SHORT STORY.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLIII, Issue 13306, 12 October 1906, Page 3

SHORT STORY.

THE CAREER OF OLLY 'OOPER. Oi.ly 'Oopep. emerged from private life into the storm and stress of earning her own living at the age of fourteen years. That is to say, she was " well into her teens and done her schooling," as her mother put it, before j- obtaining a regular situation. , ! Up to that time she had followed the precarious employment of cleaning steps: . but, even then Oily displayed discretion beyond her years. '„."*;; : " Wot I want is a clean apron ; it. makes 'em think you're a nice, clean girl," she said. Her mother, a poor, overworked woman ' who had seen better days, praised her eldestborn and managed to get her the apron. It , reached below Ully's knees, and was'covered. but. not hidden, by a piece of sacking well folded round her thin little body. She wore a woman's jacket, big in the sleeves; her boots, as well cleaned as they could be with a. bit of old rag, added to the good impression made by the white apron when she stood at a door soliciting work, but displayed their weak points to the public eye when she knelt on the steps. Her wisp of straw-coloured hair was twisted into a knot at die back of her head. She had a big, good-natured mouth and a shrewd eye, had Oily 'Ooper, and she could '"slang" or fight any boy of her own size in the neighbourhood, besides being more than a match for much bigger girls. If she , was ever meek, as on the occasion when the greengrocer's wife recommended her to Mrs.. Oarruthera as a "nice young girl willing to be taught," it was a dangerous meekness that only deceived strangers. Mrs. Carruthers, who lived in a small street of little bouses called villas, on an equally small income, eked out by a " paving guest,'' thought that Oily looked hopeful. Her mother was interviewed and found to be sufficiently servile was, like Oily, an unconsciously good judge of character—and " Hooper" was formally engaged. Mrs. Carruthers called her Hooper and presented her with a pair of her own old boots that slipped off the poor child's feel as she walked, and a badge of office in stiff white linen. "There's a beast, of a cap!" exclaimed Oily, marching into the kitchen with it in her hand—an incautious speech that, the charwoman promptly repeated at headquarters, Mrs. Carruthers and the "paying guest" were horrified, but wisely attributed such ingratitude to the ignorance of the lower classes. Oily worked hard, for strange as it mav seem in a poor little guttersnipe— least Mrs. Carruthers would have thought it strange— lived for the days when she took her wages home, to see 'her mother's pride and to spend a few pence on her little brothers and sisters. The Carruthers establishment, was carried on in an economical—the "paying guest" in her private correspondence called it stingy- , manner, but Oily prospered. Her mistress found it possible, to dispense with the charwoman. The stepgirl of a few months before heard herself mentioned as the parlourmaid. She made grimaces, outside the drawing-room door, to express her amusement. , But unfortunately Mrs. Carruthers believed that it was policy to overwork a willing horse. Perhaps the quickness of Hooper made her forget her tender perhaps she thought it well to take" advantage of ■ them. At all events a day came when the ' girl, weary with a long day's work, actually asked for a cup of cocoa. Her mistress and ■ the "paying guest" always had cocoa at night. " Did you not have your tea?" asked Mrs. Carruthers. "Yes'm," said" Oily, with eager eves on the steaming pot that Mrs. Carruthers was stirring on the gas stove. It was a cold November night, but there was no fire in the kitchen. "You can go to bed. Hooper," said Mrs. Carruthers cheerfully. "It will soon be breakfast-time." When she was alone Oily sat still for a long time thinking. Mrs. Carruthers and the "paying guest,"'over their supper, discussed the depravity of the girl below, for Ollv had favoured her mistress with a few home truths when she was refused the cocoa. "J shall threaten.to give her notice," said the lady of the house, " but, of course I shall keep her on if she humbly begs pardon." ■ "You'll never get another girl so cheap," observed the paying guest." ' On the following morning Mrs. Carruthers, expecting to find Oily frightened and repentant, lost no time in threatening her with dismissal. ■><~■' t ~ , i "'T am afraid, Hooper., that unless there ! is a marked improvement in your behaviour," she began, looking down info her retainer's small, pale face, "I am afraid I shall have to—" -. ■ , " Mother says you've got to take a week I" interrupted Oily 'Ooper. Mrs. Carruthers was speechless. Oily looked her coolly up and down, turned her back, and walked slowly out of the room. Her mother had said nothing of the kind, but Oily had proved her independence) and beaten her opponent at her own game. t It was one of the smartest unpremeditated steps in the whole of her career. Ladies of the ballet, stand by!" It was the last rehearsal of a provincialpantomime. .The pcene ' was set for the Temple of Bliss, the final procession and tableau, anil all the members of the company were very tired and not a little badtempered. " Where are those nymphs? Look alive, you girls!" shouted the stage-manager, clapping his hands. " Where's Cupid? Oh. there you are! Why don't you keep in front? Lower your front border. Tom— Tom! Lower that bonier! Right oh! Put on that ruby lime on the prompt side not the yellow, you fool—now then, girls. Where's little Miss Wliat's-her-nnine?" "Oily?" cried the shrill voices of the nymphs. " Whore's Oily Hooper? Here she is!" • It was four years since Oily Hooper had given up domestic service, having followed' the advice of a friend somewhat higher in' the social scale: she found shop work more congenial. Then it was that she first appreciated her years at board school, and continued to add to her little store of knowledge by attending evening classes. Another of her girl friends had a sister employed at a big variety theatre. Oily hoard much of stage life from the standpoint of the ballet girl. She considered herself still young enough to be trained, and by one of those strokes of luck that, punctuated the hard work of her life happened to apply for work just at the right minute to obtain it, when the stage-manager wanted a girl over fourteen who could look like a child of ten. She remained at the same theatre for nearly three years, learned to dance fairly, and to' behave and speak, at all events, as well as her companions. This was her first appearance in pantomime, and her pretty face and supreme selfpossession had quickly lifted her higher than the other ?ir)s. Somebody had to lead the nymphs. Oily stepped out of the ranks and boldly claimed the privilege. "Catch me doing the goldfish act!" she observed to a timid friend, who marvelled at, her courage. What's the good of a tongue if you can't speak?" Tripping in front of the nymphs, in silver gauze and a golden wig. Oily Hooper looked like the spirit of mischief. Her little face had grown attractivecommon, but. pretty, insolent, but winning. She. nodded familiarly to the leader of the orchestra, and when he snubbed her by taking no notice openly winked at the first violin. * Harry Campton, standing in the wings, burst out laughing, and Oily, knowing ho had seen her, suddenly blushed and dropped her eyes. Harry Campton was the principal comedian. She was humbled before his greatness. .".That's a very taking little girl!" he observed to another man. "Yes, but as saucy as they make 'em," was the answer. Harry said no more, for the words jarred. It struck him that Oily Hooper had one of the most captivating, genuine little faces he had ever seen. The pantomime proved a great success. Harry Campion was an established favourite with the audience long before the scene of the Temple of Bliss, and Oily, dressing in a. room with a dozen oilier girls, heard the distant applause with a strange, personal feeling of triumph. She had hardly exchanged twenty words with the young comedian, but she had noticed bis eyes following her at the last rehearsal, and .a new, unexpected interest had come into her life. While half of her satisfaction arose from the • fact that he was the most important man in the theatre, the other half was founded on the better feeling of gratitude for a kind look or a kind word from anybody. "I'm awful glad we shall be standin' in the wings while Campton plays his scene bv himself in the temple," said one of the girls. "So am I," thought Oily. With her usual energy ' she elbowed her way to the front of the group of nymphs as they waited for their second entrance at the side of the stage. They had already appeared once and been loudly applauded," and between their dances the' chief comedian was given ten minutes to do what he liked. It was a pretty scene, with glittering silver pillars, twined with wreaths of roses, and principally lighted by a huge glass chandelier hanging over the centre of the stage.

Harrp Campton, in the grotesque clothes of AH I3aba, had reached the stage of popularity when , every sentence ho spoke was greeted with a roar of laughter from the crowded house. His humour was broad, but never pointless, and Oily Hooper—panting. ' excited, swept off her feet— hardly restrain her delight. She repeated his jokes to her companions, she slapped' her knee, she choked in trying to keep back her laughter. "Oh, shut up!" whispered a girl behind. ; "The stage-manager will catch you!" "I don't a continental' if he does!" retorted Oily. t Once Harry Campton glanced towards her, and she applauded him in dumb show. The ' comedian instantly pretended to see the ghost of Mrs. Ali Baba in the wings, and kept his face turned to Oily, looking straight into her eyes. She felt, with intense pride, that ho was acting for herthat she was his audience. Suddenly her face changed, "and as the quick blood rushed out of her cheeks there was a hoarse shout from a man who had seen what Oily saw. The glass chandelier over the centre of the stage was straining at the rope and threatened to fall. Harry Campton. standing beneath it, only started and hesitated, with a swift, involuntary question on his lips, but he did not move. "Come off!" shrieked Oily Hooper. No, thanks said the comedian, almost before the words were out. He was glad of the chance to raise another laugh, but even as he spoke the girl, -with a spring like a wild animal, burst from the crowd in the wings and seized him with bo'th hands. The next instant the glass chandelier crashed down upon the stage. Bewildered, astounded—as the curtain quickly fell between him and the startled house—Harry Campton knelt down by Oily Hooper, who was lying on the stage at his feet, cut with fallen glass, trembling, crying, with her eyes turned up -to his face. He heard the manager speaking to the audience, and the shout for himself that followed. "They're calling you—never mind me!" said the girl, feebly pushing him away. "You've saved my life!" said the comedian, and could say no more. "That's all rightl'm not hurt," she gasped. '" I. can never repay you, my poor girl he exclaimed. "Yes, you can," said Oily: "p'raps you can get me a trial at the halls—l can dance and sing— treat." She dropped her head on his breast, and Harry Campton lifted her up in his arms. "I'll do more for you than that," he whispered, and their eyes met. If, was the supreme minute in Oily Hooper's career. , It took four years for the stepgirl to evolve into the pantomime dancer, and more than twice that time for the next evolution. One night Miss (Hive Hooper—popular variety artiste—was sitting alone in her dressing-room at'the smart little music-hall, where her turn was the chief attraction on the programme. She had thrown off her fur coat and motoring cap Miss Hooper motored into town every evening from her house on the river — and sat; bv the table, reading her letters. A big diamond sparkled over her wedding-ring, and there were a couple of diamond and turquoise combs in her deep auburn hair. The world had been kind to Miss Hooper, and she had the reputation among her associates of having been accustomed to money all her life. She was known to be generous and extravagant, and had made her mark on the music-hall stage with spirited impersonations of London servants. "I never saw anybody so natural as you are!" observed a friend half an hour later, as Miss Hooper : made her exit. -j " Think so, dear?" she answered, fanning herself with a bit of torn old cap off her untidy wig. "You know my hubby writes all the patter, and it's half the battle to get that, good, isn't it?" "Of course it is, but you're so artistic!" said the friend, glancing at the irodden-down shoos and thin skirt: "you just look like a little slavey of fourteen." "Oh, well, dear, I've made a study ot those sort of girls some of them are quite smart—you'd l>o surprised!" She repeated' this snatch of conversation, on reaching home, to her husband. He smiled and raised his eyebrows. "Well, Harry, I've a right" to be proud of my career!" she exclaimed, flushing. He smiled again and nodded. "If yon know all about me, nobody else does!" she went on ;' then suddenly, with a change of expression, bent towards him and laid her hand over his: "Are you ashamed of me?" she said. 7 He looked into her honest, loving eyes, thinking of the long years of their happy life together, and laid her hand for a second against his lips. "Ashamed of vou !" he repeated quietly. " Why—Oily Peggy Webling, in M.A.P.