SHORT STORY.

Otago Witness, Issue 2455, 3 April 1901, Page 58

SHORT STORY.

THE TAR FROM THE « ARMY.'* By James S. Tyler. It was reported that Captain Hartshone would marry Margaret Chapling. We of the -schooner Lucy doubted the stoay. Hartshone was a romantic sort of chap, fond of woman's company, and with some! social ambitions. Unfortunately he was poor, though everybody did not know this. He only owned a tenth interest in the Lucy and his salary as skipper was small. J How could Hartshone marry? He loved the girl desperately, for he showed m his every action that he was madly infatuated. His financial embarassment did not seem to interfere with his lovemaking, yet mosO men in his fix would give scant thought to matrimony. I, as first officer of the Lucy, knew something of Hartshone's troubles. My opinion of the girl he loved was anything but lofty. I felt certain that she was mistaken in the financial worth of her man. Perhaps, just a bit of an element of deceit had entered into his expressions of admiration for her, when it came to a question of income, and lie had misrepresented things to her. These and other confusing ideas passed through my head as I sat on board the schooner one evening awaiting the skipper's return. Mv trend of thought was suddenly interrupted by a call : "Mortimer !"' I lecogmsed the captain's voice. I turned toward the dock from my perch on the break of the poop. "Mortimer !" I looked toward the dock gate. The sun had gone down behind the tall city buildings, and the shadows of the old wharf were dense and confusing. I noticed a familiar tall figure standing in the halfclosed clock door. Quickly descending from my seat I clambered over the rail, and the dock stringer, to where the skipper stood. He looked pale and excited. Raising his hand he placed it on my shoulder, and, turning, looked (.traight into mv eves I commenced to fear that something had happened to him. "You know me, Mortimer." he muttered. "I trust you. I am both grieved and delighted. I scarce know what I am about You inav well look surprised, so hei*e goes for my story. Listen : "Margaret Chapling says that I canrofc marry her unless I promise her a good home, a fine horne — and I might add. servants, carriages, ard all that sort of thing. You know I have no money, but Mortirvpr " He stopped short, and motioning to me, added, "Swear !" I promised secrecy on my word of honour " I know where I can find wealth, ' he continued : "an old skipper friend of mine has died and deeded me Lis life's secret, a, valuable secret, Mortimer. He had gold, shipmate, a number of thousands' -worth of it, but he h% it hidden down the Santa Barbara const. You see, man, he was eccentric. He left me directions for finding it, but I must use great care, for there may be others who have an inkling into the truth that the old fellow did not die poor, but wealthy. Some of his crew may have solved the puzzle of his queer midnight iaunts alone from the craft's anchor 1 pc to the nil's, tf lam not deceived, and I c;et <his pold. Mortimer, I shall marry Margaret " Again he turned from me and his paTe fare was beneath the rays of an arc liehfc tint had ju&t sputtered into incandescent existence. " I think I can teacli her to love me — don't you?" I had mv doubts, but nothing in reply. only nodded my head We both then returned to the schooner. The day following we shipped a crew. Hartshone wished to put off for the Channel immediately. Margaret Chapling was at the dock to bid farewell to the captain. It seemed to me as if there were the very devil m her great grey eyes Hnt«hone appeared to

Bee no evil there. He was bewitched. He drank in her coquettish glances and followed her around like a dog would its master. He was her slave, and she knew it. At noon a curious thing occurred. A tall, parson-like man was driven to the dock in the waggon of a near-by ■sailor boarding house. The fellow was known to me as the "Salvation Sailor," and had been recruited from an adjacent "army " barracks. " Your name, sir?" I demanded. "Paul," he replied, with an abject bow. "Go aft. You're signed, I suppose?" He nodded affirmatively, stammered a bit, and added: "I have a chest, sir, a sea chest, which contains my books, my previous books. I never go to sea without them, •sir. You will please have the cook give me a hand with the box?" I turned away with a smile. A sailor •with a chest full of books was something out of the ordinary, even with an old sea dog like your humble servant. Walking aft I turned to catch a glimpse of Paul and his heavy kit going over the rail galleywards, assisted by the steward and accompanied by a chorus of curses from the man of the stove and pantry. I could not help but laugh aloud. . Paul proved himself one of the best hands on the ship. He was dreadfully religious. He was the SOI3 source _of my amusement on the trip, for Hartshone was seldom on deck except during his watch above, and tKen he would have little to say except to refer to the girl he loved. The Lucy swung into a quiet cove one bright morning, five days out. Hartshone came on deck. He was really happy. Paul, for whom he seemed to have taken a great liking, was at his side. A boat was lowered away, Paul, the captain, and myself got into it, and with a few hard strokes •were soon at the beach. Up a narrow trail we went to the top of a tree-covered hill, Hartshone, filled with nervous energy, running ahead of us several hundred feet. We reached the door of a broken-down cabin that was "hidden by a mass of tangled foliage from view from the harbour below us. "'The Ehove!," shouted Hartshone. A few yards of earth were removed after hard work, and a small iron chest raised from the hole. Hartshone fidgeted in his pocket and produced a key and opened the strong box. "In bricks, not money. That is strange. But then he was a queer fellow," he mumbled as he applied the acid test to the copper-coloured blocks. They are gold sure enough. Seventy thousand or thereabouts. He stepped to the cabin door and looked out through the tangled vines upon the smiling ocean beneath, the thin white beach and the manzanitas. His eyes were filled with, a joy that I had . never before observed in them. A smile played about his lips as he lifted his hands above his head and exclaimed passionately : "Thank God, I can marry her now. It all seems too unnatural to be true. 1 * . We hauled the chest down the steep trail to the boat and rowed back to the Lucy. Hartshone placed the box in the after cabin and only Paul and I knew what it contained. The Lucy was then headed back to San Francisco. I fell to studying Paul. I had a sudden suspicion that he was not what he professed to be, but as Hartshone examined his gold every day to see that the bricks were not disturbed and always found them in their places, I commenced to think that I had misjudged the man. One time I saw him soon after the moon had gone down and only the binnacle light - shone on the deck, shedding a dull, nebulous glow, flit like a ghost from the cabin doer. "Who's there?" I shouted as my heart gave a leap. "Only Paul," came a soft answer at my elbow and in my half-startled, half-angry mood I could have kicked him. I must say that I felt much relieved when ■we entered the Golden Gate ; more so when -we secured a berth at the dock, and I saw Paul go over the side, dragging with the aid of two hired small boys his cumbersome sea. chest. Hartshone was radiant. I even thought him handsome ; he looked so happy. "Thousands," he chuckled, striking me on the back, "and a pretty girl in the bargain." I was always sceptical. "Have you examined the bricks lately?" He squared about. "Come ; I shall show you the beauties, Mr Doubtful." In the cabin he opened the chest. There they were, sure enough. My suspicion of Paul was baseless. I thought myself an ass. •'You will come to my wedding, Mortimer?" he asked as I clambered up the gangway, bent on a trip uptown. "Yes/ captain, and may good luck continue to be with you." The words were scarcely out of my mouth when two officers of tha police approached. They were looking for a man, they said, who had worked for Captain Bliss. "Bliss !" ejaculated Hartshone. "Bliss was my dead benefactor, the man -who has made me rich." "We want this man Paul," coolly replied the detective. "He is a clever bunco swindler, and has been indicted on two charges of conspiracy." Hartshone bolted back to the cabin and I followed close behind him. "The acid, quick, Mortimer. Could he have "' He never finished the sentence. With trembling hands the wretched man applied the biting fluid to the metal. It turned a dirty green, and then black. The bricks •were brass! . I waited to hear no more. My only thought was to find Paul. So I darted up a narrow street to the sailor boardinghouses. He was, of course, at none of them. The police were summoned and scoured the town, but could find no trace of the thief. It was understood by the officers, •who had known the secret of old Captain Bliss's hidden wealth, that Paul had a&sisted the old character to mould the real bricks of gold, but Bliss had never told him the hiding place of the treasure. When. Bliss left his secret to

Hartshone Paul saw his chance. He had been waiting for it for years. He watched the Lucy. Paul knew that Hartshone was preparing for a journey to the spot where the gold was buried, and a bright idea occurred | to him. He played the part of the salvation sailor, moulded a number of brass bricks the same size as those he knew Bliss's property to be, and then he packed them into his chest. I now knew the reason for the "books," in the sailor's heavy box. The brass bricks had been substituted for the gold. Paul had the genuine metal with him, and wps nowhere to be found. Several weeks of unsuccessful search passed, and the police gave up the chase. Hartshone had vainly pleaded his love with Miss Chapling, but she coldly snubbed him. One night I felt my way into the dark cabin of the Lucy after a day up town. I fell against a bulky object on the floor. I put my hand down, and it encountered something clammy and damp. With difficulty I found a match and struck a light, and' the sight that greeted my eyes was enough to startle any man. My hand was | covered with blood, and at my feet lay ; Hartshone, dead, with a bullet through hi? ' forehead. On the cabin table was a note explaining that he had taken his own life. A weak man, an unfortunate one, and a cruel, cruel woman ! Miss Chapling, with sly tact, shammed prostration and genuine sympathy. She i left town in two weeks, and it was not very long before I heard of her marriage to a Utah banker. '

The Telegraph department intimate that the Chefoo-Taku cable is interrupted. Steamers leave almost daily.

Tea now than ever, and what ia more to the point, they are such excellent judges that they know a good article when they taste it. As a natural consequence, the sale of ** KUKOS" TEAS is increasing in leaps and bounds. If you hava not already tried "KUKOS" TEA, do so at once; it is obtainable from leading Grocers and Storekeepers throughout Otago and Southland

so quickly! No, Gabrielle, J don't think there is anything specially attractive about the New Magazine , neither in matter nor manner 13 it lemarkablo. The address is The Editors, Imperial and Colonial Magazine, 72-5 Turnmill street, London, E.C. MS. is preferred typewritten. Illustrations when possible I have only seen the first number, bo cannot judge of the style. Kindest remembrances to yourself and Eve. Will wntp at firct leisure, dear. Otaheite. — (1) No ; several stylish gowns have lately been made without. (2) Scarcely, pearl passementerie would be in better taste , old lace or good chiffon prettier still. (3) No; that is no longer the case. (4) Yes. (5) The bride's paients. (6) Either falling back from an aigrette of feathers or orange b'ossoms, or with one point falling over the face just sufficiently to conceal the face. (7) White serge ; Cuban or dahlia red, with white vest=, furs, an^T hats ; or heliotrope of a violet shade, combined with white satin and paste buckles. Would any of them be pretty' Violet — Your letter, my dear friend, was a great pleasuie to me, for I have so often wondered how you weie "getting on, to vise our expressive colonial phrase, though I have never had time to write. I did think your verses on the death of our beloved Queen so beautiful, Violet — you will see later on — and I am sure you will approve the use to which lam putting them. Indeed, dear, I-am sure you^ must be busy, and even if tned — happy, and that jour friend's visit was a delightful refreshment to you. It does one so much good to look at oui own lives through other people's glasses sometimes, does it not 9 Rose. — I really cannot saj r . All dressmakers have occa=ional misfits, and I suppose she is not peculiar in that respect. If you gave the matter a thought yo\i would recognise the | utter impossibility of a. writer in the press j recommending one dressmaker in preference | to another. I can onlj' advise you to try the different shops until you find the one who suits you best. J

There are now about 25 men working on the Heriot-Roxburgh extension, and another relay i» expected*