LUCKY BEGGARS.

Otago Daily Times, Issue 19800, 27 May 1926, Page 13

LUCKY BEGGARS.

(By Kathleen O’Brien, in the Daily Chronicle.) The poor boy, digging in his fatherM little patch of garden, watched tho farmer go by in his pony trap. ‘‘How happy the farmer must be!” sighed the poor boy, leaning on his spade, “he has one of the prettiest houses in the neighbourhood, a fine horse to ride, and that dear little pony and trap. I expect he can buy a new suit of clothes whenever he wants one, while I nave to cut my father’s old clothes down for me. And he can have a good meal at least once a day, while I am often hungry when I go to bed. Lucky beggar!” The farmer, sitting in his pony trap near the market-place, saw the squire’s son standing beside his new motor car. “How happy the squire’s son must be!” sighed the farmer, “he is young, good-looking, well off, and has been to the university, where he will spend a lot of his time in town, where there is suca pleasure, brilliance, and gaiety as we country people never get a glimpse of And he will go abroad, too, and get to know the world; while I shall probably spend and end my days in the same little village where I began them. And now he has a line new car all his own. I had meant to have one myself this year, but things have gone badly, and now I shall have to put it off again. 1 wish I had had his chances when I was his age. Lucky beggar!” The squire’s son sitting in the dress circle on the first night of the new play t > which all London had eagerly looked forward, listened to the storm of applause that greeted the young playwright as he came forward, when the play was over, to make his speech. “How happy the young playwright must be!” sighed the squire’s son, “he has four other plays already running in London, and is easily the most-ta!ked-of man m town. How splendid to be s brilliant, witty and popular I I suppose I am betterlooking than he is. But looks count for precious little without something to back them, and I am a dull fellow for all they tried to cram into me at Cambridge. People are quickly bored by my society. Lord, I would give my good looks, and rny new car, and even my footer Blue, to be as brilliant and oopular as the young playwright. Lucky beggar !” The young playwright, leaning his elbow on the mantelpiece of his study, and his forehead on his hand, watched the embers dving in the grate He had not switched on the light when he returned from the theatre, and the red glow from the fire in the dark room was reflected in the plain, sensitive face that brooded over it.

“How happy that ass Lord. Summernoodle must be!” sighed the youn<? playwright, “and what virtue there is in a title! Like Charity, h covers a multitude of incompetencies. I should say he’s about as exciting as a hurdy-gurdy on a wet Monday. Yet Loretta has thrown me over ‘or* him; Loretta of the lily face. Loretta of the Madonna brows, Loretta . . . Tcha! Loretta with the soul of a gimlet. Heavens, her white beauty to-night in the part of Jessamine! So innocent, so fragile . . . icy-hearted, little devil. Oh, she loves me all righty she admitted that—but what would you, mon cher? One does not get a part like Lady Summernoodle every day in the week. I. saw him in the box while I was making my speech to all those cheering boobies, and I thought, my boy, I’d rive my brains, wit and brilliance for your title without the smallest hesitation, and take on your pimply mug into the bargain. Lucky beggar 1” Lord Summernoodle watched his uncle, the Duke of Squandermere, talking to a prominent member of the Cabinet. “How happy Uncle Squandermere must be !” sighed Lord Summernoodle. “He has such personality, such presence; he carries everything before him. Now, I am shy and awkward, and awfully frightened of important people, like the Cabinet Minister he is talking to. I know I shall h° under Loretta’s thumb when wo are married, and shan’t be able to call my soul my own ; and she won’t like me any the better for it. I’m not such a fool that I don’t know she’s only marrying me for my title. If I had Uncle Squzndermere's personality I could call Loretta to heel with the flicker of an eyelash, and she’d adore me for it. Lucky beggar!” The Duke of Squandermere watched the poor boy digging in his father’s little patch of garden. “How happv that poor boy must be!” sighed the Duke of Squandermere, “he has no worries, burdens or responsibilities. His life is a round of simple contentment. Whereas I have that little matter of the Quong Pong Jong Rubber Company on mv mind . . . five years’ hard if I’m found out, and I have an uneasy feeling that a Cabinet Minister has got wind of it . . . Position, wealth, personality! I would give all these in return for that poor boy’s peace of mind. Lucky beggar!”