THE WHISTLER.

Otago Witness, Issue 2861, 13 January 1909, Page 90

THE WHISTLER.

By Frvxcik Camfblll. J He s,it in a great luimions chamber ' beside an iiimier.-e wiitms-table ; the winj dows before him opened on Piccadilly, ' but at that height, though one coi'id see ' the eddying tiaftic plainly, and hiar the i deep roar that ebbed and flowed coate- | le^sly from morn till night through that tideway of life, it s-cemed yet remote from all the rjoitc and ratUo. Tlis air w.s ' softened and stilkd. calmed into quiet by h's influence; the thick carpet was like ' green moss under the ieet. thf polished waH-3 l-jli'jcic-d th« iutaimittent firelight

in gleams of red and pearl and green, the heavy chairs, the gigantic writing-table, the glistening threads of gold in the brocade curtains, all spoke of wealth — as well they might, for theTe in that chamber sat one of the kings of finance, who was at that moment, by his own reckoning, the richest man in all the world. He pushed away the papers he had been poring over with an impatient gesture, and eat back in his chair, gazing out of the window before him— a tall man, with fine features and pitiless eyes, and thin lips that might have been carven m stone for all the humanity their lines betrayed ; a man who never smiled, people said, and who had forgotten how to laugh. "It might nave been more," he said, with a touch of acid disdain, '"but the fool bungled it in my absence.'' Then he fell to thinking of how many years it was since he had begun to lead gently, quietly, up to this moment, this supreme moment which gave his enemies into his hands, and bestowed upon him incalculable wealth and power. Heretofore he had been masked in this or that kinglj personality ; he had been a. hidden power behind, always behind, the throne. Now, at last, he would be what , he had always thirsted for — ths real and unmistakable force, that mvrut be reckoned with. Now that enemy of his was disposed of he would play his part right royally. Yes, as things were, happily, nowadays, there was no power like weailth, and with brains to it, bodily stiength and vigour. It had been a long tune, but worth working for. He took up a paper from the rest, read it over carefully, drew his brows together, and laid it down on the top of the pile before him. "Yes," he commented softly, "it has been a long fight, and at last it is over. I am the richest man in all the world." "In all the world !" He mused over the echo of his own words, and frowned that lie should have been betrayed into speaking his thoughts aloud. "I must never do that again," he told himeelf scornfully ; "a sign of mental weakness." ! And the very next instant he was repeating to himself that it had been, a very long time — and fell back in his memory to the privations and sufferings he had endured in attaining his end, to the difficulties overcome, the obstacles subdued and pr.£-:ed over, the thirst and ' hunger, the weary days, the long, dreary, ' lonely nights. At an end now ! He had reached the summit of his ambitions ; there were only thrones and principalities to be bought now, only Governments and Peoples to be set in the way he would. He gathered the loose papers in his long, beautiful hand, and sat clasping them while he pondered over tome knotty question they set forth. Yet on the whole he was satisfied, though, the coup had been bungled, because he was not there when it was made. The twilight fell, and the leaping flames filled all the brightly-coloured room. There was an east wind blowing outside ; he heard it in the chimney ; and the outside air was full of yellowish vapour. Through it the roaa.- of the traffic came dimly up to his unhearintg ears, till at last something reached him that stirred strange terrors in his soul. He curved a hand over his ear, and, bending forward, listened intently — hie breath coming in little fluttering sighs as if he were running hard. A fine, thin thread of music pierced the icy air, ascending to where he was »nd hanging over the dull booming of the traffic like a star above a whirlpool. Only someone whistling an old Irish dance. The sweet, shrill notes went lilting gaily on till right in the middle of the second phrase they stopped, suddenly ond abruptly, as if the whistle had been struck away from the player's lips. The Richest Man in All the World rose unsteadily and tottered across the room to the windoAV, and clutching the thick curtain looked down on the hastening crowd. On the pavement edge stood a lean, boyish figure, with flaxen head thrown lightly back and gazing straight at him. The Richest Man in All the World groaned aloud, and went unsteadily back to \us chair, wh-ere he collapsed, and groaned again. There was no terror in his face now, only despair ; ho had looked so many timts in his life for the one who had made that music. Always at such times as he had made a stride upwards to where he was now at last safely established. Always he had looked, but never before had "he seen the Whistler, though he alway.- knew him. "Jampb,"' he whispered to himself. "James— after all these years." I '"Seven-nnd-twenty years, Richard," said a voice beside- him," and he lifted his eye.s io meet thc^e of tlie Whistler, standing in the fiieiight with the whistle laid against his cheek, art! liis long, thin fingers flutteiir.g above the. holes. A country boy's whistle it wa.-, cut out of a grey reed, ' clumsy, but singularly sweet and clear, like the cry of the wandering wind across the mountain-top. ".Seven - anrl - tw-enty year«, James."' echoed the Riche.-t Man in All the Woild. " Ti« a loii'j; time!" " 'Tis half a lifetime." =airl the Whistler, looking full at the othor, and the Richest Man in All the World saw again that i strange iny*cic blue in them, pupil ar.d I iris alike, clear a^ the eye blight, and 1 fhinmg like stars ; eyes that were beautiI fill, gentle, .'weet. and looked as "if the : soul behind them weie somehow lacking: 1 and yet the Riehe-t Man in All th<j Woild understood that no knowledge was hidden from that soul — pithtr of this world or that on whose boundaiies v.c e-\er unw lttii^ly tmxl. "I hay coiiie for you. Richaid," said the boy, blowing it f"W faint, sweet notes on the' wh.i-.tle. and laughing lightly; the lau»h was like the wind, and the whistlo wa» like the lau^h, and both sounded fiom very fa>" olt' on a gieat height. Th> Richest Man in All the World instinctively capped hi-, papers tightly and tiied to s-p^uk, but hi.* speech wa& hoyn in kuu^ the boy played from the begin-

I niiig of the little old dance- till that same 1 middle portion, and once more paused with that same strange, muffled, gasping sound — the pipe still a.t his smiling lips. "For God's sake," burst out the Richest Man in All the World, "finish the tune, a ™ €S will finish it, Richard, if you will draw out, in God's name, the knife you struck to .my heart just there-draw it out, in Gcd's name." . He drew back his tattered coat and showed the- rich man something under his o-arment. The Rich Man cried out bitterly "I did not want to do it, he mailed. "The money was mine bynpto! He had no right to give you the fifty, pounds, you, the Omadaim— the fool. "I was the eldest-bom, Richard, whispered the Whistler softly. "You wore a. fool," protested the Rich Alan. "What would you have done with fifty pounds? You were hurrying to give half of it to old! Mary Scanlan when I met you. Look what 1 have made of it? I 1 am the richest man in all the world." , __, . „ , He flung the papers at the Whistlers feet and they scattered on the mossy carpet. The Whistler drew away from them, till nothing showed out of the gloom save' his white face and starry eyes and tho long fluttering fingers on the little "I see tears," he wharspered ; "tears and blood, and fire and flame. I hear little children crying in the dark, mothers weeping for theia- ' children, fathers crying for their sons, their daughters. I see ruin, destruction. "Is this what you have made with my i fifty pounds, Richard':" The lad's flaxen hair lifted off his forehead as he stood, half in dark, half in glcom, and the Rich Man's eoul died ■within him, for there was no wind in that great room, over Piccadilly, nor was therej the breath of wild mountain heather in the yellow air, or the sound of leaping water. "What would you have done with it, Fool?" he asked harshly, to disguise his fear. The Whistler played a bar or two, and the Rich Man stared at his bare feet on the green carpet. "I would have paid Mary-Scanlan's rent,'' he said. The Rich Man's mirth was horrible. "How like a fool!" he said. "Why, I have made your fifty pounds into mil--1 li° ns -" , "Your sorrow !" said the Fool ; " twill avail nothing where you are going, Richard." The Rich Man caught himself ' tightly in his chair. I "I am not goiflttj anywhere out of this room," he easped determinedly. "You ' are imagination. Go away !" "I 4m your brother, the Fool," said Ute Whistler, and he softly played over the little merry dance— breaking off abruptly in the middle. The R-ich-ast Man in All the World groaned in bitterness of soul. In futile agony of spirit. "Come !" urged the Whistler, "the way is long.'' He touched the Rich Man on the shoulder. "Can you think of e'er one you have fed, or comforted, or made happy in all these seven-and-tAventy years?" he asked softly. "If you can, 'Richard, call it to you now." Something in the Rich Man's brain went backward through the years, andi sought vainly, while the Whistler waited in the firelit room. He knew what had happened, and that all his millions would not help him. From the vain quest a little limping shadow followed him, and stood looking up at him with hunted eyes. " 'Tis the cat you fed the night you came nr<st to London," said the Whistler. "Take it up, for 'tis all there is to speak for you, Richard, and come with me." The Richest Man in All the World rose obediently, lifted the little shadow in his shadowy arms, and looked back on himself, sitting with down-b^nt head and loose, drooping hands in the great chair where he had made plans for Kings and Emperors. Outside the yellow mist on the drifting, icy wind, and the night fell silently : while before him sounded the echo of the whistle across the border of infinite silence. — Westminster Budget.