SHORT STORY.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LX, Issue 18299, 16 January 1923, Page 3

SHORT STORY.

i OLD TIMBERTOESr BY E. EVERETT GREEN. '*'' ' 1 (Copyright.) . "A little more than three thousand pounds, Madu'e. Think of that! I can buy that parti nership with Molloy now, and -work up that I business into a thriving, concern. Oh, my I clever little Madge—mv clever little wife! ! And but for you, my darling, and your, quick wits, I should have parted with the place for ■ five hundred pounds!" He had m* fast in his arras now. Oh, it was a beautiful moment! ' • "Old Timbertoes " was the name that •Tack's old seafaring uncle had won lor himself when he settled down in his little cottage on the cliff. I suppose it was because he had a wooden leg. He had lost his leg at sea, doing something very courageous, and saving the only child of a very rich man. So the rich man-bought him the cottage and a. pretty substantial annuitynobody ever knew how much this was. And when I first met him he was quits a queer old man, who liked me jto call, him " Uncle Timbertoes," because, you see, Jack wanted to marry me, and I very badly wanted to marry Jack. But my parents said that could not be till Jack had something to marry upon, and his salary ma shipping office in our little nautical town was not, considered enough to keep two people uponand perhaps it wasn't. Only waiting seemed so hard when we were so fond oFone another! Our holiday treat was for me to, borrow or hire a-.bicycle—Jack. his own. —and ride out the 15 miles to spend :.an afternoon with old Uncle Timbertoes, and then ride back in the dusk of the summer's evening. It was great fun that little cottage of his. He kept it so beautifully. It Was full of contrivances; and then I knew that he had left it to Jack, " vjith everything it contained," when he should have to leave it.- - And people were fond of saying of " Old Timbertoes " that he "must have money hidden away somej where or other,'.' He never had & savings bank account, or trusted' any investment. The money paid to him —at least .people ; said so, though it could be only a guess— must be, more than ever he Spent; and he must have a hiding place for it somewhere. '''..'-.-. But I'm glad to say that neither Jack nor I ever wanted the 'dear old man to die, i even though it might have made our own way clear. But suddenly lie did die, quite ! in the summer, too, and without any illness. Jus", a stroke of apoplexy as he sat 'in his chair. .And the clergyman of the parish (who once had been a lawyer) had ! made his will for him, and except for a sum of money set apart for his funeral everything was TeTt to Jack. So Jack went over to take possession of the cottage, and I went to the funeral, because I loved the old man. But I could not slop, of course, and Jack rode part of the way back with me, debating whether it wei*6 better to let or to sell the cottage, or try to live in it ourselves* That is what I should have- loved, only it was so far from Jack's work. I need not say that Jack had looked very carefully for some box or hiding place where money might be found—and so had I. We had not found anything to speak of in - that way; but Jack was going to have a much more thorough search by himself later, though, ap he had searched very hard already, it seemed rather as though, peop-if- had"• guessed wrong when the;/ thought, the old man wrfi "so warm.". Three, days later I" got a letter from Jeck. He had hunted and" hunted and hunted ; but nothinslin the was of treasure trove could; he discover. But he was rather jubilant upon another count. "Mr. Salter has been here,'' he wrote, "and has looked over the cottage, and has offered me five hundred for it! Madge, dear, don't you think I might take such a good offer? He's rich, and has a fancy for the place, and think what that would mean to us. One hundred to start us in housekeeping, and four hundred, well invested, would be settled on you— nice little income of twenty pounds or thereabouts. Darling, don't. you think your parents would let you come .to me then— to the little home I could make for.you?" It was a lovelv letter. I kissed it a: thousand times. Yet I rushed off tile first moment I could to the- post-office,- and spent sevenpenco halfpenny on wiring to Jack, On no -account accept this offer. Will write." »■.-■-• And write I did. I told Jack that Mr. Salter was the cutest man in the district, and . the most, unscrupulous. He knew everybody's business, income, and I don't know what-all. Everybody dreaded him more or less. .And if ,he was prepared to give a fancy price for "Timbertoes- Cot-, tage," as it" was called, it proved that he thought there was" something to Be made out of it. "■' . '■■- xl 9 I expected, I had Jack over at nightfall. He had had a holiday granted him from the office, and . Was' staying at the cottage. '•(' '"Hr, came-to talk things over id tell mo that really there was no hidden hoard upon the "premises, nor in the little gar—nowhere! And it was such a good offer ! Such a chance for selling might never come again. Didn't I want the little home he could make for us— ?.... "You dear old goose; of course I do- ] But, Jack. I'm. sure Mr. Salter must know something we don't. Most likely he has nosed out what old uncle's annuity was, and has been watching and waiting, and now means to pounce, Oh, we know his little wayswe old inhabitants. Don't do it, Jack—don't do it. If it's worth five hundred to him, it's worth muchmore to us!". ■..:' Jack was half convinced when he "Was with me. But three days later he came back flushed and eager. The offer had ! been raiseddoubled! " Think of it, Madge— thousand pounds ! Just because hes an idea there's a seam of coal under the ground. No use to me one bit; but —" , : .. " fiddlesticks Jack*, darling, don't do it. He must' know something we don't! He must think us pretty simpletons not to secthrough him. A thousand pounds, for a Tour-roOmed cottage and a few perches of land!" ' " And the coal underneath'' ' Horse marines underneath!" I answered with more force than politeness. Then Jack got his arms round me, and he said very tenderly and firmly: '" " . "Madge, I'Ve got a week to consider his offer. That week shall be yours to hunt and hunt and hunt! But if at the end of that time we've found nothing, then I shall take the thousand pounds— put up the banns. Your rather says-that- if'l can settle a-few hundreds on yon he'll let us marry. Madge, that is my ultimatum !" It was' a lovely ultimatum! Yet Jack' must not be "had." by the Salter shark ! I. was over at the cottage next day. and every nook and corner I hunted "with forks and with hope "—but alas, with no results. The second day I devoted to the garden, digging* delving, grubbing—no result. The third day\ I went Out beyond upon the-cliff, and examined its chalky face and queer hubbies and hollows. I did not think old Uncle Timbertoes would leave any treasure of his beyond his own jurisdiction, .and then his wooden leg hindered him from any scrambling or climbing. On the fourth day I was father desperate. Jack-was at the office again, blithe came out each evening to learn my success, and to escort me home. And he found me this evening staring up at the thatched roof,'and making sundry mental calculations. "Jack, what's under the roof— underneath?" .;■!' Don't know, dear—beams, I suppose, and that sort of thing." " ■ •:O " (Jsn "we get up to see?" - ' S ' "I. don't know. Never thought o? ■that. Til go and "look." , r { We both wont to look. On the upper landing the ceiling.was low, arid the end • of the little passage was very dark.; hut as we stared up I ..was certain that there was a .crack in the rough whiteningi . Jack rushed to get the short ladder, Soon be was pushing and shaking, and. presently •pushed up a small square, .which was: like a" trap-door. I" suppose '■ you have to be able to get at the inside of your roof-if anything goes wrong. • He disappeared inside, and then, Jhe called down to me to • bring a light. ' ■ -■: _. .._ ■'--. .There was a, lantern in the cottage, and I got it iit- haste,- and Scrambled up the ladder to Jack, We were in a queer place

j finder the roof, with a good many.beams : criss-crossing about our heads when to ! stood up.. But the dusty, queer place was I Quite empty. Only I noticed that it was a ; good deal cleaner than one might have expected. Somebody evidently came up here at intervals to clean round. Now why? ' ; Jack took the lantern and began & search. I .saw by his face that he was ! full of hope; but as* minutes passed' bv ' and lengthened into half an hour, and still i nothing turjried up, the eager expectation. i in his eyes died'down. | 1 was examining the walls and floor myi self. Who coif Id tell "where that.queer- old ; man might not have made a hiding place? j Oh, why had hi; not confided his purpose I tip Jack — to me —before death sealed' I his lips? I 'Rather cramped by stooping and peerI ing, I lifted myself up at length in the i middle o'£ the room and took hold of I one of the. beams to give myself a good i " heave'ahoy " —as Jack would have call- ! Ed it—and at that very moment I felt my j fingers slipping into a cavity—and in that ! cavity I could feel something lying— something which felt- to me like, oil silk! A repressed "a cry of wonder, I stood on tiptoe and put my hand right down into the wide crevice in the beam, and I . pulled out a roll—wrapped in green oiled silk. " Jack!" I cried, and there was -a throb in my voice which instantly brought him to my side. • '" Look there !"' I said, and pushed the roll into his hands. " There is a hole in that beam. I found' it there!"'' By the light of the lantern Jack undid i the string which fastened it about. 1heard the beating of our two hearts. With quick and dexterous fingers he unrolled the crackling bits of paper which made so .thick a wad ! Bank notes, every one of them ! , ■ "Jack, oh, Jackie boy! Our fortune —• our treasure trove !" " Let's come down and count them overbelow !" ' '...-. Jack's voice was, a little gruff. I .knew what this meant to himto us! I had my arms round his neck, and my voice was almost a sob. There was nothing more in the hole: we ascertained that before leaving, and let the trap-door fall to its old position before wo descended: the ladder. '' Poor old uncle must have had a job getting up and down with his timber toes," said-Jack. "I expect that's why he chose stick a place. People would say that he couldn't I use a- ladder." '■'~'" "Uncle -Timbertoes could do -most things be had a mind to." said Jack. i " He'd swarm up by his hands." We shut and locked the cottage door. : We were like a pair of misers ourselves. We spread the roll open apen the table,.and began to count. 1 The biggest note was for a hundred pounds i - there were five'of these.. Then | quite a lot of.fifties, then more tens, and a small roll of fivers. Jack, who had grown clever at calculating and counting in the office, gave me a look across the table. His eyes were shining with a lightthat more than ■ just ' the possession of money brought there.. ■ ... " A little more than three thousand pounds, Madge! Think of that ! I can buy that partnership with; Molloy now, arid work up that business, into a thriving concern. Oh, Ay clever little. Madge my clever little wife! And,,but for you, my darling, and your quick wits, I should have parted with the place for five hundred pounds!" ; He had me fast in his arms now ! Oh, it was a beautiful moment! It was so 1 much mere delicious to feel that Jack and I were really one, than to feel that tf« were almost "rich, that for the moment,l' think we: almost forgot the money lying oh the table. . "My darling, my darling, how I love you!" ...,,, " Oh. Jack, it is like a fairy tale! ' "I shall' put up the banns to-morrow. Sweetheart, we will go and choose the wedding dress! You will be the loveliest little bride." - ' . * " And you the handsomest bridegroom, vou dear old Jack !' , ' " And you .shall . choose your nousfj wherever vou like it." ■"-" Jack, "dear, let us live here and make it a little larger, and you shall have a motor-rvele to go to business on. I love t-hojsliffs and the sea, and this ducky little cottage home." , ; '-• " .1 felt'..that I should always love the place, for dear old uncle's sake, who, by his thrifty and self-denying life had made my Jack a ri'di -according to our ideas. Riches I only cared for in as tolas they gave me Jack, and brought cmr married life within reach." T " ■_ Jack looked round the painted walls, with their many neat - contrivances, and suddenly he began to laugh. "After all, you're not; half sharp, my dearest,'" he said. . --. _ - *;. "Oh. Jack, what' do you mean .' ' , " Why, : sweetheart,- if you were half asclever as I thought you .were, you would HI me that the time had come, to go to old shark Salter, and tell him he' could, have Old Timbe^tl^^s , cottage at 'the sacrificial price' of one thousand pounds."^ Then Jack and I held hands and laughed till the tears ran down our faces. -But we were not half sharp; for we never made that cracious offer, and we and our babies are living In a' glorified edition 'of the Timbertoes Cottage to tins very day.