MENTAL ARITHMETIC

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXIX, Issue 21248, 30 July 1932, Page 13 (Supplement)

MENTAL ARITHMETIC

By JAMES MacINTOSH

The last beams of afternoon sunlight were still gilding the western slopes of the ridges as Jim Randall released the last cow from the bail, and, elbows on the stout totara mil of the yard, watched his herd drift saunteringly down to the night paddock. Below lay tho smooth expanse of what was still known as the swamp paddock, and he smiled grimly as he recalled those years of weary backbreaking work, blasting, stumping, draining, in transforming twenty acres of sodden logstrewn bog into tho finest pasture on the farm. Well, they couldn't say he had loafed. Single-handed, in his first year he had broken in the back fifteen acres of gorse and tea-tree, his frontages were clean, his fences in the best of order. If only he had had one more Eoasoii before tho slump! Grimly he wondered how long they let a fellow carry on after foreclosure beforo tho new owners took possession. For the twentieth timo ho pulled tho crumpled letter from his pocket and scanned the lines he already knew by heart. Very polite these lawyer Johnnies. but very final. Three hundred pounds! Well, it meant the end —the end too of sleepless nights and this endless mental artithmetic . . . and Mary Robert son, well, it was the end of that dream too, the dream that drove him on to stubborn toil till aching back and tortured muscles could stand no mqro. It was madness, anyway, for him, Jim Randall, struggling on his modest eighty acres, to raise his eyes to Jock Robertson's daughter. Why, even the coat she wore would cost a month's cream cheque! A suggestive clatter from the separator room was Hori's pointed intimation that his dusky help resented being left to wash up single-handed. Seizing bucket and scrubbing brush, Randall set to work with a bustling energy that drew an understanding grunt from Hori, that painstaking student of pakeha psycho'ogy- " Huh! You goin' up to ol* man Robertson's to-night, boss 1" It was more a statement of fact than a question. " Your perspicacity does you credit, my lad," and Randall left tho son of Tane scratching his head over the incomprehensible moods of the pakeha in general and of his boss in particular. As he passed into tho house, Randall re-read Mary's little note of invitation. Yes, it was for to-night all right. He supposed young Thomas would be there too. He was always there, confound him. Hang it all! Why should he be such a dog in the manger! Thomas was a decent young fellow—plenty of money, too. It would be an ideal match for Marjr. That new roadster of his must have cost a cool six hundred. And for just half that sum he could square off his arrears of interest and carry on. Well, if he had a decent clearing sale thoro might be a bit left from the wreck to make a start somewhere else. It was fortunate that he had kept a tight rein on his tongue. Ho caught his breath as he remembered how the sweet fragance of her hair, the warm nearness of her as ha drove her home from the Golf Club Ball, had so nearly made him forget tho mental arithmetic and pour out his heart to her. His curt leavetaking must hava seemed boorish. Did she know ? Or did she just 'accept the attentions of every man as her queenly right' Splashing in his bath, Randall laughed aloud. He pictured old Robertson's red face growing purple as tho poppery old Scot voiced his opinion of the presumption of a struggling dairy farmer in asking for Mary, his only child, heiress To tho broad acres of " Saltoun Downs." Yes, it had been a mad dream, but there was still to-night, and for to-night he could forget tho bleak outlook for the future and the everlasting mental arithmetic. He surveyed his blue serge suit with a critical eye. It was certainly shiny at the soams, and Thomas would be immaculate in dinner jacket. Well, hang it all, why not ? His own dinner suit had been cut by a good tailor, and even if old Robertson did cock a roguish eye at the formality, ho would wear it tonight. It was late wlien ho hurried into the car shed. Tho jihabby old roadster of course refused to. start. Yes, she needed a new battery; the back tyres, too, were pretty shaky. Three pounds fifteen, and four pounds for tyres . . . mental arithmetic again' When finally tho car was coaxed to start it was late indeed, and Randall took the road to " Saltoun Downs " at a pace that recked nothing of possible wandering stock. With a feeling of pleasure lie noted that no other cars were parked at tho house, and particularly that there was no sign of a long, shiny six-hundred-pound roadster. As tbe maid relieved him of hat and coat, from the drawing room ho could hear the notes of a piano softly played. " Any other guests to-night, Jenny ?" " No. Mr. Randall. Miss Mary is in the drawing room." "All right, Jenny: I'll announce myself."

Crossing to Iho drawing room, Randall slipped quietly in by the partly opened door, and, leaning against the door jamb, waited for Mary to discover his presence. The long, low-ceilinged room was dimly lit by a single shaded lamp near the piano, the flames from a log fire casting flickering shadows across the heavy carpet. Unaware of his presence, Mary softly hummed the air as she played the haunting accompaniment to Stevenson's " Requiem." As his eye took in the tastefully appointed room, Randall contrasted it grimly with the plain, aimosfc shabby furnishings of hi 3 own bachelor cottage. Yes, it had been a mad dream, even if things had gone right, and the ghastly drop in his monthly rhw.iiM Hnd not knocked the bottom out of everything and started him off on this cursed mental arithmetic that had filled his waking hours and haunted his uneasy sleep. A falling log on the hearth roused liim from his .reverie, and Mary, turning at Iho noise, stopped abruptly. " Jim! How you startled me! I did not hear you come." she snapped on the lights and glanced at the clock. " Father is very late to-night. He has been iu town all day. But why the glad rags, Jim ? We are only a family party tonight." She flushed and turned to rearrange the flowers in a vase. " I mean there will be just the three of us. I hope you will not find it a dull evening." Dull! With a little catch of his breath lie took in the fresh sweetness of her as she stood, one littlo foot on the fender, absently pulling to pieces a late rose. Here was his opportunity to tell her he was leaving " Hillside," but somehow he felt ho could not do so just yet. " Won't you play, Mary ?" He crossed to the switch and turned off the main lights, leaving only the shaded piano lamp. " I love this room in the firelight." ' But Mary's mood appeared to have changed. She rattled on flippantly from topic to topic, and on his further request to continue playing, strummed snatches from synocapated dance hits. It seemed difficult, to-night to drop into their usual frank camaraderie, and both were relieved when her father's hearty voice from the hall announced his return. During dinner Randall felt that this last evening was not turning put as ho had looked forward to it. Mary's mood had changed again, and she was now silent and preoccupied. He was thankful that Robertson's talk of stock market prices and his theories for solving the unemployment problem kept the conversation from his own affairs, and h<i experienced a sort of grim inward amuse-

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ment as ho reflected how little his host knew that Jim Randall would soon join the ranks of those same unemployed. As ho returned to his seat after holding the door for Mary, tho old man pushed tho cigar box across tho table, at tho same time drawing from his pocket ft well-blackened, old briar. Somehow, when alone with this dour old Scot, Randall erperienced tho same feeling as, when a boy at college, he had felt when alone with the head .Not exactly fear, but something approaching an inferiority complex. As he looked up after selecting his smoke, he met the keen blue eyes under their bushy brows. "And how are things going at 'Hillside ' ? " asked tho old man. For a moment Randall did not answer. He could feol those keon old eyes on him as ho studied tho glowing ond of his cigar. "Not very well, sir, I'm sorry to say. In fact, I'm selling out, or, rather," he added with a rueful smile "it would bo nearer the mark to 6ay I'm tieing sold up." " H'm, so I bohovo. Randall was glad ho had not attempted to evade the issue by noncommittal generalities. Blunt to a fault himself, the old man, he knew, detested any lack of frankness in others. . For some time there was silence, Randall wondering how the astute old Scot had obtained his knowledge. " You paid too much for it, and ye didna have enough capital to pay down. Starting with a mortgage like yon round your neck, ye were foredoomed to failure." In moments of excitement, or when moved, the old man hipr.ed into his native Doric. "A bad season and ye were done." Scant sympathy, and rubbing it in a bit, thought Randall, but he made no comment, and there fell another long silence Presently, as though more to himself than to Randall, he spoke in a strangely softened voice. " It's just over forty years ago since I took up ' Saltoun Downs.' It was seven hundred acres of scrtib and fern, and my capital was just four hundred and a stout heart. For the first few years it was touch and go. But I hiing on like grim death. To meet my interest I had to take up roading contracts for the county council fencing for wealthier men who could afford to pay for labour, and 'tween whiles breaking in my own place, acre by acre." He fell silent again, feeling absently for his match box. Randall, not caring to. break in on tho old man's reverie, was beginning to feel the silence uncomfortable, when he continued very softly. " I was working on a road contract when I met Mary. If I had worked hard before, I slaved after that. With my own hands I added a room to my two-roomed shack. But her father would not hear of it." Tho old man chuckled. " Ho threatened to set the dogs on me. When we defied him, he sent ner away. I followed and we were quietly married in Auckland. When I brought her back to my wee butt and ben, ho refused to acknowledge her as his daughter. Then camo tho slump of the 'n.neties. With Mary to help me, I battled on, with the spectre of foreclosure always before hie. When her time came Mary was ill, seriously ill. In desperation I swallowed my pride and went to her father for help. He ordered me out of the house, speaking to me as no man save Mary's father could have spoken and lived." The old man mopped his brow with a shaking hand. " Mary pulled through, but, my son, my bonny wco son —" After a little he Continued. From that time onwards, our fortunes were on tho mend. Some fortunate stock deals put mo on my feet, and I built this house for Mary, but though she would have died rather than let me seo it, I felt always that she was grieving for her son, her bonny wee son. " Then, after all those years, just twenty-two years to-day, our wee Mary was born . . . no, lad, I ken ve didna know it was her birthday. She didna want ye to know, and when Mary sets her mind on a thing, well, that thing just has to be," and the old man chuckled as if at something amusing to him alone. When he went on, Robertson's voico was not quite steady. " When Mary was just five, her mother, my Mary, left us to join our wee son. Her last words to me were: ' John, when her time comes, you will help our Mary ? ' And to-night ono of those times has come." Randall felt those piercing blue eyes boring into his inmost soul. "Do you love Alary?" Somehow tho question did not seein to be a strange one. It seemed quite natural to Randall. He looked the old man squarely in tho eyes. Quietly and naturally he answered: " I lovo her more than my own soul. It is for her that 1 have worked and dreamed all these years." Then there came flooding his memory that awful mental arithmetic.. " But —" he stammered. » The old Scot rose and laid a hand on his shoulder. " I bought your mortgage to-day, lad—for Mary." His eyes twinkled under their bushy brows. " When Mary sets her mind on a thing, well, that thing just has to be. I have kept mighty close tabs on you for the last year or so, and—but, hoots, man, ye're keeping her waiting, and if I know that same lass it will not be very healthy for ye to do that too often. Off wi* ye," and he gently pushed Randall in tho direction of the drawing room. It was some time later in that same drawing room that Mary raised a flushed face and asked somewhat tremulously : " Jim, do you think I am a bold hussy? I just bad to do it or lose you—and I wouldn't do that—oh, Jim. how many times is that 1 " " I don't know, Mary. I always did hate mental arithmetic, but in caSo it's an odd number—"