THOMSON’S TEMPTATION.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1831, 10 April 1907, Page 7

THOMSON’S TEMPTATION.

(By J. B. Bren with.)

A STORY OF GLASGOW.

' J allies William Thomson . stepped on to his car with a heavy heart. 7 32veiy morning for years he had taken the car to town at" this same time and at this same corner of 3>iilce street. And this particular morning lie opened and folded his daily paper anch began to read at a certain

column, as was his unvarying custom, just as, when the car reached a certain turning in the city, lie always refolded it, and neatly slapped it into his right-hand coat pocket, pricr to alighting. But though Thomson’s eye rested,

according to invariable habit, upon the principal lines before him, the ponderous periods of editorial wis-

dom' made no impression on his brain, for.'/he was careful and 5 troubled about many things. ; "

James William Thomson was just the sort of man one would have expected to live in Dennistoun, that dully respectable and drabby decorous suburb. As a boy James William had been a dutiful, if undistinguished, scholar, and had gone direct from school into a city office, where; by sheer process of existence and the passage of years, he had risen to his present position among the senior clerks. He was a little • man,;spare' of figure, with undecid■ed’/features, pale eyes of indefinite thi’e; and an indeterminate moustache; his hair was sparse’, s7i k'iid fast disappearing from above his fore- , head/b The little clerk'had always been; a creature of mild settled habits, and; he trotted dptpn .to his car' 1 in "6k© morning, day at his books, and trotted home from

the car at night, with & regularity rivalling clockwork, and quite as mechanical. Everybody called him William James, for the gentle inanity of the combination seemed to suit him somehow, except his wife. She called him “Jim,” and looked upon her husband somewhat in the light of a hero—for wives, thank heaven, often see with different eyes from other people.

j For Thomson some years back bad sufficiently deviated from the regularity of his ordered course to take unto himself a wife, and they lived in one of those delectable drives so beI loved of the clerical profession, in ; which Bennistoun rejoices. They

couid (not really afford the rent on James William’s modest salary, but “drive” looks well in •an address, with its latent suggestion of private

carriages and pairs, and, besides, his wife’s cousin Kate lived in a “crescent” over Pollokshields, so they could do no less.

And if Thomson’s wife looked upon him as a liero, James William thought her a sort of damaged angel; so, when she fell into a long illness, gradually growing worse, his anxiety and grief were as deep and absorbing as they were silent. And then the verdict came that only a certain famous specialist could save her, but that his fee would be fifty pounds.

... “Fifty pounds!” repeated William to himself, as his eyes rested unseeingly on the lines of print that he held before him, and he almost gave vent to a horrible laugh, which, coming from such a mild-looking little man, would have startled everyone iin the car -and overwhelmed James William in dire confusion. “As well say fifty thousand!” They had lived up to every penny of his slender income, perhaps, if the truth were told, during this illness a little over

it. Only once in his life did Thomson remember having had fifty pounds to spare, and then somebody soon found it out, and succeeded in borrowing it, for James William never could give a decided negative.

“I am afraid it is little use to think of iti, Amy,” Thomson liad said, in reference to this loan, as he lingered by his wife’s bedside that morning. “When Skinner got the money be promised to repay me yyithin six, months, and now it is nearly six years!”

“But have you never asked him for it, dear?’* inquired Amy. “Yes, once 1 or twice,” said Thomson, “but he always seemed so pressed for money that I have never liked !to insist. But now,” as he glanced j at his wife’s face, white even against 1 the pillow, and realised how much was

at stake, a passing gleam of determination in his pale eyes, “he shall pay it! he shall pay it “I'm afraid you can’t force him to, Jim,” said Amy weakly. “Itfs such an old debt—he’ll think you never mean to claim it/’

‘Tm afraid of that, too,” said James William dejectedly, cast down at once by her suggestion. “I have very little hope of getting the money from him. Butt —” reviving again, “I can try, at any rate! It’s our only chance of getting the specialist, and m tell Skinner so. Yes, I’ll go tonight when I get away from the office; you won’t mind my being late, Amy?’*

“‘Kb, Jim,” returned his wife. “Don’t worry about me —the nurse will be with me/’ So Thomson had trotted off to his car, anxious and perplexed, but firmly resolved to tackle the delinquent Skinner for his long-lent fifty pounds. And still another matter was vaguely worrying him as the car

clacked and whizzed its way into the city, and the words on the printed sheet became more than ever confused and meaningless. The auditors for his firm were expected at the office in a day or two, and one of hi 3 books obstinately refused to balance. It Was a very trifling discrepancy; but to James William, who in all these years had ne\er failed to submit books of faultless regularity, it seemed serious and annoying enough.

All day long Thomson hunted for the aggravating and elusive error, but, distracted as his mind was by thoughts of Amy and bis dire need of money to save her loved life, lie failed to discover it, and even though he worked on after the others had gone, the search ended in disappointment, so at last he locked away the bulky ledgers w r ith a worried sigh.

Now for the task of the evening, Thomson repaired to a tea-room close at hand and partook of a modest meal, his brain all the time mechanically totalling up long rows of figures; then he set out for Skinner’s rooms. Skinner was an unmarried man, with only himself to keep; he could not have the desperate need of the money that Thomson had, and he must pay; the little clerk was absolutely resolved that Skinner must pay. Yet he shrank from asking him, nevertheless; it was an unpleasant thing to dun any man for money, and Thomson's heart beat uncomfortably as he rang Skinner’s bell. Two minutes later he was descending the steps with considerably more alacrity than he had mounted them. Skinner was not at home, and he had gone away that afternoon for a week, so his landlady said—she did not know where. ,\Thomson experienced a momentary 'relief in having escaped , a

disagreeable interview ; but the next instant came a raction, with the. chill sense of his only hope having failed

him. In a week it would be too late to save Amy, and meantime there seemed • no other possibility of securing the fifty pounds due to him. James William walked slowly down the street 'in dumb misery. It was still early in the evening, and Thomson could not bear to think yet of going home with the bad news. Amy did not expect him, and if he delayed his return - sufficiently she might possibly have fallen asleep and secure a good night’s rest before having to be told of Skinner. But what could he do meantime? Ah! he

might go back to the office and spend

an hour or two in a renewed hunt ' for that arithmetical De Wet in his hooks. The keys were in his pocket, he let himself in, switched on the electric light, and resumed his task. In the solitude and quiet he was

better able to concentrate his mind and after an hour’s diligent research Thomson gave vent to a little cry of satisfaction. He had traced the error at last, and now his ledger would balance perfectly. If only other difficulties could be so solved 1 Thomson leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and gave himself up to a fruitless review of the circumstances. Bfe might think better in the dark, m he stretched out his hand, turned off the light, and lay back again. Fijfif pounds— price of a woman’s life and health! Bat prolonged mental strain and nights of broken slumber demand their just .revenge; and in a few minutes Thomson was sleeping soundly in tho darkness. \ “Well, I'm blessed!” The words mingled hazily with Thomson’s dreams, and then he opened his eyes with a start, to find a •bright light streaming direct upon his face from out of the surrounding darkness. Where was he ? What did it mean?

“Well, Im blessed!” said the rough voice again, and Thomson realised

suddenly that he was in the office, and that the light in his blinking eyes proceeded from an electric torch in the hand of the speaker. He sat up in his chair, and demanded with all the severity his dazed condition would allow•

“What do you want? And what right have you to be in here ?” “Oh, as to that, what right have you to be here?’’ asked the other, in a discontented tone. “Lyin’ sleepin’ here in the dark, an’ givin’ a fellow such a nasty fright! Let’s have a look at ye!’’ .

He turned on the lights as he spoke, and Thomson saw with swift • terror and dismay that he was a -powerfully-built, rough-looking man, with a heavy-jawed, unshaven face, which , scowled upon him unpleasant- ■ V- *

'’‘As to what I want,” the man went on, “that’ I’ll soon show ye; but the question. is, wliat’s to be done with ymf in the meantime ? • I didn’t qxf pect to find "things like you lyin’ %bbut- so I didn't bring no ropes or- —

Thomson understood now, with a gasp of paralysing fear, that the man

Wfc3 'i bsrglar, a desperate ruffian, doubtless, who had broken into the office while he slept. “If you do not instantly leave these premises I shall summon the police!” he quavered forth. “Palm®?” snarled the man savagely. “Look here, my little bantam cock, make one move an’ I’ll put a bullet through ye!”

The electric light glinted ominously on the shining barrel of a revolver which he pulled from his pocket, and Thomson collapsed in helpless fright. * ! Now, what am I to do with ye, I’d like to know?” the burglar grumbled. “Here!” he added, roughly, “stand over where I can see ye while I’m working, an’ if ye move one step it’ll be your last! 5 '

The trembling Thomson sidled over to the spot indicated as fast as his shaking knees could carry him, with fascinated eyes on the barrel of the revolver ; and, standing there, with his back against a tall desk, he watched the man set to work with skilful speed upon the massive door of the safe. Laying the revolver conveniently near, and in warning view of James William, the burglar swiftly fitted together wonderfully neat and polished steel tools, and applied them with such goodwill and judgment that very soon the safe door cracked, started, and swung open before Thomson’s wondering eyes. The burglar gave a grunt of satisfaction, and after a glance at the terrified little clerk, proceeded to investigate its contents, while Thomson hastily reflected that he would be rewarded by finding at least a clear hundred pounds lying there in anticipation of the clerks’ monthly pay on the following day. This fact the burglar meanwhile had discovered for himself, for he drew out a handful of bank notes, counted them over roughly, and bent forward again, peering into the safe.

At that instant an overwhelming impulse seized Thomson; he spun round swiftly, snatched a heavy office ruler from the desk, and with a strength born of mingled fear and frenzy, struck the burglar full behind the ear. The man dropped like a log, face downwards, on the floor before him, and Thomson whirled the ruier high above his head. In the mild little city clerk primitive passions, inherited, perhaps, from some far-back ancestor, had leapt suddenly into fierce life, and he w r as ready to strike and strike again so long- as any sign of life remained. It was probably the first act of physical violence in Thomson’s life; yet so near r are we all to savagery still, that he felt infinitely more of a man, and a better man, for having struck the blow. \

But tho burglar lay perfectly quiet, and the fierce lust of slaughter in Thomson’s bosom gave way almost instantly to the cold fear that he had killed him. He dropped the ruler, and, kneeling, rolled the man over to feel his heart. It was beating still; he was clearly only stunned, and, reassured, Thomson rose, and stood looking down at the unconscious form.

And then came Thomson’s great temptation. The man lay as he had rolled over, one arm flung cut upon the floor, his hand still grasping loosely the bundle of bank notes. A hundred pounds—and what would Thomson give for only fifty! Why should he not take half of what the burglar held.

Thomson had felt remarkably cool and collected since he had struck down his man; but now he felt suddenly weak and trembling, and sat down in his chair, staling aT; the notes. But his brain was quite clear, and his reasoning swift. It would be perfectly easy and safe. No one had seen him enter the office; no one knew that he was working late; if he could slip out unseen no one need ever know! He could take half the notes and hurry off home; it was even now only midnight; he could tell his wife that he had spent the evening with Skinner, and that Skinner, had paid him at last. The burglar, no doubt, would soon revive and clear off. glad to get away safe with half his booty, and iiis lips would be sealed. In the morning the rifled safe would tell its own tale, and Amy would be saved! Without a moment’s further hesitation, Thomson stooped over the burglar, took the bundle of notes from the limp hand, and quickly counted out fifty pounds; not a note more would he take. He replaced the rest in the man’s hand, switched off the lights, and left the office, leaving the door open behind him. From the huge barrack of offices he gained the street without a soul perceiving him, and sped along the deserted pavement homewards. . Fifty pounds!—fifty pounds m his pocket, in rustling, crackling bank notes' He hud saved Amy’s life! He could have shouted aloud with exultation, and his limbs could not carry his homeward swiftly enough with the oviful news. Then, just- as he turned a corner, one of those strange unexplainable

influences that sometimes sweep the human soul seized him; and he stoped in the very attitude of desperate haste, as if frozen into rigidity. Good God f what had he done? He had secured the money, but at wjgfl.t a price!—saved his wife’s life, but only at the cost of a crime! He was a thief, a felon, a criminal! In his great revulsion of feeling he gave vent to a wild cry of horror, and staggered against the wall, cold perspiration standing out upon his brow. Then he turned and fled back towards the office as if pursued by yelling demons. At that moment he would have given his whole life to have had the fifty pounds safely in the burglar’s hand once more. If the man should have recovered an 3 he gone before he got back—if anyone should have observed tho unfastened door of the office and entered—if he should be seen rushing back now —all is lost!. Still he sped on undetected, until just as he reached the huge building he dashed into a burly policeman, rebounding from the shock like an indiarubber ball, and the next moment was in the grasp of the indignant officer

“Hallo! What’s the meaning of this? Where are you goin’? Why., it’s Mr Thomson!” exclaimed the con- • stable, who knew 7 the little clerk by sight, releasing the struggling figure. “Office burglar safe fifty pounds!” gasped Thomson, scarcely knowing what he said. “What’s that ? Burglars in your office? Come on then, sir!” cried the policeman, at once alert, and sprang up the stairs, followed by Thomson in a veritable tornado of conflicting feelings. They xvere just in time to find the burglar stirring dazedly, and while the officer, with grim satisfaction, snapped a pair of handcuffs on the man’s wrists, Thomson picked up the bank notes scattered on the floor, slipped the bundle from his pocket among them, and restored the lot to the safe. Then in reply to the Constables inquiries he gave his version of the affair, and listened shamefacedly to his unstinted praise. “As plucky a thing as ever I heard o’, sir! Ye’re a hero, Mr Thomson, that’s whit* ye are! I shouldnae ha’e thought Ah, weel, come alang, my beauty, to the Central you go!” And he marched off the surly and stupefied burglar, while Thomson carefully locked up the office, the policeman’s panegyric singing mockingly in his ears. \T[hen Thomson wearily turned the latchkey in the door of his home in Dennistoun, he found a letter lying on the table of the little hall. Mechanically he picked it up, and with leaden feet went towards his wife’s bedroom. The nurse had gone home, and Amy was dozing, hut as he entered she opened her eyes and smiled up to him faintly. He bent oyer to kiss her, and turned away with a groan. How could he hear to tell ner —with his ow 7 n mouth pronounce the death sentence of her hopes ? Still, mechanically, he tore open the envelope which he held, and saw that it contained a letter and a cheque. It was from Skinner, written that morning. He read it w 7 ith fevered, straining eyes. “My Hear Thomson, —I have just heard of your wife’s prolonged illness, and offer my sincere sympathy. I expect, as a consequence, you will be rather short of cash; and as 1 have recently had a bit of luck in Rio Tintos, i enclose a cheque for the fifty nour.ds which ” lhe letter and cheque slipped from ‘ Thomson’s fingers, and fluttered to the floor. He dropped to his knees, and buried his face in the white bed, his spare frame shaking with dry, tearless sobs. And Amy’s thin hand stole over and rested upon his bowed head.