SHORT STORY.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LX, Issue 18325, 15 February 1923, Page 12

SHORT STORY.

(Published by Arrangement.)

! BY W. HAROLD THOMSON.

' THE HELPFUL SHOE.

Marjorie sat on the edge of the bed and eyed her friend, Miss Flora Harrison, somewhat gloomily. On her part, Flora lay contentedly, with hands clasped ■ under her head, tired after her journey from London. . _ "And so," she said, blinking at a mad little sun-shaft which had frolicked in through the window and was capering on the carpet, "Admiral Carruthers has been pitching into you about Hector Forrest?" Marjorie moved her shoulders. " My dear, he's been raving. That's not a very dutiful thing to say, but then a father is just, as liable to be wrong as a daughter is. He's been saying the most awful things, and taking fearful oaths that if I ever have anything to do with an actor he'll disown me or something." , v , Flora twisted a little in the bed, and though she was smiling she tried to look seriqps. "Goodness! ' she said, _ we ve all raved over some actor in our time. And anyhow, you've never met this man never spoken to him?'' "No, I've never spoken to him, but tho trouble is I've spoken of himtoo much. And only yesterday father cam© across a big photograph of him that ho sent me himself." I Being really interested, Flora sat uy. "Ho gave you a photograph of himself?' "Yes, I wrote and asked him to sign a postcard, you know, and he sent the photograph. Of course, it was very forward of me, and all that sort of thing, but then—well, he shouldn't look so nico and kind as he does. Her friend's eyes were sleepy no longer. "Heavens!" she exclaimed softly, 4, and he never told me !" For a moment or two there was silence. Then, gasping mildly, Marjorie leaned forward and gripped at the other's wrist. "Tell me," she said, "what in all the world- does that mean? Don't tell me that you've met him." "Oh, but I have. I was keeping it as a sort of tit-bit for you, but you're frightened me into speaking sooner than I intended, It was at a charily fete affair in Regent's Park not long ago. He was awfully nice, and we talked together for a long while. Then I mentioned having been staying at Wandhead, and he asked me if I knew a girl there called Marjorie Carruthers. Your request for a signature had evidently impressed him. Anyhow, I said nice things about you and he seemed tremendously interested. He asked what you were like — lots of things." Marjorie moved towards the door, stretching her arms. "Yes. I'm going across the fields, so I'll be back in time for tea. Father's prowling around somewhere, too, but I'm not particularly anxious to meet him just at present. You're too lazy to come along?" Flora curled herself up. "Not too lazy," she murmered, "too fatigued, my dear." So Marjorie went off by herself to the fields and adventure. It all came about because she took the wrong path through the wood, and having realised her mistake le.'t the path and struck right through the trees for the stream which ishe knew had to be crossed. But when she reached its banks she discovered that, the bridge which should have made the crossing easy was almost a mile away. Standing on the bank, Marjorie pondered. Just where she happened to be, the water was very shallow—no more than ankle-deepand the obvious thing to do was to wade acfcss. A few yards to the left where • a line of jagged rocks protruded, the water swirled away in a white rush, and on. toward a deep, foambespattered pool, but Marjorie did not pay particular attention , to the miniature rapids, nor did she look to the pool beyond. • . It was not an easy matter, as she discovered when she was half-way towards the oposite bank, to walk over slippery pebbles, carry a pair of stockings, and a pair of shoes and keep her skirts clear of the water, but she made her way forward slowly, hoping for success. But it was not to be. There was a tiny splash, and Marjorie, looking round, saw one of the bronze shoe 3 floating slowly towards the rocks. While she stood irresolute, the shoe was captured by the rush, and bobbed | blithely away down stream. . To go after it was out of the question; to stand in mid-stream, ridiculous; so Marffiorie made an inefficient towel of her lace-bordered handkerchief, and having donned two stockings and one shoe, Bat disconsolate in the sunshine, wondering what she should do. Should she go down the path by the stream and endeavour to trace anil recover the shoe?—by this time probable waterlogged or—she broke off there' because she had* caught sight of a mail coming towards her from down stream. He '.was tall, bare-headed, and .dressed in rough 9 tweeds. 'On his left shoulder a fishing-rod swayed and danced, and in his right hand he held very carefully a small and sodden shoe. Marjorie turned her head away and prepared for the meeting, wondering very much who this fisherman could be, for she had not noticed him during any of her previous rambles, and she knew that this stream was the property of the youthful squire, Sir James Blane. 1 "Excuse, me, but I fancy that this'shoe must belong to you. I "fished it out of the pool down yonder, and then I saw you.' In the moment's pause before she turned to' him, Marjorie felt her brow grow hot. She seemed 1 to know, the voice that had enoken to her. ' But her amazement when she saw his face was a thing to which no words could do justice. Had she not seen this same face behind the footlights? Had •she not a photograph of this same face securely locked up, safe from the callous hands of her father in a drawer at home? v Was the man who stood there smiling and regarding her oddly not Hector Forrest? She strove to find her voice/and, mak- . ing a brave effort, succeeded. , "Oh, I—oh, thank you," she < said. '',les, it is my shoe. I waded across, you know, and the shoe dropped.' And—and thank you so much." •"* The fisher i did not seem to be paying any particular attention to the disconnected • speech. Be was studying the face of the speaker, and finding it much to his liking. He opened his lips as though he was about to say something, but shut • them again after r.n instant, because he saw that the girl herself premeditated speech. "Iplease don't think me rude, but will you tell me your name," she said slowly. "I expect I must have seen somebody ' else once who was very like you." "Why, certainly," he answered. - "My name is Blane, I live at that house you can see yonder among the trees." She made a small sound— was not really an exclamation. ( "My name is Carruthers," she told him, "and my father and I am staying at that house, called Furze Lodge, over yonder between the wood and the road." His eyes opened more widely in pleased suprise. "Ah, yes." he said. "I heard last night that an Admiral Carruthers had come to Furze Lodge. I had intended to call and ask him to accent the freedom of my place, y'know, and, now that I've met—" •' "Oh 1" she broke in,- not looking at him, but over his shoulder to where an elderly clean-shaven man came slowly along the , path and toward them, "here t3 my father coming now. And—don't think me mad, please, but will you tell him your name at once? You are rather like somebody else to whom he has taken a curious aversion. Please will you let him know at once who $ou are?" He regarded her with something of concern. 'It's rather staggering that," he returned, "but of courso you wish it." Marjorie did not answer him; she was slipping her foot into the still damp shoe. She had just risen to her feet when her father reached them. He announced his nearness by a cough, or at least by an audible clearing of the throat. "Ah he started, "Ah! Marjorie, I . Was wondering whether I would perhaps - meet you. Perhaps you will introduce—" he turned to the man and took a short pace back, his mouth still open, but no words coming from it. Slowly his eves f widened; slowly his face reddened. 'Good Gad i he cried at last, "so this is tow I am being tricked The infernal

impudence of it! How dare you com* here, sir? How dare you apeak to my daughter?' And ( to think I have been duped,-that I—" ■■ ~"■"' ~ ♦»,„ He felt a hand laid upon his arm the hand belonged to Marjone. . "Father," she hurried, "you're making a mistake. This gentleman is the owner 01 Craglands—Sir James Blane." ■ A little uneasily the fisherman smiled. "Yes," he said, "and I was just about to call upon you. Admiral Carruthcrs, and to ask you to be so good as to make any use you like of this place of mine— mean fishing, and so on. I heard only last night that you had come to Furze Lodge. 'I en minutes ago I was lucky enough to recover Miss Carrather's shoe from the water and —and— d you do?" He put out a hand frankly, and after some hesitation the admiral took it. "You must forgive my outburst," ho said, "but the fact is I took you for someone else. You are uncommonly like him, sir, uncommonly. But now, will you come along with us to the house and have a cup of tea ? Marjorie, you can't go to the village now. Come, we'd better get off. You'll accompany us, Sir James?" "Very willingly.- And this time," ho glanced sideways at the girl, "I think we'll go round by the bridge." They did, and before long they were in Furze Lodge and waiting for the coming of tea. But something happened first. Flora Harrison come into the room just as Admiral Carruthers passed from it by another door. One look she- gave the visitor; then she smiled brightly, and went to him with her hand outstretched. "Why," she exclaimed, " this is just wonderful. How do you do, Mr. Forrest?" Fir an instant he appeared confused, and hesitated before taking her hand cr replying. He looked at Marjorie, and saw, how she_had leaned forward and -was gazing at film in fresh wonder. Then he laughed. "I'm quite all right, thanks," he answered, shaking hands with Flora, "and you? Only I'm not Hector Forrest any longer. When I was on the stage I was known as that simply because I didn't want to annoy my father more than I could help. Ho sort of cast me off because I insisted on acting." His voice grew grave as he added : "Poor old chap! He died about a couple of months ago, you know. That's why I'm back to my birthplace and to the old name." Flora knew very well what the conversation would be about, and probably Sir James guessed too. But wishing to leave nothing to chance he bent towards Marjorie as he held the door open for her, and said as she passed him: 'Terhaps you will mention my fearful past to Admiral Carruthers? I'm just afraid that the man whom he thought I was like was called Hector Forrest." Marjorie smiled just a little, but she did not answer. Flora did that instead. "You are not Hector Forrest any more," she told him, "but I think that Admiral Carruthers will be very glad to learn that you were Hector Forrest once. So I'm sure, will Marj—oh, it doesn't matter." He pretended that he had not heard her. But he had heard and he hoped most fervently that she was right At that same moment Marjorie was engaged in smoothing the last ruffle from her father's plumes ; and attempting to still at the same time the delicious trembling which had come to stir her heart in a way which could never have been affected by a photograph.