ANTONIA OF “THE LANE"

New Zealand Times, Volume LXXI, Issue 4366, 25 May 1901, Page 3 (Supplement)

ANTONIA OF “THE LANE"

(By Frederick W’oJniOVv. in “Pall Mall.”; They were neighbours in Plane Tree Square, on the borders of Pimlico —Antonia, not yet of “the Lane,” and Air Webb, who longed to be Antonia’s lover. Antonia had contributed to -Mr ./ebb’s happiness; at first unconsciously, and then consciously. He looked at it in that light—though to many it migbt nave seemed that she alleviated his misery, and that he "had no happiness before, which it was within her province to add t», -Ur U ebb was a bootmaker; -nr M ebb was something of a hunchback. Antonia was a “skirt-nand” and a "bodice-hand,' —she had nc pretensions to be a specialist or expert—was a sort of general assistant, rather, to Madame isvans, the dressmaker. She lived but two doors off. All Webb was poor, and he was middle-aged—worked Hard, walked little, ate little, did not drink. He was weakly generally. He had suffered long; but lie was possibly tough. “A creaking gate,” you might have said as you looked -,t him —spare, high cheek-honed, paie of face. Was ins the life for romance? you might have asked. Had even the young and strong Romance, in Plane 'TiOv. Square? In P.ane Tree Square there was a certain mixture of squalor and quaint pretviness. Plane 'Tree Square was “common to the commonplace,” out hud attractions for the observant. It bad never in .ill its days made any ciaim to be renteei, ana now, in a decay which might fast long, or might perhaps be arrested, it was the abode, not of weli-to-uo-maimge-ers of business and of popular taverns, as it had been a generation ago, but of nttie tradespeople and fiumbie employees, who never got on too well; cf retired, ensioned spinsters or widows; who lived, if they couid, in back rooms and, for choice, on the second floor. Piane Tree Square— a square of three sides, with the public road lor tho fourth —had been bunt in fckb. A little of the interest of age, then, belonged to it by this tune, tor the lover ol r-ondon and London's ways, who now and then passe J through it. and stopped as he passed. And u has its humoie advantages. It was not altogether airless in tne iate August heats. It was never noisy, Alien cpiuemic-s threatened the town, in habitants loyai to their quarter—in me truest OocKuey spmt—oacked it as certain not to proauco one case.

“The cholera will never come into Plane Tree Sqaure/' said .vir 'vVebo, oneeitmiy. He was an oid inhabitant. And Air Mekb, who had eyes not a:ono tor Antonia, but for the beautles, such as they might be, which were her daily background, admired the Square, and had a pride in it in Autumn, when leaves lay crown and russet m great tracts on the gravel path, or, seen in morning air of Uiin, laint b.umh mist—just a few of them—yellow and shapely on .nnoke dried branches, -mainly bare. The Square had a pigoon-cotc, hoisted aloft above tho little grass and giavel, among tiie slender plane trees. Antonia, not yet of “the Lane,” and P. Webb, bootmaker, looked out upon them together.

Some of the neighbours, who knew eacn other, but had not been long in the quarter, had wondered at the association—tnougn perhaps it was nardly an intimate one —of pam -a.r Vvehb anti Antonia. Others, who, had seen i-ntonia from childhood, took it as a matter of course. Air Wtfci- Lad eCiKisyod the girl to carry parcels home co his customers—the moos he had repaired .-o deftly, with “best English leather,'’ as thn placard in lus many-paned window —the window that took up one side of the slit of the house he caned Ins shop—announced to the passing pubiic. Those shoes never were out, it, seemed to Mr Webb's customers-, His trade was limited by tho goodness of his work. Mr Webb had a bcdioom in the house, besides the slit of the shop. Ledgers—the. landlady's lodgers—niitd up the remainder. The private door next to b.s was succeeded by a window closely curtained, but displaying against the gla.,, a narneu announcement: “Aiiss Trill: Pinking.” One wondered, Who was Miss Trill? And the masculine imnd alsowondered, What wa.s “pinking”? Next to Miss Triu's was the house in which Antonia Large and her mother had the uvo rooms ol cue second floor. And flu," nad their-own luruiture. Mrs-Large was in receipt cf a pension, small bufiavste - - ious. It was sent to her once a month through a firm of solicitors. Antonia was stiii at St. Barnabas’ School when first Mr Webb added a httki to her income or pin-money by sending her out with tho parcels ; and, when latmAntonia—who- passed in a year from a slip of a thing to a very tine girl indeed—was well established (as “improver” was it?) at Madame Evans’, the dressmaker’s, an hour in tho evening was still empl >ycd by her in going those little errands. One night it was the Hotel Windsor; one night Chester Sqaure; one night it was Eaton Terrace, perhaps; one night Cadegan Place. As time went on, people must needs have been surprised at Clio arrival, on such an errand, of this hue young girl. Lor, though dressed most simply, sho had an air, always. A sug nestiou—oh! much more than a suggestion—cf breeding, and such pleased an 1 gracious ways with her. made her. ar eighteen, the lady of Plano Tree h piare Then Mr Webb —who read sometimes il.o poets and essayists, and thought snout Life gravely,- and had a soul above he local newspaper cr the “Star” or the “Sun”—-disc ivered that he wa.s profound ly in love with Antonia. And Antn.-iia. who had reason now tc know that, with all his deficiencies, he was rather a superior person, did his errands for friendliness much more than for money.

Those were the days, of course, whin to the seeing eye, P.ane Tree Square h s. every hint of its commonness. It was beautiful Autumn, happy and crisp. The mornings were radiant then—the ov-m----ings golden—in Plane Tree bquare. ‘MV Webb, shoemaker,” stooped in unqrationing cheerfulness, all day ever ; is work. Willi evening, came cowards iifdoor the step of Antonia, and tier vo’cc which was pleasantness. When she came. talked to ~,-v a ' mithim.-s. w.,j| simple u.-.ig- t. I!;.- i!;:i hr;ul, shook a ‘it: si.-, ! hey lui!e l >e,l iici in handing h-r lie- jwr.-»L H-n hr:;i' di.ueeV iiiev'V-iu'u ghur! V.-:'nin ni■ 11>t-1, ;;m1 t-vr nilljt •■a. M-e .led ri... !;i-ailfw nr- !■•(). lii’i ■!, p!i'<-eii‘i. Ui.le was mir-ic. !;> Paiiie I‘r< S : ::-n e, .Middi'lllv. il ■'! ! u !’• 1 O.dl. ■ was n cn!\ id fu li-b ie iiatiand dorbt f-there »•••,.. .-..me* oiim. u quite ei u-. U ,1 ex ill'- ‘■‘i-d -'ll t - , 1 ! i tunie and him. (-cold liard y •' r ■■'■.■if h:\ve fed ,< heiaei' v ;e" 01 01:11 or 1.,0k con t ved ih,- imp:-.dun, 1.-, semetiiing :i:irr v.-.jl. And it mad ■ I;postpone st;l> further any prepipai might have set his heart upon. \\ on' Antonia, for instance, go with him Lienee to a place in which ho was :: stranger?—the Standard Music Hail--” was net very far up the read. Ur, better much, would Antonia, one night, when bis work was done, walk with h,m '“over the Bridge”—the railway seemed to divide cue district sharply from another—then along those almost unknown Pimlico sireets. on the farther s-de of the line, beyond the timber wharf and the canal, and so, crossing hack : ntc. their own world, sn to speak, by auithcr railway bridge higher up. came hack into Plane” Tree Square—and be friends ah ways, more warmly than they were fri°nds new? But the something unexpressed, yet plainly perceived—stopped even

the thought of that. Pluck, Mr Webb had none. And then, one evening, Antonia, looking as if she had break, began to speak in .staccato. '?*lr Webb—l’ve started rehearsing—i shall be at the Lane—at Christmas.'’ It took him breathlessly; he did not grasp it. He had to translate the worn*, as it ivere ; and having dene so, mentally, and waited, he said nothing then, but ‘’Antonia 1”

“Yes, Mr Webb: I thought it wis oa'v due to you. You are so kind to me thought you would like to know. It's a week ago 1 got my ‘call’ from the Lane; but the evening rehearsals don't start for another fortnight. So, till then 1 shall always be so pleased, you kno.v, if I can be any help to you. Even airciwards, if I can, Mr Webb.” “Wbat are you going to do ?” asked the pale man, when he had just sufficiently pulled nimself together. ‘‘l am in the chorus —only the chorus.’' dropped Antonia, half apologetically. "A 'super!'” ejaculated Mr VVeho, almost witn contempt. Antonia didn’t like it, and looke > grave, but not offended. ‘•A show lady, they call it at the Lane, Mr Webb.” There was a minute’s silence; mere than that. Antonia moved. Mr Webb was going to speak. There was more of self-control in nis voice when at leng‘ n he did. “Well, Antoilia/’ he said—tnis time slowly and almost weightily—you have taken your own couise." She knew what that meant. She did not answer; but she put her hand out to him. Ho Held it. There was no one looking into the little shop, anti, by his cooler's bench, he kissed the girl's lingers. That meant, she supposed, that he forgave her—and it meant much moic, of course.

"I, should be sorry to be inconsiderate. Mr Webb,” she said gently; and he was left to himself.

She came the next evening; ag dn the next; again the next, and took his shoes to their destination. Nothing so near to intimacy passed, those nights between the pale man who nad known her childhood and the girl vho had got beyond him. The little conversacions that went on between them were on “general topics”; and, on ihese, they took no views of their own, but ie peated, parrot-like, the views of thei» neighbours or of the morning newspaper. It was merely something to say. Then, when, one day, she at least flattered herseif that he had got accustomed and reconciled, Antonia burst out with enthusiasm, “X worship the stage!’’

He looked her up and down. He made no sort of an answer. The expression of his eyes got sadder. His face hardly moved. He could not bring himself to say —it would have been useless to saj' — any one thing that he wanted to ; but he knew all about it. His life was quier, monotonous, contemplative; but Mr Webb had not been a Londoner for nothing. The foolish man lost a night’s rest— had broken nights often —looking forward to the time when Antonia, splendid and fresh, would add one more to the dazzling crowd cf the stage, and, with tho curtain fallen, to ■ the excited crush upon tho staircase. Did he just vaguely guess at the look of the stage door, with the well-dressed, J warmlymuffled, not quite disinterested friends of established celebrity and humble beginner? and at the chatter of the ires v ing-room—where no reticence is—the loquacious publication, to all and sundry of the last silly homage that ministered to vanity—-of the- last personal ti...mph? Before Boxing Day cjime, Mr Webb had lost his temper. Really, he had no claim to consider himself philosophical any longer. He was very, very cross. And his work was not so good, or at all events not so punctual. And it muse affect his custom. Surely it was even now beginning to do bo. He was heard one day, by a neighbour, having "words” with a' gentleman on the question of “uppers.” On Boxing Day—actually at some risk to his frail body, and telling nobody what he had done—ho struggled into the amphitheatre, by the “early door” —itself a place of maddest pressure that night. Mrs Large —Antonia's mother—purring approval, was in tne pit. Of course, he did not see her there, though no was keen and clear-sighted. And tnere upon the stage was Antonia—in tights—a stage boy; one of a nundred, yet different in his eyes from all tho rest. Next morning, looking very fresh and ■appy, she passed him, neatly gloved, in her short jacket, in her simple hut, her dark hair glossy,-Tier eyee—well! rihe threw him a smile. Of course ha nodded to her; but he went on with his work savagely. A battle raged among the very implements oi his craft. A week afterwards, there was a timid knock at his door. But he knew wliosc the knock was; and Antonia came in to tee him —a sensitive twitch at the earners of her mouth, and her voice very gentle. “We have two shows a day, ~ou know, Mr Webb. I should have been here before, if not. If there is anything I can do for you in the morning early, you know, I will get up, gladly. I have tons of dime then. But I’ve always got to take the omnibus at the B.idge by eleven o'clock, about; for at twelve I must start dressing at tha Lane. And in our show', you know, I have three changes. Until I come out at night, I have hardly a minute I can call my own, at the Lane. But for you—in the morning.”' “Thank you. But-the customers look to having’their things sent homo by the time I have promised them,’’ he answered, dryly. “Thank you. I have made other arrangements.” ‘ “Oh! Mr Webb,” said the girl in the kindest tones of remonstrance, “} - nu lay the blame on me. I’m sorry. Worry’s not. tho word!”

She was so genuine, it made him change his tack. It had the effect of causing him to count upon her toe much —such little hold as he had. “Antonia!” he said, passionately, “why did you take to it ?”

‘ I'm afraid I like it, Mr Webb,” she answered. Then, as if half relenting, ‘l’m sorry you don’t like it lor me’' Then, with a pause first, however, • It’s ijurd (■, know what's lev I K- best.” And vitii Tjial ."In 1 iiopiu pc;!.an- ti.o :.:aU'T would drop. j:io. Antonia. . . '■,"in.i, ..urc ■Vi .1- tie !■ : n t n m , * said A linear pardon. An toni.i." 'lie ‘.vasj;’r;:!i ,e-s now. and hum-haiiou. ‘‘Don’t think of me i.ardiy,’’ she mgd, with great gent.eness. But he had changed again. ‘‘You will have other lovers; idler than I am—and a thousand times richer. Perhaps better; perhaps worse—who knows? Though I have no right to think of you.” Really, Antonia looked as if she could not take that matter very seriopdy, and so he presently added —in the key of every day—‘‘You look in good spirits.” ‘T am up for anv devilment,” answered Antonia; revealing in her word and .glance that her life was joy. The thought of it all, and a diseased dread, perhaps—an exaggerated dread at all events—made the wan man desperate. "I can’t endure to think of you vour ways with your lovers. Tour looks —such looks as I’ve not had. Build up

some great partition wall, Antonia, that I may never guess, never know.” His voice thrilled with ieeling. Luc all that passion was beyond her understanding. She put her hand upon him iu a gentle, friendly way, and said, "Good-bye-” He was quieter for the moment, but still filled full of ner. "Antonia, give us a kiss.’ Of course the girl kissed him. And never, never, I suppose, did P. Webb »ee .-iixtouia again.

For, in a week or two, Antonia left the neighbourhood; and iu not many weeks, u seemed, P. Webb had ruined his small business. He got behind-hand with his rent. He was cut. of cue with every one. Boots and shoos did not seem to come to be repaired now. I know little more of his history. But I know that one of his window-panes got broken —that it was patched with paper, not re-glazed, afterwards. I know that shoes and blacking bottles were fewer iu his window; then were reduced to almost none at all. Then suddenly Mr Webb was seen no more in his little slit of a shop. He had disappeared, ncssibly. For now, with absolutely no sign of his craft there at all, there were ranged upon the shelf, against the glass ofhis window-panes, seven books, more or less ragged or well used, to- b© sold cheaply —Poems, Essays, Philosophy. His favourite reading. The Philosophy of Life —P. AVebb had taken that with him, perhaps. Little now is known. But a customer more interested-in him than he would have supposed that any, one could be, tried to gather information—asked a greengrocer woman, who was a neighbour, opposite Mr Webb’s corner, if she knew anything at all._ “No, I've seen nothing of him for ever so long. They say, though, ho has gone across the Bridge.” Across the railway bridge—into another world, that is. What, Pimlico street 9 And then to finish the matter, the customer passed on to the agent who had 10 letting of P. Webb’s slit of a shoij. “Do you know authing of Mr Webb, who had the rort of shoe shop »t the corner of Plane Tree “Square P” asked the customer. “Know anything, of him P The less known about him, the better, I should say,” returned the agent, gruffly—having a grievance, no doubt. And since then, the oracle has been dumb. But did P. Webb—across the Bridge somewhere—brood still over Antonia’s life—think maddeningly again of what her ways were with the lovers she loved or favoured—of what her vole© was like when it broke into tenderness—passed into moods of caressing?