A VISIT OF SYMPATHY

New Zealand Times, Volume LXXVI, Issue 5288, 28 May 1904, Page 12

A VISIT OF SYMPATHY

(By Airs Neish.) “A broken ’eart, Mrs Briggs, as m >’ pore dear mother orfen and orfen used to say, is a thing that not even money won’t mend.” The newly bereaved widow, a small, timid looking little woman, sighed and drew the teapot closer. “I’m shore, Mrs Briggs,” continued tho sympathiser, taking up a short black bottle and absently filling her glass as she spoke, “no one can’t sympathise with you no more than me. I feel for you with all my ’eart, bein’ myself two years married and fourteen still married and ’im locked up.” '“Locked up!” ejaculated tho bereaved one, drawing involuntarily away, “ain’t he out yet?”

Airs Blunt glanced up at the grimy ceiling. “’.E’s bin in ’eaven this five year. Mrs Briggs,” she said, with pious resignation.

The widow murmured with sympathy, "Reoly! and w’ere was ’e? Wormwood, m’am. or Newgate?”

For a moment airs Blunt stared at her in amazement, then fell inertly into her chair and stared at the black bottle instead with an air of incredulous indignation.

“Wot was you please to be meanin’ of, Mrs Briggs, ma’am, might I arsk?” she inquired sternly. » “I—l thought you said ‘locked up,’ ” Mrs Briggs faltered. “Locked up, Mrs Briggs,” rejoined her neighbor, with an air of hauteur, “applies someways to one thing and ofttimes to another. My 'usband was put away in the asylum for losin’ of ’is senses.”

“Ah! it on’y shows what marriage’ll do for some of us,” sighed Mrs Briggs.

Mrs Blunt rose in haste. “Well! of all the crool insults,” , ‘No offence,” stammered the hewildered Mrs Briggs. “No offence,” snorted Mrs Blunt, her voice rising, "no offence, m’am, when you ups and says ’is losin’ ’is senses was all along o’ marryin’ me.” . “I’m very sorry,” cried Mrs Briggs in great alarm. “Don’t take on, m’am, please don’t take on. ’Ere, have another cup o’ tea, do.’ ”

-Mrs Blunt, her inclination set on the black bottle, shook her head unforgivingly. “X may be a Christin, or I mayn’t be a Christin,” she said tearfully. “but there’s hinsults even a Christin can’t swaller.” “"Please, please, don’t take on,” repeated Mrs Briggs with humble reiteration, “I’m shore I didn’t mean nothink.”

A smile of beautiful patience and illimitable generosity spread itself slowly oyer Mrs Blunt’s fat face, settling itself in an ample three-fold doubled chin. “I—l feel sort o’ queer,” she gasped, sinking back in her chair, “a —a kind o’ faintlike.”

Her hostess followed her glance. ‘°Ave a drop,” she said eagerly; <n ow stoopid o’ me never to ’ave thought of it.”

Mrs Blunt’s smile deepened. “Forgive and forget,” she murmured, taking the proffered bottle and tipping with apparent reluctance the clear white fluid into a small sherry glass. “My dear, I know you’ve got a true ’eart under your jacket.” She looked up at her neighbor with so fixed a gaze as she delivered this Christin speech that unconsciously her hand went on tipping the bottle until the glass was full to-the very brim. “There, now, look at me,” she cried; “of all the stoopids, goin’ an’ fillin’ me glass instead o’ arf fillin’ it.” “Tip some hack,” suggested her hostess kindly. “No, never you mind, my dear,” rejoined Mrs Blunt, hastily, ‘Til manage it, some’ow. X must manage it,” she repeated with an air of self-denial, “for if there is one thing I can’t abear it’s anyone wot takes more than they wants and then goin’ an’ leavin’ it,” and she bravely began her duty by lifting the glass to her lips and taking a long sip of the neat spirit. "Ah,” she sighed, “it’s a dreadful thing that taint kind o’ feeling, and comes entirely from the sperits, Mrs Briggs.” ‘Why, I thought you jest said they done you good.” , “I were not spoakin’ o’ wine sperits,” Mrs Blunt replied with patient dignity. “T were alludin’ of to low sperits—along of gettin’ one’s feelin’s ’urt.” Mrs Briggs blushed deeply at tho implied reproach, and Mrs Blunt, taking another Sip and leaning suddenly across the table, looked as steadily at her as her condition allowed. “Sirs Briggs,” she began, clearing her throat and trying to sit very erect and look extremely business-like, ‘Tve come to gee you to-day of a purpose.” “I thought you come out o’ sympathy,” replied Mrs Briggs, in a slightly aggrieved tone. “Sympathy. Why, ble-s yon, I never saw sich a crcetnr for takin’ one up short. .That’s jest, what I ’arc como for. V says to myself, ‘Jest lockout

your pore neighbor, Alartha, left ’elpless with ’er bi'by and ’er obliged to go out to charin’ and leave the blessed hinfant. Take it off ’er ’ands, Alartha, and do for it like its own mother, an’ bettor, and all for 7s Cd a week, paid of a Saturday night afore’aud ”

Airs Briggs gasped for breath, but catching her neighbor's eyo and perceiving that instant gratitude was demanded of her, said hurriedly, “I—X take it very kind of you, ma’am, but 3/011 needn’t to trouble, for Airs Smith is goin’ to tako ’er for 6s, and is very trustworthy,” sho added, with her usual want of tact.

“Flo! is she?'’ cried Airs Blunt in ■shrill disappointment. “Ain’t I trustworthy? Ale wot looked after ’or ’us■band, and ’im ohstrepolous enough to frighten the dead, breakup four basins and two tumblers all o’ one mornin’ and and takin’ me by the throat, for which I bear the marks for many a day. I ain’t trustworthy, ain’t I? No, indeed !” Her voice and bonnet were slinking with passion and disappointment.

“Oh, reely, Airs Blunt,” began Airs Briggs in much distress.

“Don’t rcely mo m’am,” cried Airs Glunt, who had absently drained her glass while pausing to take breath and gather fresh ammunition, “don’t roely me m’am nor Airs Blunt me, m’am,” she added, “for you’re a serpint”—she suddenly turned a Maxim gun on her cowering neighbour—“a hungratoful serpint and a ’ipocrite and a ’ussy and a docitefnl cat, and a woman, m’am, that’s wot you are—a woman, and nothin!; hotter, that’s wot I says of you.” So saying, she gathered her dress and bonnet strings about her, and walking in unsteady majesty to tho door, opened it with difficulty and slammed it heavily after her. A moment later a small, pale-faced woman stopped cautiously from tho bedroom, and seating herself opposite Airs Briggs, took her hand and patted it gently. “Well, you got over it nicely, my dear.”

“Nicely! Airs Smith,” echoed tho nowly bereaved widow, still shaking from tho violence of the storm. “Did you over see tho like?” Sirs Smith, a cheerful and motherly little soul, smiled reassuringly. “Don’t you mind her, my dear, “Ark!” She rqso, and crossing over to the window looked into the court below.

Airs Blunt was being gently urged forward Iby a couple of stalwart policemen. “Come along, mother, steady now. Now, then, mother, keep up; come along now, come along.” “Yes,” Airs Blunt was crying shrilly, “Pm a mother to ’em, bless their little ’earts, and all for 7s 6d a week, paid afore-’and and me doin’ the washin’. but she’s a serpint, that’s wot she is, a serpint and a ’ussy and a woman”— the shrill voice grew fainter and fainter as tho policemen moved her slowly on, and Airs Smith drew back into the little room.

“Thank Gawd, she ain’t got nothink ro do with by biby,” ejaculated Mrs Briggs fervently as she dropped the empty black bottlo with a sigh into the empty grate.

“She’s a pleasant old party, ain’t she?” said the cheerful little Mrs Smith; “but don’t you worry, you won’t see no more of 'er if you don’t keep nothink but tea in the ’ouse. Keep yer e’art up, Mrs Biggs—and me and Liza’ll mind the biby I”—“Daily Mail.”