THE ADOPTION OF MR FOLINBEE.

Otago Witness, Issue 2513, 14 May 1902, Page 79

THE ADOPTION OF MR FOLINBEE.

By Maud Shields

Martin Folinbee lay dying. The light of a crimson and gold sunset flooded nis room. At his bedside stood his faithful attendant, John, friend and servant for over thirty years ; a shrewd, hard-headed man like nis master. "John," said the dying man, "I am what is called a self-made man ; I've worked hard all my life to amass money — and to what end? That it may pass into the hands of a fool ! I have striven to live honestly, to do right as far as lay in me, and my reward is to have bred an only son who is a fool." Here he paused for want of breath, and the servant did not contradict him. "Promise me that you will never leave him, John, or he will fall among thieves." "As long as I live I will abide with Master Lancelot," John said, solemnly. . jMftibiu Ediabes grogae^ " _ .:

"His mother couldn't even give him a man's name," he said irritably. "Lancelot! A son of mme — Lancelot!'' The light faded in the west, and the old shipowner's spirit passed with it through the golden gates. John pondered on these things as he counted the forks. The scene had changed to Lancelot Folinbee's flat in Victoria street, where John had taken up his residence as butler-valet to the young man who, rightly or wrongly, had been pronounced a fool by the person most capable of judging. There had been a dinner-party the night before, and John was cleaning the silver ere replacing it in its baize-lined safe. Mrs Lomax, called familiarly "Daisy"' — very familiarly, John thought — and her companion, Miss Winter, had been of the party. Now, Mrs Lomax was a prepossessing widow of some 30 years, and widows — on the undoubted authority of the immortal Mr Weller — are dangerous ; one of them being, on the same authority, equal to five-and-twenty "ord'nary women in pint o' comin' overyou." John had never heard" of Mr-Weltery but he regarded widows — or Mrs Lomax in particular — from a similar standpoint/ To Miss Winter he had no objection j she was a quiet-looking girl of some three or four and twenty years, who dressed becomingly — John had his own ideas on the propriety- of decollete gowns such as Mrs Lomax affected — but thei'e was a look sometimes in the girl's eyes that disconcerted him — so clear and blue and child-like one minute, and ihe next brimming over with the very spirit of mirth. Mrs Lomax had adopted Mr Folinbee — that is to say, she had pitchforked him into her set — the set that is called "smart" — in return for which she allowed him to pay for luncheon?, dinners, theatre seats innumerable, sat on the box seat of his drag, invited her friends to parties on his launch, called him Lance, and allowed him to call her Daisy — sometimes. A ring roused John from his meditations and told him his master wished to rise. At breakfast Mr Folinbee opened his letters, and John, pasting from sideboard to table, had ample time to study the contents of one ; it was a jeweller's bill for a diamond star. "When are we going to Barnslates, Mr Lancelot?" he inquired. Barnslates Was the parental roof-tree near Newcastle, a gloomy mansion in a well-wooded park ; and Mr Folinbee knew that when John suggested an adjournment thither there was thunder in the air.. "I shall run down presently for a day or two," he replied absently. "Yes — give me a little bit of cold pie. I — sr — daresay things want looking to." "Dootless the folks'd be glad to see their master a bit more than they do," John said severely. "You think they'd like to see a mistress?" Mr Folinbee asked .casually, with a very slight click in his throat. John laid the knife and fork down with the air "of a man who knows the worst and is armed. "I. don't think they'd take kindly to yen woman," he- said. "Meaning V" "Ye ken who I mean right weel ; the old master 'ud tu-rn in his grave, I do believe, if yon Mrs Lomax was mistress at Barnslates." "I think you're taking rather a high hand, don't you know?'' Mr Folinbee said. "It's time someone spoke to ye ; ye've neither kith nor kind to advise nor blame, an' I promised the old master I'd look after ye.' 1 "He didn't say I was to remain a bachelor all my life, did he?" "The man wasna a fule ; I hope meself time'll .=ee ye the lather of as bonny a family o' bairns as ever man had, but I'm not thinkin' yon woman's the mother for them.' Again came the click in Mr Folinbee's throat, but his face was perfectly serious as he said : "You think I might marry, then .' ' "I think 'tis your duty when the right woman comes along ; but not before.' Mr Folinbee studied an egg carefully with the assistance of his eyeglass ere he cracked the shell, and the conversation lagged. Mrs Lomax rented a little house down the river, a charming cottage, covered with roses and a vine, with a picturesque garden, radiant now in its summer beauty, a velvet, smooth ■ lawn sloping to the river, with one great, spreading cedar tree in the middle, and two or three charmingly-shel-tered summer houses where one might indulge in a siesta or a confidential chat without fear of interruption. One &uch was on the river bank, a sort of miniature pagoda, with carved lattice windows. It was a hot afternoon in mid-June. Mrs Lomax, in a diaphanous tea-gown, lay on the sofa in her dressing room, in the shade afforded by the sun blinds, fanning herself. "You're never going out, surely, Isabel?" she asked, as that young woman looked in upon her. "I'm going to look for a shady spot to read in." "To breathe in, you mean ; I wonder if Lance Folinbee will come down to-day? I wrote that we should stay a few days to get out of the dust." Isabel looked uncertain. "He may," she said. "I cannot think how you contrive to keep so cool," Mrs Lomax moaned, dabbing some eau-de-Cologne on her forehead. "I don't contrive — it's natural.*' "It's very irritating to people who have to gasp for every breath." "You shouldn't gasp ; lie still and breathe naturally. People lose half the things life has to give by striving after them ; it is better to take things quietly." "If you are going to talk like that I shall want to throw something at you," Mrs Lomax said. Isabel laughed, a quiet, low ripple of sheer amusement. Then she went into the garden, and across the lawn to the pagoda. A boat was moored to the steps under the sheltering trees, and the odour of a cigai&t&c trinripfl iwitih fo<> an^f kt *j^ roMfl. '

In no way disturbed by these phenomena, Isabel ran" lightly up the steps, and beheld Mr Folinbee stretched at full length in a wicker-chair, his coat off and his shirtsleeves turned up. "By George! isn't it hot!'" he saia, springing to his feet with more agility than his friends would have placed to his credit. "It was foolish to come ; yoii might get a sunstroke." "I always try to keep -appointments." "Appointments ?" "I asked you if you would be in the pagoda this afternoon, and you said " "Possibly."' "Your lips did, I know : your eyes said 'Yes.''' ■ > - i "Then they should have had more selfrespect." She sat down on the steps, the water lap-lapping at her feet, and the sun's piercing rays glancing tkrougn the leafy network overhead and making a gold and copper patchwork of her hair. '"You might say you're pleased to see me,"' he said. "I caa truthfully say that, for I want to talk to you." "There is nothing I like better than hearing you — I. came on purpose, and — and I want to talk, too." ''Then you must wait until I've had my say." "May ' I sit beside you and finish my cigarette? " — taking the permissoin as granted. '"Mr Folinbee^ — something of my history you Icnow, that I am penniless — and "' "That part doesn't matter a bit." "But you don't know that when my mother died, five years ago, Mrs Lomax offered me a home unconditionally. ' "I wish I had had the chance." He knew, none better, that Mrs Lomax never repented of the bivrgain : Isabel was maid, dressmaker, secretary, companion, all combined, at a wage no other woman would have accepted. • "She and my mother were cousins of a sort — so that it was all the more creditable on her part, because no one likes to have poor relations about the place." "Rats !" said Mr Folinbee, calmly. "Where?" "Never mind, dear — go on." "So I invited you here to-day " "You admit it?" "Yes — to say that you must never come again. " "Oh ! You could have said that on a post-card." "You myst know, Mr Folinbee, that people think you are going to marry Mrs Lomax?" "There are more lunatics at large than locked up." "You have given her presents."' "I admit the baksheesh/ "Then you are not going to marry her?" "Not while the present law exists. My dear," with a "quick change of tone, flinging the cigarette into the river, "I am going to marry you — you know it !" "Why not have told Mrs Lomax so all along?" , "Because she would have shown me the door, and we should have had to meet' at the National Gallery — or Madame Tussaud's. Think of it!" "She must be told now." "In a week or two ; it's too hot to-day, and she might send me away without any tea." "John is a bad chaperone," Isabel said, with a smile. "You will be more successful." Tben their eyes met, and he kissed her. A sharp ring summoned John to the front door. Mrs Lomax stood without. "Is Mr Folinbee at home?" she asked. "No, ma'am. He went to Newcastle this morning." "Suddenly?" "The business manager wrote for him." A telegraph boy came whistling up the stairs and thrust a telegram into John's hand. "Any answer?" he demanded. "Maybe," said John. "This is from him." It was — and ran thus : "Barnslates. Send clothes ; am going to Norway for a month. Was married to Miss Winter this morning. Will write further instructions. — Folinbee." John gave Mrs Lomax the paper with a trembling hand. "There is no answer," he said. The boy clattered downstairs again, leaving the foster parents staling at each other across the mat. John's voice broke the silence. "He is not such a fool as I took him for !" he said.