HEART AND SWORD.

Otago Witness, Issue 2355, 13 April 1899, Page 49

HEART AND SWORD.

By JOHiV HTRASGB WINTER, Author of " Bootle's Baby," " Beautiful Jim," "A- Magnificent Young Man," " A Born Soldier," " Tho Colonel's Daughter," " The Soul of the Bishop," " The Other Man's Wife," " Regimental Legends," " Cavalry Life," " Strange Story of My Life," "Ho Went for a Soldier," " Mignon'a Husband," eto. [COPYRIGH T.] CHAPTER, XXI. —THE NEW MANAGERESS.

HEN Aubrey- Brandon uttered these words, " Lawrence Callaghan died an , hour ago," Kit rose to her feet and „ stood looking at him with a vague uncertainty in her eyes. '' I don't think," she began — then broke off short. " What did you say?" "I scarcely know what I did say," lie renlied; "1 can only tell you that poor LA-nrenee Gallaghan is dead. I happened to be dining with them to talk over some little clrmges in the new play. We were sitting togethei, smoking quietly and talking shop, when he gave a sort of gasp and clutched ;\t l>is heart. He was gone before I could ring the bell for his wife." ' She continued to stare at him blankly. " Is it a joke?" she said at last. " A joke? No, my dear girl, it is true." " And he is dead?" - " Yes, he was gone in a minute." Then Kit looked round at her husband. " I should like to go to her," 'she said, in the bame vague expressionless kind of voice. " I will take you," lie said, willingly. And then she made a step towaids the door of the box, where sho stumbled and fell in a dead faint upon the floor. " Get some water and some brandy ; you should have told her more gently," said Gregory, sharply. He raised her in his arms and carried her into the corridor. Aubrey Brandon, with a face like a sheet, rushed away in search of restoratives, and between them they presently got her into a private part of the house. By the time she came round sho was utterly unfit to do anything but go to her bed, but she persisted that she must go there and then and see Mrs Callaghan ; so a cab was called, and Gregory helped her into it, and together with Aubrey Brandon they drove to the- house of mourning. They were admitted instnntly. The poor little widow was outwardly composed and calm, frozen by dumb grief. She allowed Kit to hold her hmd, and together the two women went into the study, where the dead man was still lying stretched upon the sofa where they hid first laid him. • From that, moment , Kit's life was changed. There was one more theatre in the market and one more successful playwright open to new arrangements. Aubrey Brandon offeied, in his distress and desire to do his best for his friend's widow, to produce the new play exactly as if Lawrence Callaghan were still living. But Mrs Callaghan, who had been on the stage before her marriage, preferred not to risk any of the money which her husband had left behind on theatrical ventures. " No, Mr Brandon," she said, a day or two after the funeral, "it is awfully kind of you, and of Miss Mallinder, too, but I won't risk any of poor Lawrence's money by trying to make more of it. I've got my two little children to consider; there will be at least six hundred a year, and that is ample for them and for me too. I should never- forgive my.self if I went in for a venture which did not turn out well, and Mr Lavender has promised to be their trustee, and never one penny will I touch. I hate acting, and I hate anything to do with theatres ; and since there isn't Laurie's Lead to manage, I would rather (Jo on

smaller means. It is no pleasure to me r to live in a great big house. • I shall go back to the country and do the 1 best I <3aa for the children on what he has left , me I cannot thank either of you enough for offering to stand by me, but I feel that I am doing the best as it is. Thank you again and again for all your kindness and gcrdness to me — both of you." j

So the little woman passed away out of the theatrical world, and Aubrey Braudon and Kit felt that they had done their best to stand by their comrade's widow to the fullest extent that lay in their power. Her decision left them entire freedom.

"If you will take my advice," said Gre gory Alison to his wife, " you will have ai» least six months' absolute rest."

" I don't think," she answered seriously to this, " that it would be at all wise. People would say that I had been dependent upon Lawrence Callaghan's management, and that really was not &o. It was I who kept the theatre going, I and the play, « not so much Lawrence Callaghan's clever management ; excepting in that he secured us two. I won't decide anything without your concurrence, Greg., but the wisest tiling that I can do now is to ask Philip Lavender to advise me in any special ohance that may turn up. -He has such a wise head, and he is so far-seeing.and'clear-sighted, he will be able to advise me better than you, because he understands the ropes as nobrdy not in the profession could possibly ([-.'' To 'lh is Gregory Alison agreed, because 113 knew that the idea was a good one, and lie knew, moreover, that Philip Lavender's advice would be the very best that sin could possibly seek. She had many offers during the next few weeks. Her idea was, of course, to go on with the neAV play; the part had been specially written for her,- and was one in which ."he. was likely to make a great sensation of a different character to that which slid had caused by creating the part of Prudence Pasturell. At last Aubrey Brandon came to her with a proposal. She received a note from him asking her to give him an appointment as early as possible. " I have an idea," he said, "which I think is worth your consideration, and I should like you to hear it before I disclose it to anybody else."

She replied immediately, giving him an early appointment, and the following morning he' came to her at the Belvedere. " I have been thinking," he said, " over what we can best do now that poor Callaghan is no longer with us. The profits of ' Prudence Pasturell ' were enormous. What if you and I were to join forces and manage the theatre* between us? I believe that the new play will be a far greater success than 'Prudence Pasturell'; there is more human nature in it; your part is a more powerful one," . " / . "We should want a lot of money," she said.

"Lawrence Callaghan had not much money; he borrowed "• money when he took the theatre. I was entirely in his confidence s at the time. ' He Has leit his wife and children comfortably provided for ; nothing, of course, to what he would have made had he lived, but still a comfortable provision. I have not altered my style of living" or very little, since we biought out 'Prudence.' I don't feel inclined to risk all that I have made, but I don't mind going halves if you are not afraid to go in with me."

For a moment Kit did not spealri

"I cannot do anything," she said, "without consulting my husband. I have made a good deal of money, and I have not spent very much of it, but at the same time, for me it is a greater risk than for 3 f ou." " But you will have equal shares with me, and there is no earthly reason why we should not succeed," he explained.

"Y"es, that is so; and yet I feel that it is a risk. I must talk to Gregory about it. I should not like to decide anything quite of my own judgment."

The result of this conversation was that the> following day Kit went down to Northtowers, merely telegraphing the fact of her coming a few minutes before the train left London. And Gregory, it must be confessed, looked very grave at the scheme which she proposed to him. " I don't know, I am sure." he said, when she had unfolded all Aubrey Brandon't ideas ; "it is one thing to have a wife an actress, it is quite another to have a wife who is in business on her own acrount. What does Lavender say about it?' 1 "1 have not been to him." " Oh ! I thought you set such store by his judgment." " I do. so far as people and plays go, but when it comes to starting a theatre- -well, yoj wouldn't exactly go and take advice of another manager, would you?" " I don't see why not. I should say he \yl' i exactly the person you ought ♦«» .go. ; and take advice of. I don't know whose advice would be better."

"Well, perhaps yours would."

" Little Kit," he said at last, when they # ha.l dined and he had heard it all over* again, "you have not told m", everything that is in your mind. You came down here with another idea altogether." "Well, yes, I did. What I feel is '.his, Greg. Do you remember what you said when we were in town together the othfr day, that one da}', when you had moiwy enough, you would chuck the service. *nd gi into the theatrical management jo>wself?'"

'' OJi ' So now Ihf oat is out of the. bag, it it? You want me to throw up my onmmission, chuck the service, and go in for managing a theatre, do you? And how do yo-i know I should be of am r us* ir. a theatre?"

"In this way," she said. 'I find my business behind the footlights. I must either have 10 times the business he;jj*— X uavo or' else I must find some very trustworthy person who will consider my intelests before all the rest of the 'world. Now, I ask j'oii, Greg, whether I have gif. the business head to be on both xides of the footlights at one and the sime turn or whether you know any person wlio ■will absolutely consider my interests before Jus own or anyone else's. If you wen*, that per son J. should have no fear but that you

"would look Veil "after our- interests j you would do for us what you would not<dreara of doing for anybody else ■in the world. That is common sense, is it not V

"i suppose it is, and if I. hud all the money and could go into management as thw chief of the whole, affair independently of you, well I don't say that it. would no*, be an excellent scheme. But you are not asking me to do thak You are asking m* to go in as your steward. 1 donV feel inclined to do that. In my regiment I hay« my own status ; there is not much money to be made out of it. it is true, but the position is one which carries its standing with it. I should have no position your manager. I don't know the ropelrjt have not graduated in the dramatic profea^ sion, there is not the slightest chance of malting an actor out of me, and I thin)* 1 should be an arrant fool to give up f position which suits me, the only one fu* which I have been educated, to go :,n for one of which I am totally ignorant, and 1 shtuld mull the whole thing in every wajp. Have you any other alternative?" - "So far as this opportunity is concern^/* sifcid Kit, " I have only the alternative of going in as partner with Aubrey Brandon and doing the best' that I can' or 'going to another theatre, and being precisely where 1 was." " What sort oi a fellow In Brandon?*'

" You have seen him i"

;' No, dear. 1 didn't mean in that .way;, 1 mean, what sort of a man is he? What sort of reputation has he? I mean, is hs a straight man? Is he. a gentleman V"

" Oh, yes, .1 have always thought of irim_ as being as straight as a die. But, Greg, don't you think you could see your way to joining me? It is horrid to have you down here and I up yonder." >

" Well, to tell you the truth, I don't," he replied. "You see. I have always had my uwn position, and ). have not enough money of my own to let my own place in. the world absolutely slide.""

" I cannot see your objection/ she said vexedly. "If you become joint manager with Aubrey Brandon you would pay me my £60 a week exactly as Lawrence Callaghan did', and all the profits outside that you would halve with him. You would ba as absolutely your own master as you are now."

"No,'" lie said, doggedly. "I should hare no plate in the world but as your husband, and F—lF — I couldn't stand it. Besides.. I want to have the command in time. I gavo up the old regiment for you — that w.t.« bitter enough. You married a soldier, my dear, and t am afraid a soldier I shall ha to the f.nd *>f the. chapter, and nothing more. What do I know about theatres A My . only instinct of running a tfieatr* would be to say to everybody I met, ' Com* anl see the show to-night— charmed to send you a box ' j and when they got there, ' Come and have & drink with me.,' I am not' the kind of stuff that successful man&> gers' are made of; I should ruin you ia next to no time. No, I.tfill tell you'wkafcI will dv. Kit. You go in with Brandon- - I believe he is a good sort of fellow--and I will come up for every day of .leave I cm scrape together, and I will put mj lawyeis on to backing you up, and 1 will look at your bonks and all that sort of thing as much as ever you like. I wonder," he added, reflectively, pulling iiard a< his pipe, " I wonder whether theatrical accounts are worse than regimental accounts'/ By Jove, they can't be! "

She sighed. She was vexed and disappointed ; yet she had hardly dared to hope, for anything else. Perhaps it was a great deal to ask of a man. that he should give up liis profession, the profession of his choice, the aim of life to which he had always pressed ; and yet there seemed so little to gain! She was not mercenary; but it seemed to her that he was hanging on for the. chance of being killed and little else. Failing that contingency, he waa pressing forward for the chance of commanding his regiment. But that would not be a continuance ; command he never so wisely it would be an affair of five years at most, always in what seemed to her a position of slavery. Even as commanding officer he could not be absent for a day without leave, he must always be under somebodj' else. Here was a chance of bein*; for ever his own master. You don't .seem to see," she cried, " that you would not only be absolutely, your -own master, if you took thijj'- chance* but you would be absolutely mine-j-you Would pay me my salary!" " I shouldn't like it," he replied. " I shouldn't be able to jacket you if I wanted to. And T should exist only as Miss Mallinder's husband. I couldn't stand it, Kit, and that's the truth."

" I thought you loved me better, she said, in a voice that 'vas ominously tremu* lous

"1 love you well enough," he said, quickly, " nobody could doubt, that ; bub to give «p one's own line to rust in blindly where one does not know the road— • it would be folly, sweetheart, believe me." '• Would you rather that I did not veilture on it;?" '• Not at all. I think the general idea ia a good one. T will try and get two or three days' leave, and I will go back with you ; then I will look into the whole thing. We will put Searchem and Co. on to it, and if there is anything the least little bit; shady, you bet they will find it out." " I don't see how there can be anything shady, because Lawrence Callaghan wenfc in on borrowed money and he has left his widow about six hundred a year. 1 coiinot tell why Aubrey Brandon does not keep it all for himself. He has plenty of money — he must have made heaps of money out of ' Prudence Pasturell. ' "

" I can tell you why he wants you to go ia with him ; it is to secure you," said Gregory with a laugh. "I suppose you are still satisfied with the play? ' " Oh, yes, the play is magnificent — far beyond 'Prudence Pasturell.' We shall find a difficulty in getting the principal man's part filled, but Aubrey Brandon has .«omebody in his eye. Nobody I know, au unknown young man who has been playing in the provinces. Aubrey Brandon saya he is magnificent; and until he has made %

Xcr.don success ha 'will nos ruin tis in yric«." So it irao agreed between them. If the Jruth be told it had been a sorer temptation to Gregory to refuse her than anyihing that had before presented itself for iw decision; and the cause of his refusal yras curiously threefold. Pride had something to do with it, also want of confidence In his own powers, and most strongly of &11, there was that curious desire to hold fast to the sword. It was not exactly a desire for glory; if any fighting had come in his way Gregory Alison would have taken it as a matter of course, and would

Shave rejoiced in it, but he had no thirst L.^or active service, no longing to do great things and win great rewards. No, it was a curious contentment — a satisfaction in the everyday life of small details, a rebelling in the grind at which he daily and hourly grumbled, a love of the mess table, a feeling of at-homeness about his pcifonn, and, above all, a sense that in hia own regiment he was somebody, and in Miss Mallinder's theatre he would, aa he put it, give himself away with every moment that went by. They went up to town together the following afternoon. Gregory had had no difficulty -in obtaining a few days" leave, and they spent most of the time in the .driest of business consultations. Eventually Kit became joint lessee and manager of the Grosvenor Theatre, Mr Aubrey Brandon, dramatic author, being her partner. " Now, I hope that you are quite satisfied," J3aid Gregory to her, when they were dining together on the night before he had to return to * Northtowers. " You are at the top of < the tree now, your own mistress in every sense of the word, and nobody to say yea or nay except your partner, Bran-

"No," she replied, "I am not altogether satisfied. Satisfied so far as the business sid.3 goes, yes ; but I should have been happier if you had been the new manager instead of myself." "Anyway," said he, "we will drink yet once again to the success of the new development. Of course, we drank to it last night, hut you and I will have a fresh toast on our own account. Here is to Miss Mallinder, the manageress of the Grosvenor Theatre." She raised her glass and drank the toast in silence. A certain feeling of foreboding was strongly upon her; she could ill have defined it, and yet it was there. .*. ] " My dear," he said, " you are very triste | to-night; I have not often seen you like this. You ought to be happy, for- everything lies before you and points to the harbour of success." She looked at him for a moment or so without speaking. "I feel oppressed," she said at last; "as" if I had cast all upon a die and lost. Oft course, . Greg, if • harm, comes of this— = this new venture, you must never blame rr.e. I was l'eady and willing — nay, more tiian willing, I was anxious — to "put all pmver into your hands, to make you in reality my lord and master. You have chesen between your heart and your sword." "No, no; don't put it like that!" he cried. "I can put it in no other way. So far as money goes this is the greatest crisis of my life; and a sort of feeling is upon me that the crisis may embrace mere than mere money and business." (To be continued.)