A QUEER STICK,

Otago Witness, Issue 2541, 26 November 1902, Page 74

A QUEER STICK,

'_: • .ißv Mjwtp Newman.

■(For the Witness.)

: He wasjnearly 46 when Lena came into iic worlcfc ..--.,. .. } His landlady «aid he was a confirmed .Ijaohelor, ani after she had had her second cup ot'tea with her visitor she wouldvolim-lew-the information that he was a queer ■ - - t ' ' r.-People called him close, mean, miserly;' jand enterprising mothers did not long'continue the •practice. ~of asking him. to their picnics and musical evenings. A man who ifas no small iaJk and a scanty amount of geniality is usually at a discount in society. j. For 10 years before Lena's, advent to S country township he had 1 boarded at t Flint's tidy, comfortable house, at the of the main »treetj«fid. for 10 years-the /Worthy landlady had ironed' his' shirts -and torched\b^;Su^dayf suit, "whichVwaa grey, . wad-;hi»: Monday -suj*, /which; was Ibrown, pnd. all. t^ changes of. various-coloured ■'. sorts. %hich "he. possessed -for' each day of - tt*>*«efc i-; ailiid »ot in- all that" lame had - Anything Approaching a murmur come to bet lip*.- -If people called him niggardly, ptit Flint knew better. If outsiders and ijnere acquaintances found him gruff almost to boorisimess, and his friends—=who were sew;—knew him to possess a vein of cynicism tpat would, come into view at unexpected corners in his quartz-like nature, Ito, Flint also knew., better. dark night, irhen John Flint fell Bve-r a cliff and was killed, and left his rife iwith a small boy. and a sheaf of bills/ ? lid not Jonathan- Rail come to the rescue,; Jad by the aid of » slip of paper and his: [eat, precise little signature* caused the jurefttening- clouds of "jwveiffcy to ,-b-ldw. Inty from before the sun of prosperity? Jrj Flint never could forget it, and- *he »Uy brushed an .everlasting.' gratitude into i 4« >oott and suite: Sometimes he talked - to jiev M she set hi« late.dinner 1 in.the ' ittje front room Ithat looked upon a row f 4tL«*y l|lacs and a few stunted veronicas; anj i| was not often. It was usually'she 'ho held the conversational reins and drove ihe gossip gig at her own pace. '„ '. Jonathan. would'never have admitted fy o «nyone-*-rib£ even to -himselfr-that he ' ound.her chatter pleasant. He imagined « iffw a woman-hater,.He had jbiad $•. " ialoye a year or";two,be-^ ore he came to'^the" town>hip:; v. jPerhap> " !Hat»pconnted:fpr"the'kirik* in his Views of; - rbmenland love/,and the gentler^de of wnian-awCure. And hit were wounds that rfcurig long—^very.long. She certainly had; jreited' him^badly-^nere-was no dbubfr^of, *at;' but at t&e time""he forgot to.rememjer «he was only 17, and as the years lipped by and'bitterness rankled in the wound he also forgot that he had' been 16 rears her senior, and that he had expected uer to possess the dignity and experience »f maturer - years: - He J • onfy-' remembered' ihe had broken their engagement, and had married another. He was a short, latlian-looking man, iritb, a.pale face and grey eyes,"that were o*u*lly rather stony -in expression. He Rfßrlked with a slight limp. Several times bus married sister had tried to persuade bun to take the bonds pf matrimony; but ■he lived in the city, 20 miles away, and " its Jonathan visited'her twice,- only in the jyear, her attempts proved futile. Even she jjjjave him up at last. , Then Lena came. Mrs Flint announced Ihe fact one lovely summer -evening, when the setting sun was glinting through the braslin curtains upon his dinner table. Fold Trumble's house has been let at last, ]nr," she said, as she pushed the vegetable jUsh before, her boarder. ," Jonathan was-absorbed in a mental calculation as to how long it .would take his |nen at th^e mili to- put through the amount k>f wool they had-just received. He seemed Abstracted. ■ ;Mrs Flint held the theory that business ' !»£as business, and should not be allowed to. encroach upon the rights of the dinner hour. '£>he- repeated her remark a little louder." . ; >l Ehf Oh, yes-^-yes. Who's got it? " jßaid s Jonathan. - . ! ''fNice people, sir," replied his landlady. says she knows Jane, their serthey come from the same neighbourfcood in the city. There's a widow and a Haughter. The daughter's rather pretty,(Bridget says., She has hair the colour of Worse, of yelJow daisies, or suchlike—but a. can't see where the beauty comes in." ' Jonathan smiled. "It depends upon the fcolour," he remarked; then frowned suddenly, for his old love's hair had been a fcich gold..and he hated to think of her. Mrs Flint became garrulous, as she saw *he had Jonathan's attention".

" They came over from Sydney, not lone Ijto, and are here for the summer. The old lady's delicate. That's why they've come. ZThey aren't partickerly well off, either — like most folks, they have had their ups and downs." She sighed heavily. : Jonathan smiled grimly at the recpllee)ion that he had been fortunate enough in bossessing Fortune's smile. His bank account amply testified to that. He took up ' his paper as a sign of dismissal, and discreet Mrs Flint withdrew. ' "Gad," he exclaimed, as he ran his eye Jown the mining list, "Hartley and Riley's %rt all right. I must wire to-night to stop the sale of those shares." He rolled up his fcerriette, and went to the window. "Seven hundred shares— hum— Jonathan, old man, f-ouVe struck the thing- this .time." He stood, for a moment, watching the red irad -gold .of,the jsky.as.it peeped through . the. tall. gnW trees down by the woollen jnill. _ Then.' feeling for his keys, he went but for his hat. *- The, gold of the sunset made him think of the gold in the girVs soft, fluffy, hair, — years ago, — and it irritated him. As he sauntered down towards the telegraph office he wondered why fixe thought of that dead

long age- clung so persistently to his mind. H* wondered what had given it life. Then he remembered Mrs Flint's description of tfe? girl with gorse-coloured hair. In spite of himself, he smiJed at the simile. And to his surprise he found himself wishing to see the .girl, even if it were only to draw a comparison.

. . . . • » . • Three weeks passed by. In a month it would be Christmas. The may trees had shed their shower of white and rosy petals. TJie . lilac ..blooms .had departed, hand in hand with the apple blossom. ;O!d .Tfuinble's. garden was filled with lupins und geranuims, -wallflowers and early pansies. Daisies covered the tiny lawn., - Jonathan could catcE a glimpse of .the blaze of flowers as he passed the gate 'every morning, and occasionally he paused to get a better view. For, if there was one thing he loved, it was flowers ; arid, like love, they, had corns to him in scant measure. His work allowed no time for gardening,, and he had become too attached to Mrs Mint's dusty lilac border to dream of moving elsewhere. One day his wish to see the golden hair was fulfilled. He was crossing the street «s. she stepped out upon the verandah, and wnen + he ; .j>aTssed--the gate he caught a full view^of "a/ slim slip, of a- 'girl in aholLand dress,, with a pale : oval face, shaded by soft,, fluffy," reddjsh^hair,.,which the^mor-ri-ing! sunshine was -converting into one magnificent glow of. molten gold. Jonathan paused spellbound. Then, passing his hand over his eyes, as if he could not see aright, he walked down the street with a dizziness in his head. "Am I- dreaming?" he cried ; but the familiar sight of children, clustered in. groups in the school -playground ; the noise of the train as it swept into the station ; all the landmarks, of gum trees and mill, of distant hills and' stretches of tussock — all testified, to his being awake. He went to his mill, but .no work could he do. The -girl's face danced up amongst the figures and smiled at him just as he had seen her ! smiling to herself on the garden path. -That other girl's face danced also, until the two were blended into one vision of loveliness. Jonathan groaned. He raised the frosted window of his office, and looked out into the sunshine, across the smiling country. But his thoughts were very gloomy. The fresh breath ot morning stirred the papers on his desk, and brought him back to himself. Then he did a wonderful thing. Locking tip his: 'books, he made for home. As* he turned the corner of the* street he saw the doctor's horse tied to old Trumble's gate. His., pulse quickened. He hurried across the>,ftrs<& j/-i. . . V Mrs Flint^ wholhad teen looking through the muslin curtains, of the front room, disappeared' to open ,. the door. > . . ' „- '!,l^wks,.sir!"'she cried, '"what's wrong? You're 'home so soon!" . He jswept by 'her, _' muttering something about keys. In a few minutes. he returned,' but paused- a. moment on the doorstep. "Mrs Flint, what was the- name of the family who took old TramhJe's house? Was it Wallis?" Mrs Flint looked up in surprise. Jonathan's hands were trembling, and his face wore a -peculiar expression : ' just as if he were trying to appear indifferent. "No, sir, not Wallis. Finch is the name." "And what's wrong?" He waved his hand' at the horse as he spoke. "Probably the old. lady, sir." t .Then Jonathan, having received the information for which he had left ' his miM, rushed out of the gate in precipitate haste. His landlady looked after him with some curiQsity, and not a little amusement. "Clean daft. A queer stick, but a kind one." -•i • • » "Bridget says the poor girl's fair stricken. Her mother's terrible ill-like, and they are so hard up." "How does Bridget know?" Jonathan was quite snappy, as he looked up from his evening paper/ ' " She heard from their servant, sir, of course ; they are great friends. The old lady must go Home to England if she is to be saved. The doctors don't understand her trouble." ' "What doctors?" Jonathan spoke carelessly. " • /' They r had the local man a few days ago —the day you came home unexpected like — and he said they ought to have the best men from the city. Two of them came ,down yesterday, and after a consultation last night, said it was a hopeless case unless 'the daughter could take her to England. Which of course they can't do. The poor girl — Miss Finch, I mean, sir — goes about with a white face, and eyes as dry as dry can be. and so cheerful-like when with her mother. They have no friends here, Bridget says." "Very sad; very sad." said Jonathan, throwing himself into his armchair. The evening wore on, _ and Jonathan was still buried in his papers. At last, as the little travelling clock struck 9, he sat up suddenly. "I can easily say I thought they were relations of some old friends. It is the least I can do to inquire after the old lady." In a few minutes he was ringing the doorbell of the cottage across the way. That call ever afterwards lived in his memory as a hazy, indistinct picture of a sweet-voiced girl standing up, straight and tall, in an old-fashioned room — a room whose furniture and portraits testified very clearly that they were the flotsam of a financial wreck. He never could what it was he said first ; but he nfust have given the girl to understand a good deal in a very short time, for he awoke from his dazed state to find she had passed from thanking him for calling to little items of news of her relatives in Geelong. He couldn't Temember afterwards if he had mentioned them or not ; but at anyrate, she was telling him all he wanted to know. "I knew Miss Mary Fincb very well, ,long ago," he said, anxious for her to continue. She. seemed surprised. " We were children together**

" Indeed? Poor thing ; she's jlead now." Jonathan stirred uneasily. " I did not know that," he said, quietly. "When?" " A year or two after she married. She was never strong." " Pardon me," he said ; "but you remind me of her very much." •» "All my relatives tell me that," she said, simply ; "I never saw her."' And very soon afterwards Jonathan returned home. . • The "following day he took the train to the city, and for several hours was closeted with his lawyer. • . « • * • * It was the day before Christmas — a rough, squally day, with blinding dust, and hats afar. .Jonathan stood by his little window, looking out upon the street. * His thoughts were rapidly passing and repassing over the events of the previous weeks, and- he tapped the window sill with impatient fingers. "Whenever will he come," he muttered, | and .then took solace in living again in the j happy hours he had been spending of late. in old Trnmble's cottage, and amongst ' Lena's flowers. He could feel again ..the genial influence' of the woman's friendship,- ; | and "could 1 hear the sweet tones of the girl ! | as -she sang to -her mother— and --to him.<| And life seemed richer and 'truer and better than of "old, and he knew the reason. , It was barely 9 o'clock, but "the postman for whom he waited was always punctual. There he was at last — striped uniform, -mailbag' and / all. -Jonathan's heart beat like an ! excited-^child's ; as .he saw him .'enter old j Trumble's gate. "The moments .seemed I weighted with lead, until he caw the door open and the letters taken in!* Then he left the -window with a smile, and went away to work. Night came hone too soon for Mrs Flint, and with it Jonathan, who entered the front door with ' even more deliberateness i than usual. The landlady met him in the • passage/ She was quite unable "to keep the news till later. r . " Oh, sir ; such news ! Oh, sir ! such a blessed thing has happened ; but perhaps you know. Bridget told me, and I was so knocked over by the news I couldn't j say nothing. My! but they are pleased!" She ended with a gasp for breath. ' "Whatever are you talking about, my good woman?" said Jonathan, irritably. He was anxious to wash away the dust from his eyes. " Oh, sir ! a relation of the young ladj''s — of Mrs Finch's, I mean — has died suddenlike and left them £2000, and now they will go Home to England, and the old lady will get better ; and, oh ! lor, sir, it's the best news- I've heard for a long time." - Jonathan went into his bedroom, and with a satisfied smile shut the door. - • » • « • "I am an old man, and am full of fads," he wrote a couple of hours later — "old, compared "with x y.ou, that is, and sometimes I am an 'exceptionable >bear ; 'but life has been very lonely, and at times cruel .... But when you came things were different. You had sunshine in your hair, sunshine in your eyes, sunshine in your heart. What wonder some of it crept into mine? . . . Could you put up with a queer old stick like me? Am I too old to dare win your love? I long to see you — to hear you — yet I scarcely dare. If I niay — if you see that it is not impossible, will you come out into your garden? I shall be waiting. . . Jonathan." Twice he tore up the letter in a dissatisfied way; but at last he thrust it into an. envelope. He opened the sitting-room door and called down the passage. Mrs Flint came forward from the dim recesses of the kitchen. - " Send Bridget over to Miss Finch with this," he said. "Any answer, sir?" Mrs Flint turned it over critically: Jonathan laughed. "I don't know," he said, and smiled again as he re-entered his sitting -room. A quarter of an hour passed. He must give Bridget lime to get over. Twenty minutes — half an hour. Jonathan grew tired of the sunset and the sevrated gum trees. The twilight fast turned to darkness. Presently he would not be able to see if she did come. - The evening stars peeped out by twos and threes. A dog barked several houses away, and the wind moaned in the chimney. An hour had slipped away. Jonathan's face grew pinched. The expectant light in his eyes faded. He let the curtain drop. Then he caught it again, and pressed his face to the pane, as a dim, white something came out into the sweet-scented garden. With a sudden shout, he seized his hat and was gone. His landlady, peeping out of the front room windows a few minutes after the door had banged, wrinkled her brows in a very knowing way. "I hope I'll get as good a lodger again when he is gone,'' she said. Then she ! added, as he disappeared from view, "He's a queer stick." Perhaps she was right. [The end.]