Short Story.

Lake County Press, Issue 2348, 27 October 1910, Page 7

Short Story.

A FIN-DE-SIECLE YOUNG MAN,

Miss Gabrielle Drew was a product of the end-of-the-century civilisation. She had studied the classics and was devoted to the science of higher mathematics, absorbed the poetry of Dante Gabriel Rossetti, and rode a biovcle in divided skirts. The result of this widely varied system upon her illogical, feminine comprehension was an abnormal her emotions, and a vagus, undefinable longing for sympathetic appreciation, and communion with kindred spirits. Mr. Astroyd read her like an open book on tho occasion of his initial entrance to the charmed circle of society, upon which occasion hj» was permitted to take Miss Drew in to dinner. Mr. Astroyd was a young, brilliant, aspiring newspaper reporter, who had written the popular novel of the season and as a consequence had had greatness thrust upon him in the shape of an invitation to dine at Mrs. Carharrs and roar gently in chorus with the numerous other lions that lady was so fond of gathering ahont her. ‘ What has that gentleman with the chrome hair and Rembrandt beard done?’ Miss Drew asked him with languid interest.

Mr. Astroyd started and gazed hastily around the board in search of the person so weirdly described. ‘ What has he done ?’ he repeated, perplexedy. ‘Nothing, I hope. That isNather, the caricaturist, and a perfect gentleman, I assure you.’ Gabrielle shrugged her pearl-powdered shoulders and laughed a little, quietly. ‘Ton do not understand our jargon,’she saidj * I mean what particular artistic atrocity is ho responsible for?’ * Oh!’ Me. Astroyd was inwardly nettled at her calm way of treating him as a stranger in the camp of the Philistines: and also at the slight convoyed in that word * atrocity.* He retorted rather maliciously: ‘lf all of Mrs. Carhart’s guests are necessarily guilty of some such offence, I p.-ef-umoyou, too, have earned your invitation.’ ‘ Oh, yes,’ she responded readily. ‘lt is plain to hr seen that you are not one of us, or you would be aware of the fact that the pseudo * Victorino’ stands for Gabrielle Drew in upper tendom.’ Mr. Astroyd forgot his newly acquired manners sufficiently to stare rudely at his vis-a-vis. * Impossible!’ ho ejaculated. ‘Well, now, that is rather equivocal. What is impossible? That I should write so poor a book, or that so clever a boob should have so stupid a creator?’ Mr. Astroyd recovered himself. ‘ Neither. I was speaking wholly from a moral point of view.’ ‘ Bah! Morals are out of date. The fin de eiccle girl is distinctly immoral; that is what makes her interesting.’ Mr. Astroyd drew a long breath and deftly changed the subject, but he proceeded to , make himself so agreeably amusing that Gabrielle thought she had discovered har affinity and invited him to call on her. ■ Mr. Astroyd went home jubi- ‘ She’s worth a couple of million •at the lowest calculation,’ he murmured as he was falling asleep, ‘ and she wrote ‘A Goddess of Passion.’ Oh, that is too good.’ \ . ‘Erotic’ Miss Drew said, upon the occa sion of Mr. Astroyd’s first call at her elegantly appointed home. * Tho critics bore me with their vulgar objections to my work, on the score that it is erotic. Why, of course it is. I intended it to be so. It treats of the subject Jof love. That is no crime.’ ‘Perhaps you would prefer to have them nab the term immoral.’ ‘ Yes, I think I should,’ Gabrielle answered lightly. ‘lt would stimulate curiosity to a ■higher, degree, and make the book more popular.’ ‘ I understand,! Mr. Astroyd answered cynically. Before he made his adieux he invited Miss Drew to go to dinner with him the following week. . , ‘1 do not know your chaperon, hut of • course, I shall order dinner for three.’ he said. * That is not at all necessary. I know you are not in the hahit of including a chaperon in your schemes of entertainment and it would really give me pleasure to dine with you en tete-e-tete, quite as though I was one of your own set, you know.’ It would be impossible to convey any impression of the affable condescension of Gabrielle’s tone and manner. Mr. Astroyd gritted his teeth as he descended the front stoop. .. * 1 will give Miss Insolence a dinner that will be exciting at any rale,’ he determined as he strode rapidly uptown, ‘ I may not own a grandfather, but I have my native wit enough to get even with her.’ The little dinner came off a week later. It occurred at a queer, musty, little Italian cafe, several miles removed from the region of swelldom, hut Gabrielle enjoyed it hugely, for she possessed a cultivated palate, and the salad was a poem, tho wine of tho host and the cheese delicious. They lingered unconsciously over their coffee, and Gabrielle insisted on Mr. Astroyd’s smoking a cigarette. ‘Let us be entirely Bohemian while we are about it,’ she said, laughingly. At that moment two young men nnmis • takably members of the haute ton, sauntered into the place and seated themselves at the next table. One of them glauced at Gabrielle carelessly, • She bowed affably and he recognised her with a start and a flush of amazement.. Astroyd rather harried her away after that. s v ' * I am so sorry,’ he said, apologetically, in the carriage on the way home. ‘ I had no idea we should meet anyone you know. It is such an out of the way place. I hope you will appreciate my motives, Miss Drew, but aside from all considerations of prudence, I really love you passionately. You must have seen that the first night at Mrs. Carhart’s- ' I hope my passion has excited some response in your heart, and that you will consent to become my wife. Yon see there is some excuse for my apparent haste in this matter for if our engagement is announced to-morrow morning it will immediately silence all illnatured conjecture.’ * What do yoa mean ?’ Gabrielle inquired in astonishment. * Why, surely you know that Lorini’s is the most notorious rendezvous in town. It is enough to blast an angel’s reputation to he seen there.’

‘ Ob, it willl not harm me,’ Gabrielle v answered coolly. 4 1 am very far from being an angel. Nothing could my position. People expect anything of tM. I am known in our set as the eccentric Miss Drew. lam much obliged, however, for your quixotic proposal. How absurdly chivalrous you are. Quite mediaeval.’ Mr. As troy d smiled grimly in the gloom of the cab, but took leave of Gabrielle with the proper degree of dejection under the circumstances., As he rode home alone, however, his face frightened inexplicably, and he murmured cheerfully: ! 4 Put on all the airs you like, my lady. I am glad you are enjoying yourself, but you better have a care, for I have a trump in my sleeve that will settle you, or 1 miss my guess.' The next time Mr. Astroyd called at the Drew mansion he was informed that Qabrielle was indisposed * • •

He sent up h's card, however, with a hastily scrawled j equest for the honor of an early interview* The footman returned and stated that Miss Drew would be pleased to receive him in her boudoir at once.

He found Gabrielle reclining on a lowcouch, arrayed in a neglige gown, which was the only visible token of her iudispo • sition.

‘You dear, delightful man,’ she said in greeting, extending her hand, which Astroyd proceeded to kiss as though it wf re the natural and appropriate thing to do under the circumstances. * Oh, for shame! How absurd you are, she cried, laughing knd blushing a little. 1 1 hope you are not seriously ill,’ Mr. Astroyd remarked, solicitously. ‘Not at all. I am merely suffering from an aggravated attack of the blues, and I have had a spell of nervous tiintlums. I want to be amused, that is all, and moat people bore me to tho verge of desperation. You don t. You are delicious. lam always on- the qui vive in your presence, wondering what you will do or say next. I wonder what you will contrive to spring upon me to-day. I hope it will be something naughty and amusing, for lam positively perishing from the lack of a new sensation.’ ‘ I don’t believe you have finished curling your hair, when I forced myself npon your notice,’ he said irrelevantly, with a significant glance at a partially drawn portiere, which revealed an exquisitely appointed dressing room. Gabrielle flushed, and hesitated whether-to be angry or amused. ‘Come,’ he continued, rising persuasively, ‘ let me curl it for you. lam an expert at the business. I worked in a barber’s shop for two weeks once to get facts in a story for my paper.’ \ . ‘ How interesting,’ Gabrielle murmured 1 and what a lark it will he,’ she cried, bet enthusiasm aroused. * Come along in here. I have all the implements of the trade, you see. After all, it really is no worse than admitting ■ a professional coiffeur to one’s dressing apartment. We will make believe you are a professional tor the time being. Look out now and don’t bum my hair or I shall never forgive you. Why don’t you say something ?’ 1 , Gabrielle spoke hurriedly and a trifle nervously. She was a little appalled at her own audacity. Astroyd compressed his lips in a straight thin line, and kept his gaze fixed steadily on the iron as he deftly twisted a lock of shining hair about its stem. . • ‘I do believe you half disapprove of me, Gabrielle went on impetuously, having failed to win any response from him. ‘ I don’t care if you do- I have my own philosophy, and I live by it. I believe thoroughly that the only crime is in being found out.’ ‘ I imagined that that was your creed,’ Astroyd said dispassionately. ‘ There ! is not that a beautiful curl ?’ and he stood back and admiringly surveyed his handiwork, which clung gracefully to Gabrielle’s white brow in a truly bewitching manner. ‘ Why did you imagine it ?’ Gabrielle asked eagerly, ignoring the latter half of his speech. ‘ Because,’ he said, twirling the iron over the gas heater, ‘you are so cautious in concealing the fact that you have your novels written for you.’ Gabrielle sprang to her feet and confronted him, a sickly pallor spreading over her face. ‘ How did you find but ?’ ‘ I knew the girl who wrote them. She was on the staff of my paper. She received a wretched salary, and had a little sick sister to support. She' was really very religious, and bad a hard struggle with hexconscience, I assure you, before she could make up her mind to consent to your offer She confided in me everything but your name, and I advised her to accept your terms. I knew.she was clever and bright, but no publisher would have accepted her work without influence, and she had none apart from you. ‘ After all, it was a very fair arrangement. She needed the money and you hankered after fame, so you should both he satisfied.’ ‘ What are you going to do with your knowledge ? Is it for sale ?’ Gabrielle had bard work to keep her teeth from chattering with nervous terror, but she managed to preserve her magnificent insolence. * Yes.’ Astroyd replied reflectively. ‘lt is for sale, but I warn you that it will come high.’ ‘ Name your price.’ Qabrielle’s tone was apprehensive.' ‘ Yourself.*

‘lmpossible.’ ‘Very well, then, to-morrow society will relish a delicious tid-bit of gossip at your expense.’ ‘ You are a brute.’

‘ Thank yoii.’ ‘Oh, what shall I do?’ Gabrielle cried hysterically, wringing her hands tragically'. ‘ Give yourself to me, like a sensible girl. I admire you immensely and love you very dearly. lam not at all a had sort Of fallow, if you look at me in the right light,/and I shall probably be famous some day, You will enjoy being the wife of a celebrity.’ ‘ I’d rather he the celebrity.’ ‘No doubt; hut I’m afraid that is impossible, my love. You can’t buy me.’ At that moment thera was a tap on the door, which Gabrielle had cautiously closed and locked.

*My dear girl,’ a feminine voice cried, ‘do let me in. James tells me you are ill, and I must insist on seeing for myself just how bad you are.’ Astroyd realized his advantage instantly. He sprang behind a portiere which veiled the clothespress. ‘ If you don’t announce our engagement to that old gossip so that I can hear you I’ll come out of hiding and denounce you morally and intellectually.’ Gabrielle groaned as she admitted her unwelcome caller.

‘My dear girl, hut you do look ill, indeed. What have you been doing toyourself ?’ Mrs. Carhart cooed over her protegee sympathetically. * I’ve—l’ve overdone a little.*

‘ Oh, you poor dear. I suppose you have been writing too steadily.* Gabrielle perceived a slight motion behind the fateful portiere. ‘ I’m rather nervous,’ 'she hastened to say, speaking in little jerks and starts. ‘l’ve been getting engaged lately and it has rather done me up.’ Mrs. Carhart gushed a good deal at the news.

‘Mr. Astroyd is the man,’Gabrielle said, rather forlornly. ‘ You remember I met him at your house.’ ■ There was a decided abatement (perceptible in Mrs. Carhart’s enthusiasm.

‘ Of course, you know your own business best - , my dear, but I should have thought such a famous young woman as you Jure would have required a positive genius for a husband. Why, he is not at all one of us, and he has only written one book.’ Whereat Aetroyd buried his face in his fiancee’s gowns to stifle his mirth. He had gained his point and could afford to love his enemies. \

‘The fin-da-siecle young woman is a marvel,’ he wrote in an editorial that evening, ‘but she can’t get ahead of the fin-de-siecle young man.’-

PADDY AND THE ‘BRUSH.’ When I was a student at ‘ dh-vw ntcM Trinity* I had smuggled Paddy through tho quad and up to my ro' mi in conned ion with urgent business pertaining to my strained relations with the good people at home. Paddy, you must know, was my father’s man-of-all-work, and my footerbrother. After my little business bad been discussed I got Paddy talking of tbo old da> - when he lived near onr manse in county Monaghan, and of his advantage there. ‘Con, my darlmt!’ said Paddy, his eye sparkling brightly . ‘ and did I ever tell you the shtory of how I got the fox’s brush.?’ * Never,’ I answered, lighting my cigarette ; ‘bo let’s have it now, Paddy, straight off the reel.’ a

‘ Well,’ he said, *it all happenod in the great barn at the owld farm.’ ‘ Barn !’ I exclaimed, with a laugh. ‘ Yes, my darlint; jist that same. I was a boy of about fifteen year owld at the time, and it was in that barn—a big, moighty, rambling place it was—that I need to tape my fancy-fowls. Well, one evening I was sitting amongst the sthraw in a dark corner, more asleep nor awake, and waiting for the supper time to come. All was perfectly sti'l, for the fowls were roosting on the perch, ai d the sparrows above had finished chirping and foighting wid one another. Suddenly I was startled up by bearing all the fowls sorea- hing at once, and flying about my head like so many frighted owls. And, sure, I’d no need to begin guessing what all the scare and pother was about, for there i seed a fox leaping down from the roosting perch wid my finest cookerel—all dabbled wid blood—a dangling from his mouth ! Begcrra ! in almost a twinkling I had picked up a loose brick from the bottom of tho owld wall behint me, and flung it straight at him just as he was making for the door. agin. ‘ The brick hit him clean on the head, .and, sor, it's myself was alongside of the thief almost as soon as he fell. Troth, there he lay stretched out stiff and still, seemingly jist as dead as the cockerel at his side. I tell you, misther, I no more doubted about that fox being dead, than I doubt about the sun rising to-morrow. • Ha, my little gintleman!’ I said, as I stooped ower him ; ‘so you’re the sneaking thief, are you? Well, l*m thinking that brick has gev yon your last headache. H >wivec—bad cess to the likes of you—to mike sure of you, I’ll jist give you tho stomachache as well!’

‘ And, sor, therewid, I gev him eich a thund’aering kick right across the innards wid my hobnailed boots, as would have kilt a Kilkiiiny cat, or, leastways, made it show whether it were shamming. Well, I tell you in all aimest, that the fox niver blinked an eye, nor showed the least bit sign as there was any life left in him. After that I was satisfied he was dead as a herring.’ ‘ It’s a nice party brush you’ve got,’ I said, 1 and it’ll just come in handy for my mother to dust her shelves and pictures wid. It’s often she’s wished for a fresh dustingclout, but can’t afford it on account of the hard times.’

‘So, saying this, I took down a shearknife, knelt over him, and cut off his brush sthraight by tho root! And, faith, he niver winked or winced. * And now it’s myself that knows you’ll call me a gommack when I tell you what happened immayjectly aftherwards; and, my jewel, I confess I deserve it. I ought to have knowed by my laming what a fox’s cunning will lead him to. Indade, begad, I ought; because my owld sohoolmisther often told us that same. But as for that creature, wid his head stunned wid a brick bat, his belly jerked in wid a kick that would have gone through injin-rubber, and his tail sliced off by the first joint—well, by all the powers, I did think that he musk be dead—as any pickled mummy.’ * Well, Paddy,* I sa'd, ‘ and are you going to tall me he wasn't ?’ * I’ll be jist going to tell you the tbrutb, darlint, and no more,’ replied Paddy. ‘ Well, I ashure you, I had no sooner took and stuck his brush in the breast of my coat, and stepped out of the barn towards the houso—for, indeed, I was hungering for my supper—than I seed that fox scurrying like lightning across the yard and towards the wood ; and, by jabbers and bad scran to him, if he hadn’t got my purty fancy cockerel a dangling from his mouth !’ *Ha,ha!’ I laughed, rolling back in my chair. * Bravo, Reynard! That fox did know his way about, and no mistake,^ * Thruo for you, sor,’ he jist did,’ he replied, half spitefully, half sheepishly. ‘Well, I added,'‘l’m not going to call yon a gommack, by any means, my lad; for, Paddy, I do believe that even our Provost, with all his Greek and Latinity, would have been taken in by the wiles of that precious fox of yours.’ ‘ You think so in aimest, sor,’ said Paddy, who, although ho bad seen the Provost once or twice at the remotest distance acro-a one or other of the quads, had the profoundest respect for him. ‘ Then, begorra, thai being so, so, I’ll niver he ashamed of telling that shtory agin!’ ‘ But, Paddy,’ I asked, * what became of the brush ? Did it do duly as a dustingoloth, as you proposed?’ 'Jist'that same,’ replied Paddy, * and it did the thiug illigant, too. But, sor, my shtory isn’t complete without my telling you that a shtrange thing happened at our squire’s next hunt.’ ‘ What was it ?’ I asked;

* Why, sor, the pack started a fox in Carrib Bottom, and afther the creatur bad gev them a splendid run round tho counthry it was kilt within a mile of the starting place. And, sor, I was so sorry to lam that Miss FitzOlare was tho only lady in at the death. Dear, young lady, she was alius like a good angel to the poor people in our dishtrict.’ ‘Why, what On earth are you talking about V I cried, for I rea,lly thought the whiskey had got into his head. ‘ What h«s Miss FitzOlare got to do with your fox’s brush?’ ‘ Arrah, darlint, just this,’ said Pa’dy. ‘ As she were the only lady in at the - death, she ought, it seems, 'to have been presinted with the fox’s brush. And, tbundher and turf, sor, what do you think? The fox they’d run down proved to have no more tail than a Manx cat! None at all, at all, gar! And, by the siven powers, Ido sinsarely belaive as that fox were the same as played mo that dirty trick, and whose brush was then sarving as our duster clout !’ —H. J. Barker.