THE QUEST.

Otago Witness, Issue 3247, 7 June 1916, Page 78

THE QUEST.

By Winifred S. Tennant.

The self-made man sat cross-legged in the sand, and lazily watched the antics of a score of ragged urchins wno were playing with an improvised ball ot seaweed a little distance away. ‘‘Jolly little beggars,” he remarked, and raised his eyes to the woman who was seated on a flat-topped rock at his side. “Jolly? I think they are extremely dirty. In my mind such children should not be permitted to run wild on the rands; it mars the beauty of the beach for people •physically and morally clean.” The man turned and searched her face with the measuring glance of conjecture. “Still,” he said, “what finer playground could the poor little beggars have, and dirt is a commodity almost essential to happiness. Don’t you think so?” He looked smilingly from her spotlessness to the grimy ones. “And as to the possibility of them not being morally clean, Hennia, why look at that little chap with the bare head and patched breeds who is facing us now. With all his grime could you associate the thought of sin with such a face. Why, he might have stood as a model for a. picture of the Christ child.” At that moment the seaweed ball bounded across the sands and came to a resting place r‘ Hermia’s feet. In a twinkling the ragged ones wero hot in pursuit, and the urchin with the face of an angel and incidentally the longest legs, dived down gleefully to recover it, Tka woman drew her skirts aside with a shudder of distaste, which the self-made man noticed from the tail of Iris eye. .“Hi!” he shouted, and tossed a coin to the retreating boy with the ball. “Take your friends to the sweet shop at the end of the beach, and don t make beasts of yourselves.” In a moment the blot on the landscape had vanished, and only the trampied sand and a distant shout of laughter remained to tell the tale. “Once,” said the man gravely, T ran about the streets selling newspapers, in brown corduroy trousers, with a grey patch and miscellaneous holes.” “The newspapers?” “What? The newspapers? ITemna, you’ve made a joke. Congratulati ms 1 it was rather an ambiguous statement to make though. I’ve got them still—the breeks. and am modestly proud of them. In fact, Hermia, I intend to keep them as an heirloom.” “Your heirs will not be expected to wear them, I hope.” “I suppose not,” he agreed ruefully. “Jack,” she turned to him suddenly, “I wish yon would drop that imtatirig habit of referring so persistently to your past. When a man has sold newspapers in his youth, driven a water-waggon, been apprenticed in a glass factory ’ “And risen to the managership of said glass factory. Yes?” “If he’s at all a nice person he doesn t talk about such things,” she finished rather lamely. Jack gazed thoughtfully across the sand to where a bare-legged girl was busily engaged in pulling a length of kelp from the surf. Her purpose accomplished, with the waywardness of her sex, she left her booty stranded, and, ■ lifting her short skirts, went dancing back into the waves. “Then his scope of conversation would be rather limited,” he answered at length, without transferring his eyes. Presently the girl turned and proceeded to leave the sea, sending the water splashing from her feet in a shower > f spray at every step. “Gee!” exclaimed the man; “what a pretty kid!” “Rather a tomboy to be paddling at her age. Why, she’s seventeen if she’s a day.” “And with a wholesome appreciation of the briny,” laughed her companion. He was granted a closer view of the girl, for in a few moments she passed at less than a dozen yards, gave the two a direct impersonal glance, and sauntered along a rough path that zig-zagged up the cliff. Where the track terminated a small white-washed cottage stood facing the sea, built into the sloping side of the cliff. A diminutive garden lay in front, where periwinkles winked at the bluer sky and hardy pinks had found a footing in the unresponsive soil. The girl paused, turned to take a parting glimpse of sea and sky, then the door closed behind her, shutting her from sight. The following morning, coming from the pier with a wet towel over his arm, and the sunlight glistening on his rumpled hair, Jack spied Hermia in a beach chair with an elderly lady at her side. The latter ho recognised ms Mrs Fowler, _ at whose villa Hermia was staying. Swinging his towel he saluted the pair cheerily, and proceeded on his way, when Hermia waved her parasol and summoned him to her side. _ . “Jack, dear,” she said coaxingly, “Mrs Fowler was just suggesting that you should take us to -the pierrot performance after lunch.” “A thousand regrets, dear ladies, but my time is likely to be otherwise occupied. I have several important , letters to get away by the evening’s mail.” He passed on, conscious that he had been rather rude, and inwardly rejoicing in the fact that Mrs Fowler’s eyes were following him in a stare of surprised disapproval. He disliked Mrs Fowler, her manner, her husband, her dinner parties, and everything with which she was concerned. Probably had he taken time to analyse his aversion, he might have found that it dated from the evening when she had first pointedly

decoyed her hu-band into the library and left the .-self-made man and Keumia alone. Hcrmia was a good girl, although rather exacting, and something of a prude. She wasn't particularly young, but she carried her yeai's well. Jack had known her for several years, and he knew also, that although there was no verbal understanding between then!, Hermia expected him to marry her eventually. Later in the day, when his mail was despatched, Jack sauntered through the hotel doors and on to the beach. Time hung heavy on his hands, the pierrot performance was half over, the sands were swarming with nursemaids and their respective charges, stout matrons and ice cream vendors. He turned his stops to the farther end of the beach, where the cottage on the cliffs lay bathed in the mellow glory of the westering sun. Presently, after a brisk walk, an upward glance showed him that two people were descending the path from the cliffs. One was the pretty girl he had seen on the previous day, and the other was a slim, white-haired old man, who loaned heavily on his companion's arm as he walked. The two reached the sands, and the girl piloted her charge to a flat shelf of rock, whore he sat down. '•Blind/'" said Jack with a glance of pity into the sightless old eyes. A moment passed, then, 'with a surprised exclamation he walked across, and stood facing the pair. "Mr Burn ford, isn't it?" ho asked, hat in hand. "Who's that, Molly, clear?" The girl turned' gravely to Jack. "Grandfather cannot see," she explained quietly, "and apparently does not remember your voice." Jack readied for the old man's hand, and held it for a moment in a warm grasp. "I'm Warren," he said, "Jack Warren, apprentice in the glass factory when you were foreman. "Ah, yes, lad, I remember you. Blue you had and a shock of curly hair. A bright youngster yon were, and did well for yourself, as I "predicted. You were there when—when. You recollect. "The explosion ?" "Yes; that ktlied poor Micky Ryan and left me blind. They found you, Jack, in a heap of dust in the yard, blown clean through the open door, and practically unhurt. Molly, dear, take Jack and show hint your fairy pool. I'll just sit here and listen to the sen." They left him there, his old hands resting one on the other, and on his face a curious content. "That's what he does all clay," said the girl with a catch in her voice, when they were out of ear-shot. "He sits and listens to the sea, and it seems to compensate a little for what he has lost. He was a sailor once." Jack nodded, and gave her his hand to assist her over a steep stretch of rock. For a space they climbed in silence, the girl sure-footed as a chamois on the rous-h grey surface. The sea breeze had whipped the colour into her cheeks; the curls played hide-and-seek about her ears and the spirit of youth looked from her deep fearless eyes. "I trust the presence of a stranger won't scare the fairies out of your pool." "Molly laughed. "There aren't anv real fairies in it," she told him seriously. "They don't exist out of books, hut there are fairy colours, deep blues and croons and purples, and brown-backed crabs and little crinkly starfish. There it is " Jack stood looking down at the pool in the hollow of the rocks, where in the shadows a glorious intermingling of colours met the eye. Starfish lay on its clear bed, that seaweeds of various hues had converted into a marine garden, and an occasional crab scuttled into a crevice in the rocks, sending in its progress to the surface of the water a little cloud-like drift of sand. Molly stood on the brink with clasped hands gazing dreamily into the depths. Presently she turned and found Jack's intent eyes on her face. "You're Irish aren't you?" he asked suddenly. "Mother was," she answered," hut she died when I was very young, and now grandfather and I have only each other. Once, ycers ago, before grandfather was blind, he took me to her birthplace. We stayed at an inn where the fowls pecked round the table at meals, and the children of the proprietor fed them with scraps from their plates. I loved those little boys; they were so round and happy and dirty." Jack glanced sharply into her face. "It was clean dirt," she added smiling. "Do yon like my pool?" "Immensely." For a moment he was silent, with his face turned to the sky, his eyes deep with thought Then, "Once," he said deliberately, "I ran about the street selling newspapers." Ho turned, half expecting to find horror, or at least amazement, m her eyes, and discovered instead the light of interest. "I wore," he continued cheerfully, "the cutest little pair of brown trousers with a grey patch, and " his voice fell to a queer note of pleading, "I was simply rolling in dirt!" "Oh! Then you should havo washed yourself—sometimes." His face fell; but he rallied bravely. "Oh, sometimes I did, of course, in fact, fairly often." Molly leaned against the rock with laughing eyes on his face. "Go on," she begged earnestly. And Jack launched himself boldly into the story of his life, for in Molly he had found a willing hearer. He told her many things—told her of his childish outlook' on life, his buffetings, his slices of luck and finally of his success, and as he talked he watched the swift expressions of sympathy and understanding in her glowing eves. Also during his narrative, he took time to notice her sweet sensitive mouth, her short straight nose, the tilt of hen little rounded chin, and his voice fell silent in the face of vague, wistful dreams. "Why," said the girl at length, "you're that finest thing in the world —a self-made man."

He opened his iips to speak but checked himself abruptly. "Come along," she said lightly. "Look, the sun has nearly set, and I "must take grandfather home." Suddenly she turned, "Do you like sausage rolls and Chelsea buns?" "Well," he answered smiling at the sweet seriousness of her, "I must admit that my taste frequently runs in that direction." "Because if you'd care to join us, we're going to have both for tea." Jack did care. Moreover that meal in the little green dining room that faced the sea was the forerunner of others, and ol quiet evenings in the lamplight, when Jack read aloud to the old man, and Molly busied herself with sewing or simple household tasks. Sometimes she would steal to the old piano in the corner and sing little vagrant snatches of song that filled him with a vague souse of rest, lullabies that harmonised with the ceaseless murmur of the sea. At the end pi a week Jack made the disquieting discovery that the more he saw of Molly the less he wanted to sec of the lady who expected to become his wife. The knowledge came to him in the freshness of morning, when he was striding down the pier for his early bathe, as the rising sun came over the rim of the sea. to smile benevolently on thvs waking world. Jack preferred the morning more than the mature glory of noon, and fell to an inward discussion on the separate charms of eager youth and well-preserved middle-age, with an undeserved and wholesale condemnation of the latter. He swam ilis length of the beach, and from the water watched Molly lead her grandfather to a bench in the garden and retire indoors. There site remained, and disconsolately he returned to his box on the pier, rubbed himself vigorously down, and dressed. As he was fumbling in his pocket for the necessary twopence to nay for his accommodation, a sovereign slipped from his lingers, rolled a little distance, and disappeared before his very eyes down a crack in the boarding of the pier. Sometimes to such unlocked for" happenings may the source of the great things in life be traced. "Gone!" said Jack to the bathing attendant. "If yea can recover that, Charlie, you can have .t." He sauntered, and, leaning over the rading, stared glumly at the roof of the cottage on the cliffs. Presently he felt a hand laid on his shoulder, and turned to find Fowler looking at him. " Why so gloomy, friend Jack? You look as though you had lost something." " I have," remarked Jack absently. " A financial loss?" Fowler's eyebrows were raised to such a marked degree that they were almost hidden in his hair. Jack dislodged a pebble with his foot and sent it leaping into the sea. For a moment his eyes followed the ever-widen-ing ripples on the calm surface, then lie turned to Fowler with an impatient shrug: " Eh, Fowler? A financial loss?" A sudden light dawned in his eyes and a smile twitched the corners of his lips. "Why, yes. Undoubtedly. The simplest fool would be wise to that." "Much?" " More than you would cheerfully lose, Fowler." ' My dear boy, you c.n't conceive how sorry I am. Is there r.o chance of recovering it?" " Xone whatever," siirhed Jack, and walked en, leaving Fowler staring sombrely after him. Ho gave no more thought to the espisode until after lunch, when Fowler came briskly into the smoking room of the hotel, gripped Jack by the arm, and drew him aside to a seat in the window. "Jack," he said in a low voice, "I felt it my duty to tell Hermia what has happened, and hope I have acted for the best. My wife and I are much attached to the girl, and, as you may have noticed, have her interest-; very deeply at heart. '' We all know the unfortunate history of your past life, my dear fellow : but were willing to overlook it for Hormia's sake. There was, I believe, no real understanding between you, although my wife and I expected that, in due course, you intended to ask Hermia to become your wife. Now, my dear friend, under" the existing circumstances, Hermia sends her regrets, and trusts that you will be considerate enough in the matter to spare her feelings and make no further attempt to see her." Jack looked the pompous little person over with a withering glance. " A tidy little speech, Fowler," he said drily; "but might I ask what the deuce you happen to be driving at?" "What, sir, what! I—you surprise me. I refer to our conversation of this morning." " Our conversation? Now what Avas it all about? Ah!. I have it. You were condoling with me over a slight financial loss." "Slight?" " Certainly. I was careless enough to drop a sovereign on the pier. It rolled down a crack and into the sea. Fowler, present my compliments to Hermia, and tell her that, as a student of human nature, it grieves me to find that her attachment for me was measured by the spending power of a paltry pound." "Jack, Jack, there has been a regrettable error!" Fowler sprang to his feet, but Jack had passed from earshot, and, with his back turned, was chatting amiably with a group of men in a distant corner of the room. As he was dressing for dinner, a porter tapped at Jack's door and handed him a note. It read : Jack Dear. —Please forgive me. I ennnot unedrstand how Mr Fowler could have made such a ridiculous blunder. . Believe me I am utterly miserable, and shall remain so until I see my own Jack with forgiveness in his eyes. I

shall be at home to you this evening, anil shall expect you at eight.—Your.s, Heuiua. Jack read it through, smiled grimly, then, lighting a match, held the sheet of paper to the flame. Ihe moon came up over the sea, and flung a broad band of silver across the calm expanse to the shore. '• Orandfather's asleep, - ' said Molly, lifting luminous eyes to .Jack's face, "so I cam" down to interview the moon, and discovered you worshipping at the same shrine." "No," he answered gravely, " I wasn't paying homage to the "moon. TheTe are other shrines, Molly, if one knows where to look for them. I've looked a long time for my particular one, and now " his voice sank almost to a whisper—"l've found it." He fell into step beside her, and together they walked the shining -trip of sand to where the rocks rose in silhouette against the sky. In their shadow Jack paused, and, lifting Molly's hand held it fast in both of his own. "Molly," he said, "I wonder if you can guess what you mean to me. Little girl, could yon understand or are you still too much, of a child to dream of the miracle people call love. Dear, look at me." He peered soarchingly into her upturned face, and found his ' answer there, for although the girl had uttered no word, he laughed brokenly, reached for her hungrily with both hands and gathered hex into his arms. A moment passed, a. moment of unbroken silence, during which the man seemed to run the gamut of all human emotion. Tie felt the warm nearness of her, the yielding touch of her little brown hands, saw the starry wonder of the face so near his own, then the Goddess of Love opened the gate= of Paradise, and together, eager, a little awed, yet wholy content, they entered in. Herrnia sat in the open window with her arms crossed or. the sill. The moonlight streamed dov-T. upon her face, and revealed a frown of perplexity and irritation between her brows. Presently she glanced at the watch at her wrist,' and sighed. " Eight-thirty," she said. Jack is most abominably late. I wonder where he is now." And later in the evening she was stiil wondering.