Short Story

Lake County Press, Issue 2669, 15 February 1917, Page 7

Short Story

(PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.) Two Ohnistmas Eves, By J. J. BELL. Continued from last ,eek. “Lockyer f What do you think of this? I've heard from Dennison at last I” “Dennison? Who is—Oh, you mean the thief.” The other winced. “Let that be forgotten. I always believed ho would redeem himself.” “Has ho written to say so?” “Ho has returned the firm’s money and the money that I gave him—wit i;diTorU” cried Marlow in a tone triunqflT "“Now what have you to say r” Lockyer gave his shoulders a shrug. “Let us hope ho came by it honestly,’’ he said coolly. “Docs ho mention its source?” Marlow made a movement as if he had been stung. “Confound you!” he exclaimed, “are you as devoid of justice as you were of mercy? Won't you give Dennison any credit at all?” “It you wish mo to do so, I’ll see that he gets credit in the books against the record of his defalcations.” The older man drew in his breath. He restrained himself with difficulty. At last he said:—“Lockyer, if Dennison were to enter this room now, what would you do?” “Give him a receipt for the money.” “Nothing else?” “What else should I give him?” “Your hand, your goodwill ” “Oh, rot, Marlow I It isn’t Christmas Eve, you know I” Marlow’s countenance flushed red and pale. “Lockyer,” he said passionately, “you’re a fool—a heartless fooll” Which was scarcely the criticism expected by the junior partner. Six months later came the split. There was no quarrel. Marlow mildly declared that ho had had enough of non-speculative, humdrum business. He would retire, and spend the next few years, of his leisure in seeing the world. Lockyer did his best to conceal his gratification at the prospect of running the business alone under the old name, but by no means on the old lines. They parted on quite amicable terms. They would in all probability not meet again. The last ties were severed by the paying out of the retiring partner’s capital. Marlow had suggested that this might be done byinstalments, but Lockyer, thirsting for independence, found the large sum required by borrowing it. 11l The most sociable member of the Argentine liner's passengers had cornered the most retiring member in the smoke-room. “I have just had it from the captain himself,” he announced, dropping upon the divan, “that we shall positively be in London on the morning of Christmas EveT” “Indeed I” murmured the retiring member, laying down his book and endeavouring to look pleased. His age might have been a little over thirty, and he evidently desired to be courteous to the intruder, who was apparently his senior by a score of years. “Indeed 1” he repeated, then seemed at a loss for further conversation. The other, however, had plenty to say for himself. After a few congratulatory remarks on the linfer’s speedy passage, he fell to asking questions. “Going home for good?” “For six months, at any rate.” “Ah I Haven’t made up your mind about settling at homo?” “Not quite.” “Just so, just so. Are you a Londoner?” “I was.” “H’ml I see. You have been abroad for some time. How long have you been in the Argentine?” “Eleven years.” “Dear me! But you have been home at intervals?” “This is my first trip home.” “Well, well; you’ll see some changes in London, I can tell you—in the streets, at all events. Your people are in London, I suppose?” The younger man shook his head. “I am not sure that I shall find any friends in London,” he said slowly. “After my mother’s death a few years ago, my two brothers—my only relations in London—went to Canada. One is apt to be forgotten by friends and acquaintances in the course of eleven years.” “Come, come,” said the other briskly. “I think you will find you are wrong there!” He proceeded to relate anecdotes of warm welcomes accorded returning exiles of his own acquaintance. When he paused for breath- “ Well, there is perhaps one who will remember me,” the younger man said, and inquired with a certain diffidence of manner whether his comS anion by any chance knew a Mr. larlow. a West Indian merchant. “No, was the reply. Then: “Not Marlow of Mai low and Lockyer? “You know him?” eagerly. “Not personally, but ” The older man hesitated, looking grave. ‘Don’t tell me he is dead I” “I have not noticed a death under that name lately; but, as I said, I do YoKknow Mr. Marlow personally, nor have 1 had any dealings with the firm. My business is of quite a different nature.” The speaker rose, as if eager to depart. “One moment, sir, if you please. You seem to know of something which you shrink from telling me. I beg you to tell ” “H’rn! h’ra! I’m sure I had no desire to pain you. This is extremely awkward for me; and, after all, I may have been misinformed. Y'ou are a friend of this Mr. Marlow’s, and I would rather you did not ask me to —to ” “I would rather know the worst. Is it something to do with the firm?” The sociable member bowed and looked miserable. “I can only tell you what I heard on ’Change the day before I left London, ten weeks ago—and the report may have been false.” “What did you hear?” “That the firm of Marlow and Lockver was shaky—on its last legs, in fact.”

lu the dusk of tho 24th of December Mr. Lockyer emerged from the portals of a great bank. He looked the crushed and beaten man ho was. The manager of the bank, sincerely regretful, for tho business relationship had been long and friendly, had blasted hi. last hope. The bank could not extent

further credit, and the heavy bills payable on the 27th would be dis honoured. After that—bankruptcy. To a modern business many thing' may happen in the course of tliret years. The history of Marlow anc i Lockyer over that period would meat a long story. Enough to say thal Lockyer, handicapped by his initia borrowing, had found the first twc years so profitless that ho had droppec his principles and entered despcratelj into big risks. But a certain geniu; is required for successful speculation, and that genius seemed to have quitted the business along with Marlow. The hazards of Lockyer resulted in nothing but disaster. Ho was alone in his private room —alone on the promises. The clerks —their number reduced since Marlow’s time—had gone an hour ago, the youngsters in holiday mood, the elders vaguely uneasy. Lockyer trusted no one with his secrets, but such things leak out, and his manner on his return from the bank had been very strange. He sat at his desk, motionless, his head in his hands. There was nothing to detain him there. He was simply afraid to go home. He had kept his wife in the dark regarding his affairs. The younger members ot his family—the oldest, a girl, was not yet sixteen—were having a party that evening. How could he face them all? Ho felt that the mere sight of him would blight their happiness. “My God I’’ ho whispered, “what a hideous thing to happen on Christmas Eve I” His tired mind went back to its feverish futile search —the search that had occupied it throughout those recent torturing weeks—the search for a way of escape fox the name of some fellow being wno might possibly be induced to lend a helping hand. But it was only another spasm of vain boating against the bars. There was no way out; there was no fellow being who woujd aid—save, perhaps, one, Marlow. Surely Marlow would do it— I if only because it was Christmas Eve. But Marlow was still wandering abroad, Lockyer knew not where. His senses dulled by his mental misery, Lockyer scarcely heard the opening of the outer door. When footsteps drew near the private room ho did not stir, A clerk returned foi some article forgotten—the charwoman —it mattered not. But when a knock fell on the door, he sat up, groped for a pencil, and feigned to bo busy. Ho moistened his lips and got out the words “Come in. A stranger entered; a man still young, well-dressed, but apparently ill at ease. “I beg your pardon,” ho said, halting awkwardly just within the threshold, “but I saw the light in the window, and I was anxious to have a word with Mr. Marlow.” He paused, paling a little as he mot the curious dull stare of Lockyer’s eyes. “Has Mr. Marlow gone home? I should like very much to find him to-night.” Lockyer cleared his throat. “Mr. Marlow is abroad. I do not know his address.” “Abroad!” The words was charged with dismay. “Can you tell me when he will return?” The question came after another pause. “I cannot.” The stranger sighed. “I had hoped,” lie said softly, “to offer—to do Mr. Marlow a little service. I arrived from lluenos Aires but an hour ago. The steamer was delayed at the last.” “May 1 ask who are you?” Lockyer had been asking himself who the stranger, faintly familiar, might be. but bis over-wrought memory hat offered no answer. The stranger sighed again. “Don you remember Dennison, Mr. Lock yer?” “Dennison?” “The thief on whom you had such groat mercy, eleven years ago this veil night?” “You, Mr. Lockyer. Ah, Mr. Maryou told mo how you sacrificed your principles to be lenient and how you mined with him in giving me that hundred pounds ” “Stop!” For a moment Lockyer’s pallid countenance was scarlet. “I see, you don’t wish me to refer to it,” said Dennison. “Well, my thanks would never give you any idea of my gratitude.” “You owe me no gratitude.” Dennison smiled Faintly. “Nothing you can ever say,” he said gently, “will convince me of that. But now I can say to you what I wished to say to Mr. Marlow. I had Mr. Marlow first in my mind because he was senior: and also, perhaps, because ho —shook hands with me that night. I can’t tell you what that meant, Mr. Lockyer.” . . There was a silence. I he ruined man made as if to rise. What was he now that he should refuse his hand ? Had he been so very honest in the risking of other people’s money? Legitimate business, no doubt-y-but could it be called absolutely straight ? He sank back in his chair. At least he need not act the hypocrite. “I must repeat,’ ’he said stiffly, “that you owe me no gratitude—quite the reverse.” . Once more Dennison smiled faintly and shook his head. “As you will, sir. But I know what Mr. Marlow told me. And now ” “I ought to have informed you that Mr. Marlow is no longer a member of this firm. He retired more than three years ago.” . , , “Retired! Then ho is not involved— I beg your pardon, Mr. Lockyer. It may seem impertinent, but IS ~T everything well and prosperous with Wm?” , “I have no reason to doubt it, Mr. Dennison. He left the firm at the height of its prosperity.” Lockyer was writing erratically on the blottingpaper. “At the height of its prosperity,” ho muttered. “Height of its prosperity. n He had become ghastly. “Height of ” “Mr. Lockyer, you re ill! cued Dennison. “I’m perfectly well—perfectly well—perfectly ” , Dennison took a step fonvaid. “You are in great trouble. On board the steamer I heard—no, never mind that. But if you can tell me a little, PC pulled himself together. “What did you hear on the steamer?” Then he collapsed again. “Oh, what does it matter? It’ll bo in the papeu in a few days. We suspend payment on Friday.” , , ~ Dennison’s lip quivered slightly as bo looked down on the bowed head oi ' the man whom he counted a benefactor, ! Ho took an envelope from his pocket. “Mr. Lockyer,” he said shyly, “tbif ' i 9 a draft on the Bank of England foi j eiirlit thousand pounds. 1 will endorse l it to the firm. If it should prove suffi i dent to save your credit, I’ll find hap * piness in the thought till the end o j my Hfo. I beg you to accept it.” ‘A long minute passed ere Lockye ; raised his head. Emotion had wrong!) now lines on his face. “The money you have offered i e Mr. Dennison.” he said very slowly i' “would save mo. . . . but I oauno take it.” •‘lt was honestly come by, roturne

Dennison quietly. “I have had sour fortunate deals in land out there.” “For Heaven’s sake don’t misunder i stand me! I can’t take it—because—- ! eleven years ago I—l would have sen I you to jail.” i “But yrou thought better—raon ’< kindly—or it,” saicf Dennison nlmos 1 cheerfully. He came up to the desk i “May I use one of your pens?” 1 “Dennison, I can’t let you do it ■ I’m humbled to the dust.” i “No, sir. You aro lifting me fron that. I’ll go back to the Argentine r i new man.” ■; “You go back soon?” Lockyer spoke absently. | “To-night. Sail from the Clyde toI morrow,” , Lockyer appeared to wake up. “But ’ you have just arrived.” I The younger man reddened. “Found ' a cable recalling me.” He stooped I and wrote across the back of the draft I and passed it over to Lockyer. What man, worried almost to death, could reject the salvation expressed in that oblong of green paper? “As a loan Dennison, as a loan,” he said huskily, weakly. “Very well, Mr. Lockyer. I’ll send you my Buenos Aires address when I S2t there. I’m making a change.” ennison spoke hurriedly, looking uncomfortable. “Didn’t expect to return there so soon, you know. Now, sir, if you will do me the honour to shako hands ” “Oh, man, why should I take this money?” cried Lockyer. “Why should you give it?” Dennison’s faint smile came again. “It’s Christmas Eve,” he replied. “That’s what Mr. Marlow said to me, eleven years ago.” (The End.)