A DEAL IN HEMP

Lake Wakatip Mail, Issue 4452, 30 January 1940, Page 2 (Supplement)

A DEAL IN HEMP

IS eyes glued to the tape H machine, Martin Bellamy sat in his luxurious office in Austin Friars. e Except for a certain greyness about the corners of his tightlycompressed lips, nothing in his attitude gave any hint of strain. His e} r es were as steady, his hands and brain as much under control, as though he had been engaged in a quite ordinary transaction. Yet never in his life had he been so worried.

If only he had left Amalgamated Flemps alone! He had had no business to touch them. In his oAA r n market he A\ r as safe. He kneAA r the conditions, could undei - stand the signs and potents and make his plans accordingly. But little Julius Bache, the millionaire broker, had talked so convincingly that, against his better judgment, Martin had “put his shirt” into that extraordinary stock. He had liked and trusted Julius —knerv, indeed, it Avas with the idea of repaying a slight service that some time previously he had receir’ed from the younger man, that Sir Julius had gone out of his Avay to “let him into a good thing.” But, apart from a very slight rally late the previous afternoon, every day since the shares had sunk loAver and lorver.

It Avas for Agatha’s sake he had done it—Agatha, his Avife, Avith her cold, pale beauty, and colder attitude toAvards himself. Agatha, A\ r hom he had married five years ago, at the beginning of his rise to fortune. Married? Bought, he thought, AAnth a cuil of the firm lips, Avould have more truly expressed it. She was the daughter of Lord Tlunmanby, AAdiom the AA-ar had ruined. It had been the choice betAveen going out to Avork or marriage Avith Martin, and she had chosen marriage.

She had never loved him— made no pretence of doing so Avhile he, for his part, loved her Avith a strength that Avas great and enduring.

But, in self-defence, he had been careful she should not pei - ceive this; it had seemed outside their contract. So, to distract his mind from the ever-present sense of frustration, he had thrown himself into the task of building up riches, until, except upon rare occasions when she dined at home, he went for days without seeing her. She little suspected, he thought bitterly, how he yearned for those brief moments of reunion, cold and formal though she always made them. Well, she had sold herself for money, and she should be paid with everything wealth could purchase. It was, indeed, to buy her the yacht for which she had expressed a casual liking that Martin had gone so deeply intoAmalgamated HempsAnd they had sunk downdown —down. Every day they had closed at a lower price than that at which they had opened. Until yesterday that was. They had rallied a shilling a share in the late afternoon, and this morning had opened at sixpence higher still. If they rose another sixpence to-day he would be able to meet his payments. If they rose eightpence it would leave him with sufficient to start again, though in a modest way that would do immense harm to his credit. That morning he had hurried to seek information from John Barraclough, a stolid Yorkshireman, who besides possessing an expert knowledge of the market, happened to be well disposed to Martin himself. “There are one or two buying orders coming in from France,” John said, “that may send ’em up as much as half-a-crown. After that they’ll drop back again.” It was of this rise that Martin was now hoping to take advantage. Hemps had closed last night at 42/6. Now they were 42/44, and seemed still in fair demand. If they reached 44/6 he would telephone instantly to his brokers to unload before the inevitable slump set in. It would leave him a poor man, but at least he would be no defaulter. Click-click-click went the tape. “Amal. Hemp, 43/6,” Martin read. Good! But he must not relax his vigilence for one moment, for upon that depended his whole future —and Agatha’s.

By L. C. Douthwaite

At the thought of Agatha as the wife of a bankrupt his heart, which had been throbbing so wildly a moment ago, fell, an inert and leaden weight, within his breast. Came the insistent call of the telephone. Fie leaned forward to answer it. It was the voice of Bates, his butler. “Yes, very ill, I’m sorry to say, sir. Yes, sir, I think you’d better come at once.” Martin’s hand trembled, so that he had difficulty in replacing the receiver. Agatha ill, and calling for him. For him! For the first time she had expressed a wish for him. And he could not go! To leave now would mean that when his engagements were fulfilled he would not have a thousand pounds to his name. When the stock slumped again, as it Avas bound to do, he Avould be ruined irretrievably. Everything—the Avhole future, not only of himself, but of Agatha—depended upon his presence in the office during the next few hours. The future? Agatha’s future? from Avhat Bates had said it Avas more than doubtful if Agatha had a future —in this Avorld at least. And Avith Agatha gone it made no matter AAdiat happened to Amalgamated Hemps, or to anything else. In the meantime, she Avas calling for him. A soft-footed nurse opened the door and motioned him Avithin the room. His Avife lay back among her pilloAvs, her hair a golden halo about her Avaxen face; eyes closed, breath so uncertain that for one terrible moment he feared that already the end had come. “Agatha!” he breathed. As her eyes rested upon him his heart stood still. If ever love transfigured the face of a Avoman it transfigured Agatha’s at that moment.

“My dear!” she said, so faintly the Avords barely reached him. “Oh, my very dear! I thought I Avas dying—and I needed you so!”

With an effort she held out her arms. In another moment he was pillowed upon her breast. The nurse, as she to the door, answered his glance with a nod of reassurance. She Avas Scottish and of great understanding.

“Five minutes,” she said. “After that, noAA r that you haA'e come, she may sleep. If you’d stayed aAvay —” SAvift-Avinged as they Avere, those brief moments Avere sufficient to clear aAvay the bitter misunderstanding of the years. “Noav that I knoAv you love me,” Agatha said gently, “I shall be strong. I thought—l thought that you married me only because you needed a hostess to —to do you credit.” A Avhimsical look crept into her eyes. “And I have done you credit Martin, haven’t I, however else I’ve failed?” “It is I avlio have failed, SAveetheart,” Martin said brokenly.

Agatha shook her head. “Only misunderstood." she corrected. “It was this, and my love for you, that day by day ate into my vitality. I felt that if I had not your love, that there Avas nothing else left. And this morning, all of a sudden, everything Avent all funny, and I just kind of passed out.” But he shook his head. “No,” he said, “you passed in—into a heritage of love Avhich, from the first moment I saAv A’ou, has been yours; Avhich Avilf be yours until the end.” Presently the nurse came and sho-ed him out. The kiss that Agatha gave him contained all the pent-up love of the years. “A nasty breakdoAvn,” the nurse told him, in reply to his breathless questioning. “Heading toAvards it for some time, I should imagine.” She cocked a shreAvd eye at him. “Tell me, had Mrs. Bellamy anything troubling her—something repressed she thought it better, or kinder, not to tell you.” “If she had,” he replied quietly, “it’s cleared up hoav.” The nurse nodded a Avise head. “In that case, there’s nothing for you to Avorry about,” she said. “Just a feAV days quiet and plenty of looking after. And hoav you’d better slip aAvay for an hour or tAvo.” He did not buy an evening paper. There Avould be grim fact to face presently, but he Avas not

going to sully the neAvly established heaven in his heart by the contemplation of future hardship. This Avas his hour —his and hers —and he Avould taste every last flavour of its delight. Besides, he knew he had entered into a kingdom Avhere Avas a stored-up treasury of more AA'orth than all the gold of the Avorld’s market places; that Avhcn the moment came to confront the dark spectre of poverty, Agatha Avould be by his side with her hand in his. And so it Avas that, instead of as a man braced to learn the story of his ruin, he bounded up the stairs to his office like a man Avho has rid himself of an insupportable burden. The clerks had gone —he had not realised it Avas Avell past the closing hour. Fie Avas surprised to hear the clamour of the telephone. “My boy”—Julius Bache’s high-pitched voice quivered excitedly—“vot price did yer buy at ?” “For ty-eight-and-three,” Martin told him. There Avas a pause. Then: “You should’ve bought ’em cheaper.” “Why, lioav do the shares stand noAv?” Martin demanded sharply. "Vhy, ’aven’t yer see?” the little Jcav exclaimed. “Fifty-six and three ’a’pence—that’s vot the} r are. Vent up like vildfire the minute buyin’ orders came in from America. The trust there Avere over a hundred thousand shares short, as I kneAv they were Avhen I gave you the tip to buy.” The receiver dropped Avith a clatter to the desk. Martin Avas saved—saved by Agatha! For if she had not called him, and he had not responded, he Avould have sold Avhen the shares touched forty-four and sixpence. He picked up the receiver in time to catch the Avords: “ . . . And if you take another tip, my boy, you’ll hold on till they touch eighty.” “What price Avill you give me—right uoav, Julius?” demanded Martin quickly. “Closing price less the odd three-’a’pence,” returned the little broker promptly. “They’re yours!” said Martin.