A CASE FOR COMPENSATION

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1675, 6 April 1904, Page 13

A CASE FOR COMPENSATION

(By J. Dougall Bead.)

Pretty Jennie Lindsay, coming home from her day’s work at the typewriter,' was not a little concerned to find her mother looking vexed and 1 worried. Usually the gentle old lady found it easy to. ree the bright side of things, but still there did come times when such process proved too hard for her, and one of these appeared to have emerged now. “What is the matter, mamma?” asked the girl, quickly approaching and putting her arm affectionately round the widow’s neck, ‘‘ifou do not ieel unwell again, di you ?” Mrs. Lindsay looked up into the bonnie face bending over her, and smiled reassuringly.

“JNo, dear, it ig nothing of that sort," she replied. “And, really, the trouble is not so very serious that it cannot wait till we've .had tea.” “1 wish I could accept that statement without reservation,” said Jennie, doubtfully, ag she proceeded to remove her wraps’, revealing a siim, graceful figure that was to the full as attractive as.her face. “If it— But there, let's get tea over, then we can talk of it, whatever rc is.”

it was customary for mother and daughter to linger over the evening m-eai, as the only one at which their time was wholly their own, Put on this occasion despatch was the order observed by both. Then, having cleared the table of the tea service, Jennie sat down to listen. Mrs. Lindsay did not seem, immediately inclined to speak, and the eyes she kept Pont on the fire had an anxious look in them that did not escape her daughter. "Tour Aunt Addie was nere early this afternoon,” said the elder woman at last, rousing herself. _ Jennie nodded by way of answer. Her face had all at once grown watchful, almost apprehensive. “Yes,” continued Mrs. Lindsay, toe note of vexation in her voice deepening, “and I am sorry to say that she brougut distinctly disquieting news as affecting her intentions. She sa-vs she fears she will have to give up the boarding-house idea. ; "iv hat —already?” ejaculated the girl. “Why, she has not allowed it a whofe month's trial vet!” “That is true,, my dear, and it is one of the things of which I reminded ner. but none the less she appears to have lost heart, to have become convinced that this plan cannot succeed, and chat siie muse try something else. Of course, it's the Curmudgeon again.”' “But what are the difficulties? Why should sh-a fail wnere success attends so many?” urged Jennie, with a touch of impatience. "Above all, why cannot she give the thing a fair trial P It seems absurd to decide against, it on the single experience of one month.” "I think so too, and aid what I could, to very little purpose, 1 am afraid, in the way of euqmraging her to persevere. But she thinks the work too hard for her; be • sides feeling that it lowers her to have to act as servant to anybody/’ “Fiddlesticks!” Jennie, impatiently. “Honest work never lowered anyone yet. and as Aunt Adelaide hasn't the money to be mistress, sue ought to be thankful that she has so good a chance to. be servant. The work too much for her! Why, she can't have a harder light than we've had, and I'm very certain she lias no more cause tor legitimate pride. And why doesn't she send Cousin Albert back to work at his trade, instead' of wasting his time in studying music? He has no more music in mm than our cat! Oh, yes } I've heard them both, and the cat is much the better singer of the two”’

"Jennie, Jennie, dear!” Expostulated Mrs. Lindsay; albeit she liad to smile in spite of herself. “Forgive me, mamma—but, really, what I have said is true. No, no; Aunt Addie must not be in such .'leasts to giv© ip things, and I hope you told her so." "I did, but she only said she could not help it; that her health must be her first consideration.”

"Then you think she really means to give up—and that before she is much more than started —just because of one ~ross old man ?”

“1 do, dear, I am sorry tp say." Jennie sat silent, struggling with an anger to which consideration for her mother foi’bade giving expression. Like her own mother, this Aunt Adelaide, that mosister, was a widow. She had! one son. the Cousin Albert already referred to. He was twentyrihree, two years older than Jennie, and Saving served 1 an apprenticeship to a first-class firm of jewellers, might easily have earned his own living, and helped his mother besides, had he so chosen. But he had all his mother's •false pride, and even more than her vanity, and, as he liad imbibed somehow an idea that hei was a musical genius in embryo, he had latterly been ignobly content to sponge on ms flabby invertebrate of a mother, very much as she herself had don© on hei*. relations all her life.

But all this, although it might well have excited Jennie's disgust, could scarcely have roused her anger, had it stood alone. But when it was accompanied by a directly personal injury threatening her mother, it wag no wonder that the young girl's temper took fire. Jennie's father, a struggling professional man, had oeen able to leave his wife aau child but very little money when he died. Still, he had left a little, and it was of this little.that Aunt Adelaide had borrowed' nearly half in order to rent and furnish a house for the purpose of maintaining herself ; by taking in boarders. The loan had been effected on the express stipulation that if-was to-be repaid by fixed and etatedtnstaJments, and now that the money was . all spent, here, was the borrower calmlyproposing to retire from the agreement leaving; repayment to look after itself. No wonder Jennie was angry—.perhaps the, angriest girl that night in Glasgow. "Mamma,” she said at last, "X must go over and see Aunt Adelaide.” "But not to-night, dear?” asked Mrs.; Tjimlsav. in a startled tone* '

“Yes, mamma, it must be to-night, ’ was the steady reply. “In her present frame of mind she is much more likely than not to do something that will put things past mending. It wouldn't matter so muon for her and her precious son — oh! you needn't look at me so; I mean jt—but I'm not g'oing to have you victimised in that shameless way if 1 cau help ±c.”

“But, Jennie,” objected Mrs. J-iindsuy, in much trepidation, “if you go over to your aunt looking and speaking like that you’ll frighten, her to death, and only make matters worse.”

Jennie laughed outright at that; it .’as altogether too funny. Her aunt’s built exceeded her own by at least tbrice. Besides winch she had never met the human being she had been able to frighten. "Have no fear, mamma,'' she said, reassurmgiy. “I am not going over there clothed with terrors, or even armed 'or argument. Coaxing, and the administration of a little judicious flattery, are Hie only agents I intend to employ. It's”— glancing at the clock —“nearly seven now. I'll take the car at Egiinton Street, and can easily be home again before ten; sj don't worry.” Mrs. Lindsay did not lock altogether satisfied, though she tore bore furtuer oojnotion. Insens.biy, as the weakness due to failing health grew upon her, sue mm conm to lean more and more on her clearheaded. stout-hearted little daughter; m muiu so, indeed, that there .were aims when the natural positions; thev occupied with respect to each other seemed to i.e oddly reversed. Jennie duly carried out her improvised programme to the extent of reaching the door of her aunt's house in Woodlands Road—only to find that she might as welt have stayed at home, so far as any practical result was likely to reward her journey. "Mrs. Finskie,” repeated the worriedlooking servant who came to the door. “Oh, she's awa' oot, miss.” “Then can I see Mr. Albert?” asked Jennie, determined not to go without seeing somebody.” "lie's cot an' a’,” replied the girl, eyeing the dainty figure and bonnie face of the inquirer somewhat doubtfully.

Jennie saw the look, and hastened to explain her relationship to the mistress of the house, whereupon the girl became communicative.

“Oh, that's it, is it, mis 3?” she said m a tone of relief. “Ye see, Mr. Albert felt me that if onybody cam' askin’ ior mm. I wisna to say he was iu unless he belt me aforehaiT.” “I understand,” said Jennie, with a curling lip. “And is he really out now?” “Oh, ay. he's oot, richt eneugh, this time,” replied the girl. “He's aiva’ to some music ineetin' or ither, an' the mistress gaed wi' him.” Then, in a tone conveying keen, though repressed irritation, she added—“l wish sue had stayed at ha me, for Tin strange til the lioose yet —l've only been here three days—and I canna attend til the Badgers as they sud be attendit/'

Prompt confirmation of the truth of tire statement was supplied by an angry masculine voice from the interior of the house clamouring for “Aggie,” and wanting to knoiv what had been done with his new boots.

With an apologetic look Aggie retreated, while Jennie turned and went down the steps again. What she had just heard had certainly not lessened her anger and vexation. If this was the way her aunt attended on those whose money she took, then it was slight w;onder if she lounu h.;r new venture unsuccessful, Jennie thought; and perhaps it might be as well to race first as last, the fact that the money was as good as lost. “Poor mamma, I fear her kind heart has hurt her again,” she thought, tears of indignant wrath creeping; into her eyes. "To think of her own sister treating her like this —and just when her health js giving way! Oh, how I'd like to be a man tor a minute just to say things! If—

Oh so you have returned. Is aunt with you?” The question, as also the sentence preceding it, was addressed to a lanky young man, who, hurrying in from the street, had almost collided with her as she reachedl the foot of the stops. He was Albert Fmshie, the vocalist, who hau "no more music in him than our cat.”

"Er —er —no; she is up in the concertroom. and I—er—would have been there too, if I had not had to come back for some music I'd forgotten.'-' In spite of his effort to be civil it was plain that he had no more love for Jennie than she had for him; and for that there was a reason. Among his many objectionable acquaintances was one Bob Grindley, the son of a wealthy city grocer, and of whoso character the less said the better. This wastrel, having seen the cousins -ue day in Buchanan Street, had fallen in love, or thought he had, with Jennie's pretty face, and immediately approached Finshie for an introduction. Unluckily for-the twain, Jennie had heard enough about Grindley to make her refusal one of the .most decisive order, to the wrath, not only of the rejected swain, but of hig aider and abettor as well. Jennie naa never mentioned the matter to her mother but Finshie, in numberless petty, vindictive ways, contrived to show her from time to time that he, had! not forgotten i c. 'Then, as you ar© in a hurry, I will give you a message for aunt,” said Jennie, seeing that he was in a fever to be off. "And ag it is of some importance, it might be. as well that you should not forget to deliver it.” "Indeed? Well. I’ll try to, but a man has more to do than go bothering about women’s concerns,” he replied loftily. “That may "be the position of some men, but it certainly is not yours,” came the sharp retort. "All the business you seem to follow is going about making a fool of yourself.” ~ , , "Oh, shut up. and tell me what you want,” he said rudely, the unmistakable temper shown in her giving him an excuse for his own. “I can't stand here all „ - h{- ** ll ' •‘I could, ‘but don't intend to. But that isn't the question. What I wish you to tell Aunt is that sheds not to take any steps in the matter'she spoke to mamma about till she has seen me. You under--8t"Oh. yea. I understand—understand chat

you are afraid of losing that wretched money your mother lent mine. I'd bo ashamed to be so mercenary, if I ,were you.” “Possibly; but don’t you think you might begin with advantage by feeling ashamed l of yourself as you are now? Believe me, you have infinite cause.” “In your judgment, yes; but then your judgment is defective. If it..had not been, and seeing you are so fond of money, you’d have taken the chance'of a rich chap like Griudlov when you got it.” Something like shock lightning shot from Jennie's eyes. Then .she smiled as she looked at him; but her words cut like knives.

“iiow well people—some people—reveal tlipir true salves in their estimate A chances,” she said. “JNow, I woiild not lake the chance of such an acquaintance for all the money in Scotland,, whereas you took it for the honour of being toady to Robert Grindley. I would not have keen content to leave off work and idle about on the earnings of a fondly foolish mother, and money borrowed from an invalid, a widow, with only one weak girl to help her, as you have done, and are doing. You must, you really must, revise your judgment of many things—particularly chances, my cousin.” And, turning sharply, she went out mto the street, leaving linn white with rage. “1 wish I could hit on some way ol entangling her with Grindley,” he muttered; “that would take the conceit out of her, I'll bet.” Perhaps it would; but what would have been of more value to him at the moment would have been a knowledge of how fate was arranging matters for taking the conceit out of both Grindley and himself, by raising Jennie to a be.girt they could never hope to reach. 11. The car in which Jennie found a place for the run across the river was crowded an effect due largely to the wretched weather, as also possibly was the “slightly elevated” state of a flashy youth whom two companions had seen safely .on board, and left there. It migovt have boon better for Jennie’s immediate comfort if they had stayed, as, deprived of their society, the flashy one began to turn his attention to his fellowpassengers. It was not long before his most undesirable notice way attracted by Jennie's fresh young beauty, and, with a self-satisfied smirk, he began a courge of .giggling and leering tliac, in his opinion, was certain to captivate, should toe object of it look his way. This she did not appear in any haste to do. Absorbed in.her own none too pleasant thoughts, Jennie took no notice of those around her, and it was only on the approach of the conductor that she looked up and saw Grindley staring at her with a killing grin on hig face. Even then sire did hoc seem to comprehend, but when, with an affected cougn and suggestive wink, lie made it plain that she was the object of his attentions, her face crimsoned with indignation, and hastily paying her fare, she half-rose with -the intention of quieting the car. But she was not to be reduced to the adoption of that unpleasant expedient. A stern-looking but gentlemanly man, who sat on the same side as hisi cadship, but several seats nearer the centre of the car, had evidently been observant of the turn tilings were taking, for at Jennie's nrst movement he was on liis feet.

"Let the circumstances make my apology. and let me beg that you exchange places - with me,” he said, with a quiet courtesy that won Jennie’s confidence at oneo. Indeed, as slio looked up into The dark face, with its firm lines, and clear grey eyes, she comprehended both mo tire and action instantly. x "Thank you very much,” she said, gratefully, and at once occupied the stranger’s seat, he in turn taking hers, eud smiling grimly as he noted the look of blank disgust on the face ,of the amorous one in the corner. The latter diet not at all like the move made against him, and sat scowling till the ear reached! Cumberland Street, md Jennie rose to quit' it. Then some agreeable idea seemed to invade his bemused brain, for his face became overspread oy an exultant grin as lie arose and followed her.

But the watchful stranger had allowed nothing to escape him. He had plainly intended going further, but the sight of the unmannerly boor taking up the open pursuit of the solitary girl appeared to decide him to terminate his tramway trip there and then. In a second he was in the wind-blown roadway, and speeding after the two figures that, one lias ceiling to overtake the other, were just then turning into Cumberland Street. As compared with the thoroughfare from which it branches off, Cumberland Street is very dark, a fact of which Jennie’s pur-, suer had been well aware. But he had not counted upon the possibility that he in turn might be pursued; consequently the surprise that presently overtook him was all the greater. For, ag he cam© up to the now alarmed girl, and while he wag addressing her in terms of insulting endearment, a strong hand grasped his collar swung him round, and flung nim clean off the pavement, he reaching a final resting-place on the flat of his back in the muddy carriage-way.

Scrambling up with a volley of oaths, he began an unsteady approach to his grim antagonist; then, something in the latter’s look and attitude appeared to damp 1113 courage, for ho stopped, hesitated, and at length crept away, muttering to himself the "while. The friends awaiting Bob Grindley did not see him that night. Meanwhile Jennie, in spite of her fright, had recognised in her rescuer her friendly fellow-passenger in the car and) ii»r expression of thanks as he reached her side wag alike warm and sincere. "Pray don't over-estimate my deserts in this matter,” he said, smiling. "It was a very little thing; only that I saw an ill-conditioned puppy running loose, bind thought I might as well give it a lesson.! I hope that fellow did not frighten you very much.” . "Yes, he did, a good deal,” admitted Jennie, frankly. “I never was interfered with before, and-r-” “I understand,” he said, as she paused.

‘•'Well, there is comfort in reflection (hat you may never be so interfered with again, for, after all, thorough-paced ‘.ads of his stamp are in the minority." “I hope they are,” she replied, .with a little smile. ■ Then, holding out a small, gloved hand she thanked him again, and said good-night. “I am afraid I cannot accept that here and just now,” lie said, looking down at her and noting the still frigfftei • ed look iu her eyes. “This unpleasantness has shaken you, and you really must allow me to seo you to your home.” _ “But—this is detaining you from — r

“That is a matter of small importance, I assure you." he broke in, quickly. “Believe me, I would suffer more from anxiety if I were to let you "go like tins than any business of mine is likely t*> suffer from delay. Please tell me I may come.” The unmistakable earnestness with which he asked the question touched her with a sudden feeling of shyness, and the assent she gave was noticeably confuse I.

The .distance, they had to traverse'was too short to admit „gf any lengthened conversation, and the probability was that they would have parted without knowing much more than each other's names, bn; for a very fortunate chance—fortunate, that was, from the point of view of Journo's companion. Approaching the close in which Per koine was situated, cue young girl suddenly darted from his side, exclaiming— “Mamma, why, mamma, whatever in. duced you to come out on such a night?” “Only a trifling matter, dear, 1 kadi to at tend to before clie shops were all shut/’ replied Mrs. Lindsay. Then, with a questioning glance at the tall, waiting figure, she asked. “Who is this gentleman. J ennie?”

‘•This is Mr. Hepburn,” said Jennie in answer, and forthwith gave a rapid but comprehensive account of what had led to his presence there as her escort. Mrs. Lindsay was profuse in her thanks, and. in her gratitude for the service he had rendered) her daughter, invited him up to the house. To this he demurred, pleading the lateness of the hour, and having obtained permission to call on tl-e following evening, went away supremely satisfied with the whole affair, if the expression, on his face went for anything. „ On reaching the house Jennie gave her mother an account of her discoveries at Woodlands Road, concluding with an expression of opinion that though Aunt Addie’s boarders might be troublesome she herself was doing nothing to make that trouble less.

“That is unfortunately true,” assented Mrs. Linday, “but making all allowances for tnat, some of her boarders seem to be rather trying. One old man in particular. the Curmudgeon—she says Albert calls him worse —appears to be unbearably rude as well as absurdly' particular about trifles.” “Then Ist her give him his notice; she is not obliged to put up with such people, and she can get another lodger,” ail Jennie, promptly. “The thing of all is that she is not to give up. Tell her to turn this Curmudgeon out if she can't get on with him, but also tell her that if she gives this up without a thorough trial, I’ll do my best to make her life a burden to her, so there!” A quick snap of the white teeth and sudden lightening of the brown eyes told that she meant what she said, and seeing the signs, Airs. Lindsay wisely turned the conversation into another channel.

“I hope you won't bei late- to-morrow evening, Jennie,” she said. "This Mr, Hepburn is sure to call, 4ind I shouldn’t like you to be absent.” “Oh, that's all right,” replied Jennie quickly. "The press of work is over, »ud there will be nothing to detain me. Then you think he will come ?" “I am certain of it. He is plainly .<* gentleman, or my judgment is wholly at fault, and besides—■ what do you tninlc of him, Jennie ?” But Jennie had all at once grown "hard o’ healin',” and Mrs. Lindsay had to answer the question herself. “He is very stiong and veiw handsome,” she said, her eyes resting wistfully on her daughter’s face, "and—” "And very old,” chipped in Jennie; giving way to an unaccountable impulse to say something derogatory. “Old! Why, child, where were your eyes? The man cannot possibly be more than thirty.” "Well, that's plenty, isn’t it?” asked Jennie, stifling an impertinent little yawn. "Now, mammy, dear, don’t begin by making him a paragon. I just hate paragons, and, besides, lie may be a mar-* lied man. he may be a criminal man, he may even be an old Curmudgeon man; there’s no saying—none really.” As Jennie had expected, her Aunt Addia called during the following afternoon, iiid was duly told of the opinions and intern tiong of her niece; a communication that impressed her to the point of going homa and incontinently sacking the Cuniiudgenon, preparatory to making a new effort. And as she was essentially and unreservedly a coward, she had to put a protectiva gloss on her action by telling him that aha was acting on the advice of her niece. This drew from nim a sarcastio question, the more than voluminous answer 10 which put him in possession of more information about Jennie and her mother than, as a stranger, could be at all expected to interest him. He cut it short at last, and, quietly accepting his dismissal terminated the interview.

Having been once in Cumberland Street that day already, one would scarcely have expected Aunt Addi© to go there again in the evening. But she was so elated by her unexpectedly easy riddance ox the Curmudgeon, that she had to go over anw tell them all abqut it, to the intense disgust of the sorely-tried Aggie. She was fated, to wish that she had re* mained in her. oivn house for that night at least, as, on following Mrs. Lindsay into the latterfs jj.ttle parlour, she stopped just within staring with distended eyes. " "Good gracing#’ The Curmudgeon!” she got out in,,a. sorf of strangling squeal. Hepburn—for it was to him she had referred—rose and bowed with much polite-

ness, although for the life of him h© could not keep liis face straight. . “The same, Mrs. xinsliie,” ho said; I hope your conscience is troubling you for giving me that notice of" eviction. And as I understand that it was by your advice, young ladv,” turning laughingly to Jennie, ‘'that 1 have been bundled into the street, I warn you that I will claim compensation.” Poor Jennie, with no thought of laughing in her head, had been going alternately red and white for the last moment, and she now sprang up with a gasp; In the circumstances .of the cas© the one 'word for. her was. flight—and fly she did, most precipitately, her example being instantly followed', but in slower fashion, by Aunt Addie. Nor could either argument or entreaty get the fair but demoralised giver of good advice back on any 'fjorms, so that Hepburn, after an hour i pent in explaining matters to Mrs. iAndeay as affecting the real state of affairs in Mrs. Fins hie'si house, he was forced to take his leave without again seeing the flrl who had already so deeply interested im. It did not greatly matter, he told himself, as he strolled leisurely homeward. The absurd misconceptions brought about by Mrs. Finshie and her son nad built a bander round Jennie that would require some breaking down. Nevertheless, it coxild be broken down, and would be, take what time it might. And in the event it was, for though she held out for quite three months, there came one evening hour when pretty, wilful little Jennie made a mistake, with disastrous results to her determination to compel her patient wooer to suffer for the faults of others. Calling one evening about dusk, he was received by Mrs. Lindsay, who almost on his entrance had to apologise for leaving Him in order to attend to some household matter. Jennie, she said, would join him presently. Jennie did join him, but in a way showing that she must have come in without seeing her mother* and so becoming aware of his presence. For as he stood by the darkening window the door was opened, and a musical voice said: “Isn't this weather dreadful, even for November, mamma? The only good thing about it is that it will keep l that persevering wretch, John Hepburn, away for one night.” “No, it won't,” said the figure behind the window curtain with cruel distinctness; and before she could utter the startled scream rising to her lips he had her in feas aswxs. did not struggle, partly because she that to be useless, but she kept her S*?cg turned away, and tried to look the picture of invincible But she could 1 not keep the tell-tale colour out of her cheek, could not still the trembling of the hand he held in his, nor subdue the rebellious heaving of her bosom. “Jennie, little Jenniet, it is the old question. TV'iii you not answer it, dear?” “Why should I answer stupid questions?” she demanded, the tremor in her

voice rather spoiling its affectation of scorn. ‘‘Because, well, because you owe me co m pens at Lon _ for getting me the ack . from'your aunt's/-’ he replied, falling vn with her humour, but tightening his clasp round her waist. “You got yourself the sack. If you hadn't been a curmudgeon, there would have been no sacking about it." “Well, then, for standing your cousin's singing for a whole month without committing murder." “No, nor that. The idea of making that a grievance, when you could Have thought it was cats." “Wei, then, because I'm a persevering wretch." “Oh, gracious!" “And will never give you peace till you <yay ‘yes/ " A long pause; then—‘Well—if—but—I suppose— Well, yes." Three days later Finshie met his crony, Grindley, in the street. “And to think that I've made enemies both Jennie a.ndi Hepburn," saidl .he farmer, sorrowfully. “If I'd only known e was a-rich baronet come here incog, to study social questions, I'd— Why, they might have helped l me up till— Oh, it's too bad !" “But is it true she’s going to marry him ?" asked Grindley, whose face since ne had: heard Finshie's news had been unlvontedly white. “Quite true." Griiulley's face grew yet whiter 1 / andl he turned abruptly awiay without speaking. He knew then that the love he had ost was the purest his life hadl known, or might ever know again.