer than gold, and more precious than rubies.” slipped the ring off her finger and laid it on his palm. Tie examined it with some interest before* be returned >t. “ It lias a story connected with it.” she resumed. “My grandmother was a very rich woman, and she was awfully in love with my grand father, who was poor. Tli si ring had' Come into possession from her mother, and, when my grandfather was just. desm-rately in love with her, and not daring to say anything. sin* sent it to him for a valentine. It straightened everything up.” IB* smiled, and gave her a swift glance. “I wish it had fairy powers, and could straighten up the ' Modern Minerva.’” lie said. And he wondered why she flushed as she answered playfully—- “ Perhaps it may do. some day.” But it seemed as if some day were a very long Way off for the ‘Modern Minerva.’ Two or tlwee weeks elapsed, and young Lorrimer and Mabel Vere stiil struggled and toiled in their little dusty room up among the London chimneys. lie grew whiter and thinner daily ; but. though she was pale from the work and want of fresh air, she did not seem dejected. “ IP»'v ' s it you don’t get hard and soured ?” he said one day. “Most women would.” “ " ell. I have got horribly untidy ! Good heavens ! I never thought' I should live to go about In a hat like that !” She stuck a pin through it viciously, and tossed it on to the peg, “ I have a fairy-token about, me. you know.” she said, seriously. “You forget my ring.” They had made quite a little joke of the old Breton ring ; and other that it had fairy powers, after all, for that it had inspired Lorrimer to the neatest, daintiest, little leaderette he had ever written in his life, Unless it brings your promised luck in this new number.” he told her, gravely, “ 1 must shut up the whole show.” “ Oil. no. not that !” “ 1 must, indeed.” “ Won't yon take my money ?” “ Xo, my dear, T won't.” Tie spoke decidedly, and a queer, •sweet little smile crept about her mouth and eyes. “ I've— I've been able to do a little for yon. Mabel. 1 went to the editor of the ‘ Lens' yesterday, and told him what a capital little sub-editor yon bad become, and lie's making some changes in the paper, and will rake you on again in that capacity, instead of at the ‘ladies' column’ work.” •She flushed crimson, and her eyes filled with tears. “ And you V" “ 1 oh. I shall get along somehow : I'm a man.” “You've been very k'nd to me." she said, unsteadily. “ Bur. oh ! I wish we could have gone on villi (hf> ‘Modern Minerva.’ It's all the fault of the British public ! Great, blind vampire !” “ Never mind ! One must meet all fortunes. Some day luck will change." They worked on through that week, and then the paper smashed. .Mabel sat down on the great bundles of returned copies, and gazed at tin* editor, he, in return, gazed back at her. “ There's a line in Browning ” sue began. “Oil. yes, I know : about Itever turning one’s back. I mean to do it.” '• You've done it already !" “ I don't feel as if I had.” “Bm yon have. Oh, 1 like—l like a man who is never crushed by anything.” “ 1 like a woman of that sort, too.” They looked at each other, bravely. And then she gave a funny little laugh, and spoke again. “ I have something to tell you—something awful.” & “ What is it ? You can’t have numbered the sketches wrong, or let the paper go to press with absolutely confused headings. There are no sketches and no patter left.” “ Xo, it's worse than that” “ It can't be.” “ But it is. indeed.” “Well, toll me, all the same.” She opened her mouth twice to speak, and twice flushed to the roots of her hair ; at hist slut got out her words, in a sort of feeble murmur. “ I'm—l'm awfully rich.” “■Do you call five hundred pounds a fortune, my dear child V” “ It—it isn't five hundred pounds. It’s thirty thousand. I—l was telling stories.” She put her handkerchief to her eyes as she sat on the bundle of papers, and dabbed away two miniature tears. He stared at her in confusion. “ What do you mean ?” “ Oh, I know ! I’m a horrid heiress ! But—but 1 was so tired of it, and I’d' no relations, and no ties, so I’ve been pretending to be poor, and I haven’t touched my money for two years, but lived on what I could earn. It's quite true.” He remained blank. “And Vere isn't my real name—it’s Vereker. And I’m not a little bit what I’ve seemed to be ever since you’ve known me. And—and ” Her voice died away, and he roused himself and pushed his fingers through his hair. “ At least,” he said gravely, “ I'm glad for your sake.” But there was a difference in his manner. and she felt it immediately. They were no longer comrades in misfortune. He was looking at her with a isad, rather lonely expression ; and two more tears came, and required the services of her pocket-handkerchief. He stood up. and went to the window, standing with his back to her. Then there was a little rustle in the room, and he looked round to-see her at the door. “ There Is—something on your desk—under the calendar,” she said, rosy in the face, and speaking with a soft breathlessness. “ I—l want ” But what ahe wanted was lost in dust and gloom, and the little hurrying patter of her footsteus down the stairs. He saw a little white parcel lying on his desk, and, striding across the room, opened the little package with fingers that, for some reason, trembled. It contained the old quaint Breton ring. He held It in his fingers, and gazed down on it with a curious tender smile. Then, involuntarily, he glanced at the calendar. The flgujes signified that It was the 1 twenty-ninth of and he ina*

mediately put on his hat' “ I wonder if she knew ?”. ho said do himself, as he strode at full speed in the direction of his sub-editor’s rooms. But, through all their long life together, she always insisted" that she didn’t.—'* Woman.”