MY NIGHT OF PERIL

Lake Wakatip Mail, Issue 2180, 29 October 1897, Page 3

MY NIGHT OF PERIL

BY RICHARD DOWLING. A line in to-day's paper unseals my lips. Most probably I should never myself have discovered that line. for. like moat men. I seldom glance at the "Births. Marriages, and Deaths." But three years since I married, and this morning at breakfast an exclamation from Xellie made me raise my eyes from my plate and look across the table jit her. Folded up beside her lay the morning paper, and on the paper rested her hand, ihe forefinger pointing to an item on the front page. "What is it?" I asked. She read aloud: "On May 10. at Kim 1-odge. Kingston. Edward Shortbouse, aged fifty-eight." She fixed her eyes on me and fell back on her chair. After a pause she said: "I'm sorry for the poor old man." Nellie is the most forgiving and sympathetic creature alive. I did no; make any comment on the news. I did not say anything at all. At the announcement my mind Hew Iwck rkree years to the most startling event in my life. At the time that event occurred 1 had been four years accountant to Shorthouse and Son. tea merchants, in the city. The senior Shorthouse had been long dead, and when I got charge of the iMMiks. Edward Shorthouse, originally Hie "son." constituted the whole tirin. My employer was the kindest and Most considerate man I had ever met. From him I never got one unpleasant word. To the best of my ability I did my work, and he helped me with encouragement and rewarded me with appreciation. For him I had more than respect and liking—l loved him. I would have into the Thames to serve Edward Shorthouse.

I had not lieen long in the place lief ore it began to dawn on me that all was not well with the business. Trade had been tad for a long time, sales had lieeu falling off. it was hard to get in money, and many serious losses had been met. Mr Shorthouse ted a delicate wife, live daughters, and two young sons, and each of his two maiden sisters drew a substantial annuity out of the cou«*ern.

Abont the middle of my Hiird year the | crisis came. We eould no longer pay our way. A meeting of creditors was called, and seven and sixpence in the pound was offered and accepted. The quixotic pride of Edward Short house in the honor of his linn made him offer the last penny hope could expect, and at the thue I had my doubts that The seven and sixpence could l)e realised. The first half-crown was to be paid in six months after the first, and the third six months after the second. In all the misery ami worry of that time my heart bled for the old man, 1 felt he was cruelly ill-used by fate. It was not his fault that trade was bad; if was not his fault that we could not collect the money due. It was not his fault that customers failed: it was not his fault his father's will had charged upon the concern two heavy annuities. To be sure his own drawings were large, but he had a. wife and seven helpless children. No doubt he could have lived on less than the two thousand a year he spent, but then from the time of his sticiv**ion he had been accustomed to that income, pud although reason told me he was wrong not to cut down his own expenses when he saw Short bouse and Hon drifting into danger, I could not find 41 in my heart to blame him. i counted my 6wn persona! stake in Hie firm less than nothing, for if the. shutters went up I could get a higher salary without going out <>f the street. 1 was not for one moment uneasy on my own account. But to s<*e my good. kind, gentle employer humiliated and laid low int me to the- quick, was a wound which rankled.

The first insialmcnl we paid with ease; the second we mustered with difficulty. One afternoon, midway between the second and third. I went intti Mr Short house's private office, and said: "I hope, sir. I am giving satisfaction." He dropped his pen. stared at me. and cried: " e *Yf>n giving satisfaction! Has anyone hinted you're not*?" He was a tall, burly, round-faced, fresh-colored man, with gentle and conciliating manners. "Xo one has hinted to me that I am not." said I. "I merely ask. as 1 should like to feci sure of my situation. 1 am thinking of getting married."' "My dear lad you are as safe here as the Monument. Allow me to wish yon every happiness." He rose and {(book me by the hand. He put'his hand on my shoulder and patted me affectionately, looking at me the while with his kind eyes. A lump rose in my throat: my head

grew hot and confused. I ntnnot. remember the remaining words of the interview, hut I know be told me he was sorry he could not raise my salary there and then, but that he would take care I had a substantial increase as soon as the third instalment was paid. Well, two months before if fell due. Nelly and 1 were married. .Mr Shorthouse sent Nellie a pretty tea service and a dozen silver spoons, and gave me a fortnight's holiday ami a ten-pound note.

"I'm worry 'tisu't fifty. Webster." said lie. in handing me the cheque. "Only I have this infernal dividend ahead. I'd lie able to do something more like what I should wish. I think they might forgive me this third half-crown, it won't lie much to any one of them, and the five thousand pounds would set Shorthonse and Sou going in tine style once more." I thought this remark rather a strange one from the mouth of a business man. 1 said nothing, but I supjnise my face told him the l»out of my mind, for he turned his words off with a laugh. I took Rose Cottage, a real oldfashioned cottage of one floor, in Strcatham. It stood all alone in the middle of a good garden, and we got it cheap. as it was a little out of the way. "And are you quite comfortable in your new home. WebsterV" said Mr Shorthouse. a few days after the honeymoon.

"Yes. sir." said I. It was a gardener's cottage, and 1 have it at a very low rent because it's a good step from bus or rail."

I have half a mind to run out and ask Mrs Webster for a cup of tea next Sat- | unlay afternoon, if it wouldn't be inconvenient V" I told him I should feel greatly honored by such a visit, and that I was certain nothing could please my wife more.

So the best we could do was done for his visit, and on Saturday at four o'clock we saw him coming up the garden path, to the terror and delight of Nellie. But so uupreteuding and friendly was his manner that before live minutes she was as much at ease with bitu a» though lie were her own father. It was fine .May weather. We showed him over our small house and our large jmrden, and lie expressed himself delighted with all he saw. He asked the rent and said we had the greatest bargain in London. We told him that we had got the furniture tall but Nellie's piano, which was a present from 381

her father) on fhe hire system. Ho pr.ils- ] ed Nellie's taste in her selection of tho j furnitnre. and said he had always felt some doubt as to the advantages of the I liire system until he saw its. admirable results in our home. He paid compliments to Nellie which did not distress her. and said things of me to her wbieh made her color with happiness and pride. She told him he was the lirst to drink tea out of our new cups or stir tea with our new siioous. He said the tea was delicious, and that if all things were to l>e iu keeping with the tea. the service ought to lie silver and the spoons

gold. -But," said he. putting his hand on mr knee. 'Jack here will make up any deficiency of that kind for you one day soon. He is bound before long to be at the top of the tree." After he left us. I turned to Nellie and

said: -What did I tell you? Isn't lie the nicest and best man you ever met?" ••The very nicest and liest elderly man I ever met." she answered, smiling at

1 acknowledged this compliment in a manner beflting the time and occasion. Then she said seriously she liked Mr Shortbouse more than she had believed possible. •And Jack." she ran on enthusiastically. "I am sure lie loves yon as if you were his son. and when this hot tiering dividend is paid I am confident he will give you a very big advance in your salary, and from what he said about the tea service and the spoons. I know he means to take you into partnership in a year or two." I laughed and called her a little goose, lint she had not shot far wide of my own hopes.

As the day approached for paying the last instalment, a change came over Mr Shorthouse. His easy, genial manner left him: he grew low-spirited and gloomy. More than once when I went into his private office. I found him with his head resting on bis baud, lost in thought. Although only a minute liefore he had rung his bell for me. on my speaking he would start, look up and sigh.

Prom my position as accountant 1 knew more of the inner workings of the business than any other man about the place, and I was aware that the live thousand pounds required on Thursday, the 17th of July, could only be procured by mush ring the last jieniiy. and by using means likely to injure the future of Shortbouse and Son.

Day by day our balance at the bank swelled, and Wednesday, the 10th. we had sufficient: but when this money had lieeu paid we should find ourselves in desperate circumstances. Indeed, it seemed to me we should not be able to keep going, and I felt certain my dear <dd master had over-estimated his strength when he undertook to pay seven and sixpence. Now. if he had got a settlement at five shillings, and we could put the five thousand into the business. Short house and Son might become a flourishing concern onee more. At three o'clock that Wednesday afternoon Mr Edward Short house rang for me. and I went, into the private office. He had his cheque-book open on the blotting-pad before, him. and beside it lay a cheque torn out. tilled up and

signed. "Webster," said he. without looking at me. the notion of having to pay this money to-morrow is worrying the life oul of me. As we have it. I may as well hand it over to-day and get rid of the thought of it. Bun to the bank for the money. I will pay it in cash, for I want to give the creditors' solicitors a bit of my mind, Last week they refused me a little ilUH'.'*

Tn li»sft than a quarter of an hour 1 was hack with tlio cash. Mr Shorthousc took it hastily out of my hand, got up, and left without saying a word. "When a quiet 111:111 like him gets into a passion." I thought, as i went back to the counting-house, "there's no telling what may happen." It mas half-past four when he came hack, looking pale and haggard. He parsed through the counting-house to his private room without saying a word. "A good job that's done' though be doesn't seem much relieved." 1 thought. Mr Shorthousc usually went home at five, the .stair an hour later. This evenins six o'clock was striking before I saw him agaiu. Then he opened his door and said: "Mr Webster, would you mind waiting a few minutes'.' 1 want to see you presently." He closed the door, the other members of the staff went. away, and I remained.

At a quarter past six his bell rang, and 1 went in. 1 found him sitting forward in his chair, trilling with a paper knife. He glanced up a moment and then looked down. •Take a chair." he said abruptly, sullenly, without any of his usual courteous intonation or manner. I sat down opposite to him. a few feet hnek from his writing table. "Webster." said he. in a strange. hoarse voice, such as I had never heard from him before. "I did not pay that money. i could not bring myself to give it to those fellows until the last moment. I don't like to leave it here in the safe all night. We have had burglaries in the neighborhood recently. If I keep it myself. I may be tempted to throw it into the Thames. lam afraid to be alone with it. Will you take it home with you to-night, and pay it to Woodrough. Staines, and Fry. the solicitors, fust thing in the morning." "Kut. sir, the responsibility is great, and I have no stroug-ltox or place of security, and my house is lonely." "The money could be in no more dangerous position than in my keeping." "Our safe here is a good one." -If I left it in this place I should go mad in the night thinking that my miserable infirmity in not paying it away this afternoon was exposing it to risk here. Xo one can possibly know you have the money. No burglar would dream of breaking into your cottage for the sake of what he might chance to find in a bouse of the size."' •'But what should I do. sir. if by any means the money were lost? Not all the water in the ocean would clear me." -Would not clear you with whom ? Would not clear you with me? Surely von know me too well to fancy I could suspect you of touehing one penny piece, if all the gold of the bank lay at your feet!"

lit' uttered these words with indignant passion, rising to his feet as be spoke. •Wild you will take all the responsibility. Kir?" "All the responsibility will be mine." •Then, sir." said I. as I too rose. "I accept the charge." With something between a sigh and a groan he handed me his pocket-book, saying: "Count them." As I did an. he walked slowly up and down, his eyes on the ground, lost in thought. "Quite right, sir: live thousand." said I. "Put them in your pocket." said he. continuing his walk. "I am very much obliged to you. Only you have done ibis for me. I should have had to lock them in the safe, give you the key. and sit up here all night. Nothing else would satisfy me. And now, have you thought of the best place to put them when you get home?"

"I .shall keep them In my pocket until I go to lied, and sleep with them under my pillow.". "I hope j-ou will do nothing of the kind. The bare thought makes me shudder. Suppose, for argument sake - I say, suppose, merely for argument Sake—that some one suspected the notes' were in your house, and that you had them in your bcdrooom; and theu suppose that any bami came to you or your wife out of this accursed dividend, do you think I should ever forgive myself to niy dying day? No, no! If there is to lie any risk, let it lie a risk to the money. I should feel a thousand times more miserable thinking of you with these notes under your pillow than thinking of them here. You must select some other hiding place." I thought a minute, and then said: "At the back of t\\p old-fashioned grate in the kitchen there is a loose brick, and a hollow behind the brick. We don't use the grate: we-have a gas stove. Suppose I put the pocket-book iu the hollow and replace the brick?" He drew up in front of me.

'Capital!" lie cried. 'Capital! Nothing could lie bettor. The money will be as secure there as in the Mint; put it there. And now. Webster, ray dear lad, I shall sleep easy to-night. By the way, have you a dog?" "I am sorry to say I have not, sir." "Pity you haven't. But never mind. Not a soul can know, and no one will trouble Rose Cottage. Vou don't posses:; a revolver either?" "No, sir." "There, there, there '. You will have no occasion for dog or revolver. Now let us he off. Give my kindest regards to Mrs Webster, and tell her I hope soon again to beg a cup of her excellent tea." <K my way to Streatham I resolved to say nothing to Nellie about the responsibility with which I was weighted. To tell would be to ensure for her a night of nervous apprehensivencss. She should hear the whole tale from me iu the morning before I started for the city. A conide of hours before darkness fell I readied home. I tried 10 seem as if there was nothing particular on my mind, and I must have succeeded, for my wife made no remark about, my appearance or ways. After tea we busied ourselves in the garden until the light failed. Then we lit the gas in the sit-ting-room and read. At eleven o'clock 1 went to lock ihe doors, it was dark, with an overcast sky. I carried no light, for I wanted to avoid the possibility of anyone observing my movements, and I could do the work in hand blindfold.

Having secured the front door, I went to the kitchen and locked and bolted the back door. On the left of it was the, only window—a long, low one. opening in the middle and secured by a falling hasp. Opposite the window, now dimly visible as an oblong of blue luniinousness, was the fireplace. To remove the brick, insert the pocket lM>ok, and replace the brick were rhe work of a moment. 1 crept away with bated breath as though I had committed some shameful crime. I went to bed. 1 could not sleep. Tine,

as Mr Shorthouso had said, no one was aware that the money had come into my charge, and yet— Oh. what a relief it would be when I handed it over to Woodraugh, Staines, and Fry to-mor-row morning, and carried the receipt back to the office! If I could only sleep. Yet what did it matter whether I slept or not? Remaining awake all through the night would surely be no great hardship. There were only a few hours of darkness, and when daylight came anxiety would be at an end. I rose softly, put on my clothes, stole into, the sitting-room, and sat down in an easy chair. The little clock on the chimney piece

struck (inc. It was still \ovy (lark, but in two hours more there would be light in the sky. Then I should take the poe ket-book out of its hiding-place, ereer. back to bed. and slip if under my pillow Meanwhile, every half-hour or so, 1 should visit the kitchen to see that all was right. When ought 1 to pay my first visit V

Now. I got up and moved as stealthily as a burglar. The kitchen lay at the end of a short passage. Down this passage I stole, and opened the kitchen door without making a sound. I looked in. On the dresser stood a bull's-eye lantern, and in the light of it a man holding the pocket-book in his hand. The hands and face of the man were fully illumined. "Good God. sir!" I whispered. "What is the meaning of iliis'." lie started, and stood slinking in the light of the lantern. —ls is that you. WebsterV" lie faltered. "I—l could not sleep for thinking of the money, and I—l came to make certain it was safe." "Ob, Mr Shorthouse— Mr Shorthouse!" I groaned. "Yes," he said, vaguely. • Tin now sorry 1 came, Webster." "How did you get in."

..j_l_ did not wish to disturb you. so T got in through the window. Ha, ha, The laugh was low. guttural, idiotic; it made me shudder. "I hope to God, sir," said I. "thai your troubles have turned your brain!" "He, he. he!" laughing again in a lower and still more guttural tone-, "that's a queer kind of hope from a friend." "Friend!" I cried, sorrowfully. "What do you expect from the man you meant to send into penal servitude as the thief of his employer's money'.'" ••No—no!" whined he. plteously. "As I live, I did not intend to do anything so bad as that. I—l could not bear that these fellows should have the money- I meant to take it. and let you suppose an ordinary burglar had stolen it. 1 intended to say I would answer for your honesty with my life. If they took ray word for vonr honesty, ydlir character would be clear; if they would nor take hit word, then I should bolt, and your character would be cleared in my confession of u-uilt by flight. But now, fortunately, we need not go further into tie matter. As things are. no harm has been done. Here is the money as I gave it to you." He laid the pocket-book on the dresser beside the lantern and moved towards the door. His were the last words spoken at that interview. I took up the pocketbook, and found its contents had not been tampered with. I opened the door. With the bent head and shoulders and with the shuttling feet of a broken-down man. he passed out into the darkness. That was the last I saw of Edward Shorthouse. Next morning I paid the five thousand pounds to Woodrough. Staines, and Fry. and sent the receipt by post to Shorthouse and Son. Then I went home and told Nellie this story. No one else has ever heard it from that day, three years ago. to the present hour. Shortly after that .July night I got another situation, and am much bettor off than I was in tho.se days. Shorthouse and Son have beeu dwindling ever since. The death of Edward Shorthouse will no doubt close the doors of the firm. Nellie said she is sorry for the poor old man. Well. I forgive him. and T am deeply sorry for his wife and familv.-"Wcekly Budget."