THE BEST MAN.

Otago Witness, Issue 3215, 27 October 1915, Page 77

THE BEST MAN.

By C. Fox Smith.

(Copyright.) It -was high noon, and the sun, beating ■Town on the untidy little wooden town ot China Bend in its narrow, rock-bound valley, made the heated air quiver and dance. Nobody was astir. A Chinaman’s vegetable cart stood in the street, and a yellow dog lay beside it panting. A faint sound of jingling glasses floated out through the open windows of the Eureka Saloon. Far away among the mountains sounded the distant clanging of a bell. One of the daily events of the social calendar of Chin?. Bend was at hand. The intermittent clanging grew nearer; presently the West-bound train tolled its way into the station, and departed, leav* ing behind it one passenger and a small pile of luggage. The passenger—it was a young lady—--stood gazing round her with an express sion which slowly passed through th« various stages of bewilderment and blank dismay—dismay with a dash of indignation in it. “He—hasn’t come!” she murmured under her breath. “ I’ve come all these thousand of miles—and he hasn’t coma to meet me ’’ “I beg your pardon!” A strange voice at her elbow made her start. She turned to confront a tall young man with a brick-red face—rather redder than usual with shyness and per* turbation,—fair hair, and a look both steady and honest, if not particularly astute. His prospector's boots were very dusty, and his face was shiny with perspiration. “ You were looking for a chap called Barker, weren’t you?” he stammered. “Yes,” said the young lady between set lips. 'She would have liked to say volumes more—only she might have burst into tears instead. “Because he couldn’t come,” the young man blundered on, “ so we thought I’d better, if you don’t mind. My name’s Vernon—Dick Vernon. 1 daresay you’ve heard of me. I’m his chum, you know. Going to be best man at the wedding. You are Miss Bell, aren’t you?” He ventured on a timid smile. “Yes,” she assented frigidly. “I think Freddie has mentioned you. But still, I don't see why ” Her voice trembled. The tears were very near the surface. Then, suddenly, a flush of alarm swept over her face. “Is Freddie ill? I’m sure he must be ill ” Tlio young man’s red face grew even redder. “Well,” he jerked out, “he really is off colour. Nothing to speak of, though, I think it must he the sun. I’ve often known the sun affect fellows that way. It’s mighty hot around here, isn’t it!” “Are you sure you’re keeping . nothing from me?” Miss Bell insisted. “If he’s ill, you know. T ought to go to him.” “ No, no," Dick interrupted hastily, “.don't do that! Our place is a good way out of town. And Freddie 'll be round to see you first thing in the morning. It’s surprising how soon those little goes of—of sun come and go!” He shouldered her cabin trunk ami walked with her to the hotel. “I say. you know,” he blurted out, “I’m awfully sorry. I expected you’d be hopping mad about him not turning up. You haven’t He slightest idea how sorry he’ll be when he’s sobe—”—he pulled himself up with a jerk—“l mean when he’s better.” “ I’m sure Tie will,” said Miss Bell mechanically. She sounded tired and disappointed, and a great longing to kick somebody surged up in Dick’s mind. The longing was ‘ still there as lie trudged along the dusty trail-to the home which he had shared for the past year with Freddie Barker. Eoseland—that was the name they had chosen for the place—was a roughly-built bungalow, surrounded by a number of young apple trees, and a- wilderness of decapitated pine-stumps showing where a start had been made on the cultivation of the adjacent woodland. Moreover, somebody had been gardening. There was a trellis in front of the door, and two absurd little flower-beds on either side of a narrow path bordered with white pebbles. Dick marched past the flower-beds and under the trellis, frowning heavily: and, still frowning, crossed the threshold of the bungalow. The room within, like the garden, bora traces of an adorning hand. The few articles of furniture were decorated with strips of muslin, stiffly draped in awkward folds, and sundry'specimens- of China Bend bric-a-brac rubbed shoulders with hunting trophies, guns, and fishing tackle. And in the middle of it all lay Freddie, sprawling in a heavy slumber, half oii half off the carefully-trimmed couch. Vernon strode across the floor and shook him roughly. “Freddie!” He stopped, shouting into his ear. “ Pull yourself together, man. She’s come!” The sleeper opened his light-blue eyes for a moment and showed his teeth under his fair moustache in an uncomprehending smile. “ Shurrup !” said Freddie—“shurrupl I’m goin’ shleep!” “ How nice and kind' it- was of you, Freddie, to make me a garden. I shall always love it, you know—the dear, funny little garden !” M'l-s Bell was staying at the vicarage in China Bend until the wedding, which was to take place in a week’s time, and to-day she was visiting Eoseland. for tha first time. The chilling effect of Freddie’s non-

appearance at the station had not quite been dispelled for some clays. True to his friend’s promise, he had appeared the following day, full of regrets and exeuses. And yet —there was a feeling of constraint which Phyllis could not shake off. She wept more tears on her hard pillow at the vicarage than she had shed during the long years of parting from her lover. But the poor little garden at Roseland, and the awkward little masculine attempts at decoration which her wit promptly detected, were bidding fair to put everything right. “Freddie!” She took hold of his sleeve, looking up Into his face. “ I’ve got a confession to make.” Freddie grunted. Talk of confessions made him uncomfortable. “ I’d been thinking you didn’t really want me, dear boy. Almost wishing I hadn’t come. You don’t know how cheap I felt all alone on that platform. But it’s all right now. The little garden did it. See, I’ve found a rose on the porch. I shall always keep it.” “Um!” said Freddie. It wasn’t-a very intelligent remark, but it was the only one he could think of. And Dick Vernon, who had just come in while Phyllis was speaking, slunk out on tiptoe, scarlet to the tips of his rather large ears. A curious mixture of feelings was raging in his mind. He knew he ought to be feeling pleased that his efforts to make a welcome for his chum’s sweetheart were such a roaring success; hut all the time he was aware of an undercurrent of something that wasn’t pleasure at all. He stood with his hands in his pockets, staring with glium unseeing eyes across the valley to the barren ranges beyond. “ It’s my rose,” his rebellious heart kept saying; “my rose that she’s going to keep always, and she’ll never know.’” “But,” he reflected, “a nice chum I am to be feeling this way about another fellow’s girl. No, no, Dick, old man, this won’t do!” The morning sun, streaming in upon ’Dick Vernon’s pillow, roused him from a heavy sleep into which he had fallen after an unusually wakeful night. He yawned, stretched, and sat up. It was later than he had thought; and they must not be late, for this was Freddie’s wedding day. “ Freddie! Freddie! Turn out!” Tire words rang out loudly enough to reach every corner of the house; but no answer came, not even the inarticulate f;runt and yawn which formed the easemoving Freddie’s usual response to a morning’s summons. A curious feeling came across Dick’s mind that the house was empty. He jumped up and crossed the passage to Freddie’s room. A glance showed him to be right. However, he did not feel surprised. It was unusual, certainly,, for his chum to bestir himself so early; but than the day was unusual. Dick felt relieved—or tried to—because the bridegroom was showing signs of h suitable spirit; for the mood he had shown since Phyllis arrived had, so Dick anxiously thought, been noticeably grumpy. There had been several parties given by various settlers in honour of the bride, and at every one of them Dick had found himself compelled to play the part of cavalier to Miss Bell in Freddie’s default. And the trying part of it was that he liked it. He knew he oughtn’t to like it. He knew a fellow who butted in and took his chum’s girl was the meanest hound in creation, even if that chum were really a selfish sort of young waster, who took all e friend gave him and offered nothing in return. Dick had half a mind to clear out before the wedding on some pretext or other; bait po —Freddie might smell a rat. Dick set his teeth and said nothing. Well, it would soon be over. It was with a feeling of almost desperate cheerfulness that he set about getting breakfast ready, expecting to see Freddie walk in at any moment; and he was so deeply engrossed with his own thoughts, and the frying of the trout, that he hardly noticed the flight of time, until he realised with a start how high the sun had climbed in the heavens. The click of the rough gate relieved his dawning anxiety; but it wasn’t Freddie, after all. It was a neighbour who generally brought the letters up from China Bend, and he had one for Dick himself and one for Freddie. Dick stood staring down with astonished eyes at the one which bore his own name. It was from Freddie, posted last night in China Bend. And why should Freddie write to him when he could talk to him first-hand ? At last he bethought himself to solve the mystery by opening the letter. “ Dear Chum,” —he read—“ Sorry I can’t be there to-morrow. But it’s got to come out now. I was married two days ago to Mamie Brown. I’d have told you before only I was afraid you’d make me stick to Phyllis, and Mamie is the girl in the world for me.” _ Dick read the letter through several times before he grasped its meaning; then he sat down suddenly on the verandah steps, burying his head in his hands. A wild passion of exultation surged through his mind, a feeling so strong that it swept all his scruples before it. For a time he gave himself up entirely to the ' full tide of his feelings; then slowdy reason returned, and with it ft. highly unpleasant realisation. It was left to him to break the news to the bride. And such news, too ! Far worse than that he had had to convey when first he took the place of the defaulting Freddie; and a pretty cool reception he had got On that occasion ! Now he had to tell her that she was thrown over for Mamie Brown, the fuzzy-haired, painted, and powdered beauty who presided over the China Bend cigai’ette store. Who could blame her if she never spoke to him again?

His face was white and set as he saddled his pony and rode into the town. What a knock-down blow to have to deal the girl he loved ! Of course, lie might have pushed it off on to someone else; but that was not Dick’s wav.

He slipped his rein over the fence-post, and tramped with hanging head up to the Vicarage door. Phyllis was in, and a servant showed him into the bare little parlour to wait for her. Birds were twittering in a tree outside the window, and the blinds swayed to and fro monotonously in the breeze. Dick wondered how he should ever begin. He had thought it all out on the way into town, but all his neatlyturned phrases had hopelessly fled. There was a swift rustic of skirts in the passage, and Phyllis came in, closing the door behind her, and standing against it with her head held up defiantly. “Why have you come?’’ she said almost harshly. “It’s no use for you to come Dick stumbled for a word, then blundered ahead recklessly. “It’s Freddie,” he said miserably, “ I’ve come for Freddie ” “It’s no use,” she repeated. “I’m sorry. But I don’t care enough ” “I don’t understand,” said Dick stupidly. “ I didn’t think you’d know. That’s why I thought—it was up to me to tell you —being his chum.” “To tell me what?” asked Phyllis sharply. .“ There is nothing to tell. My letter is final.” “Your letter?” echoed Dick. He was lost—hopelessly at sea. “My letter. Didn’t he get my letter this morning?” “ Freddie didn’t have any letter,” said Dick. “There was a letter; but he was gone. And it was up to me to tell you. You’ll hate me, and I deserve it. I’ve been a mean chum all round. I’ve hoped and prayed for something to go wrong, and now I feel as if it was my fault. And I’ve been mean to you; I’ve let you think Freddie cared. It was me who made the garden and all that. I wanted you to be pleased when you came. And I’ve only made it worse. I’ve hurt you. And I’d sooner do anything in the world than hurt you ” “But listen,” said Phyllis, “I wrote to him to tell him I couldn’t marry him—■ to say I’d changed my mind. Isn’t that why you came?” “ No!” Dick shouted. “I came because he’s gone —gone and got married to a mopheaded beast of a girl right here in China Bend—and it was up to me to tell you and ask you to —to forgive him ” There was a short silence in the room. The birds twittered in the garden; the blinds creaked monotonously as they swung. “I shall have to forgive him for changing his mind, shan’t I?” she said in a low voice. “ Because —you see—l’ve changed mine ” And, after all, there is going to wedding in China Bend before very long; only Dick Vernon is going to play a much more ■ important part than the one originally assigned to him of “best man” 1