SHORT STORIES.

Otago Witness, Issue 3274, 13 December 1916, Page 60

SHORT STORIES.

THE WEAK SPOT IN HIS ARMOUR.

By Ralph Cobino

(Copyright.)

Harsden found a man suffering from leprosy, dying, avoided by the natives. Ho did what he could for him, but the young man died a few day 3 aiier Harsden reached him. Then Harsden came bade to Honolulu —back to the garden where the flowers ran liot in an ecstacy of colour, and where the woman he loved waited for hint. Ho hoped to live and die in Honolulu. But he didn't. He died at Molokai. Parkinson looked about the restaurant and recognised that at the table "where he and Mildred Hawes sat there "was comparative privacy. He expressed in a few pregnant sentences his despair of overcoming Mr Hawes's objection to him as a possible husband for Mildred. "My father is curiously lacking in sympathy," Mildred said. " And in the delicate comprehension that "would show him our point of view. I'm afraid we must face the fact that he will never agree to our marriage. But " " But " Parkinson leant forward — "but "

" I will never marjy anyone else." Parkinson drew a breath of satisfaction. " That's good hearing." " Some time and in some way things may come right." She shrugged. " For the present we seem to have used our last argument—and found it futile."

" I should like to speak to my Aunt Hampton abqut the matter," Parkinson suggested. " She's a shrewd old soul. You've not seen her? She's here for the first time in twenty years. She's been living in the Sandwich Islands. She's a charming woman, and has that delicate intuition you mentioned just now—that understanding of ..other people's moods that makes for sympathy. And she has a singularly persuasive tongue. If she talked to Mr Hawes "

Mildred interposed. " I can think of no works that would- influence my father. He's adamant."

"At least it's worth trying," Parkinson asserted.

Mildred spoke musingly. "If I could hear my father laugh I should have hope. I have always marvelled at his lack of humour. It's a sense denied him. And with humour go sympathy, intuition. I wish my mother had been living." Parkinson reasserted his faith in Miss Hampton. When they parted presently at the door of the restaurant he spoke of his determination to see her that evening.

Miss Hampton received Parkinson's confidences with just the air of sympathetic intuition he had looked for.

" Mildred Hawes " Miss Hampton dwelt on the name for a moment, her eyes on the floor. " Once I knew her father slightly—long ago when we were in our 'teens. So you love his daughter." There was a hint of surprise in her voice. "If you knew her!" Parkinson exclaimed. He became eloquent in the voicing of his feeling for Mildred Hawes. It was clear that for him there was only one woman who counted.

Miss Hampton recognised sincerity and replied to it. "If I can, I will help you." "You've an invincible sense of humour," Parkinson said. " That should be a strong weapon." "I do not think," -she mused, "that I could teach him humonr." She sat with her eyes on the fire, her fingers drumming the arm of her chair. " But I will go and see him."

studied Miss Hampton's face. "I believe you have some hope," he exclaimed.

She gave a deprecating gesture. "I don't know. At least I will do my best." _" To morrow evening," Parkinson declared, " I shall come to hear the result of your invasion. There's a touch of genius in the way you manage people." The next afternoon Miss Hampton went to call on Mr Hawes. She was shown into the library, a dreary room, lacking colour. And the man who came presently into the room matched it; he lacked the fine touch of vivacity. Something in the droop of his head and shoulders succested the carrying of a weight. " You don't remember me?" Miss Hampton queried. He studied her face. After a moment he said, "You were one of the Hamptons of Stanton Magna. Yes, I remember." He added, "Then you're aunt to vounoParkinson?" - °

She admitted this. Her eyes intently regarded the man who spoke to her.,. "You've come on his behalf?" " Directly—yes. Indirectly—on my own."

"Your own?" Pie looked his surprise. "I have come," Miss Hampton saidj "to tell you a story." She took tha chair Hawes drew forward.

"I have been abroad for a long time," she said. "For twenty years I have lived in the Sandwich Islands. I made one intimate friend there—an elderly American woman who lived not far from Honolulu. Her husband had taken rer there as a bride. When T knew her she had been a widow for several years. Her name was Harsden. She was a charming woman. At first I thought her singularly quiet. I can't define this atmosphere of quietness that was about her—one was conscious of a. stillness, a purposed repression of vitality. She h<ad a delightful place of her own not far from the sea. The garden Avas a riot of beauty; and as you sat in it you heard tho of the eurf tumbling in from the Pacific. I spent many hours in. that garden with Mrs Harsden. And after a time I had the curious feeling that there was a kind of passion in her stillness; it was as if the

repression of her manner was in its way as intense —as fierce even—as the roar of the surf or the gorgeous colouring of the flowers. One day I put this thought into words. And then she told me her story." Miss Hampton moved a little in her chair, more completely facing Mr Hawes. "I wish I could make you see that island garden as 1 see it. Picture to yourself a place that Aladdin might have conjured with his ring—colour everywhere, the scent of tropical flowers about you; in your ears the persistent music of the surf. And in the garden a white-haired woman telling her story. She had gone to Honolulu as a bride. She spoke of her marriage as an ideal mating, a perfect blending of temperament. Oh, they knew happiness—you saw the light of it in her eyes as she spoke. When she had been marnea about a year there came to Honolulu a man whom she had known before her marriage, a man who had wanted to marry her himself. She told mo that she had always disliked this man. He was of the type whose temper was his master. At Honolulu he was jealous, fiercely jealous, of the man who had been successful where he had failed. Yet outwardly he made a show of friendship." She moved her hands to the arms of her hair and tapped with her fingers on the woodwork, emphasising her words. "I must tell you that in those islands an enemy lurks—leprosy. There are stringent rules, of course. They ship the victims off to Molokai. I should think a man who ha 3 known Molokai would find it wonderful that laughter still existed in the world."

In the little pause that came Hawes heard the insistent tapping of her fingers on the arm of her chair. The sound was sinister.

" John Harsden was a tender-hearted man," Miss Hampton continued. "He was of the type who would respond instantly to a call for help. One day the man I told you about went to Harsden to-relate a pitiful story. In his wanderings about the islands he had come upon a sick young Englishman, alone in a remote spot where white men rarely went. He was too ill to drag himself down to the coast, a mere wTeck of a man who had cut himself adrift from white people in the days of his health. The traveller had stumbled on him during an excursion to a part white men rarely visited. For himself—we was bound to leave the islands at once; business called him. But if Harsden wanted to befriend a man in sore straits, alone in a desolate place . Well, knowing Harsden's temperament the narrator felt sure he would go. As a matter of fact Harsden did go. He found a man suffering from leprosy, dying, avoided By the natives. Harsden did what he could for him. I have explained to you that he was the sort who would do his best for anyone in trouble. But the yonng man died a few days after Harsden reached him. Then Harsden came back to Honolulu. He came back to the garden where the flowers ran riot in an ecstasy of colour, and where the woman he loved waited for him. He hoped to live and die in Honolulu. But he didn't. He died at Molokai. I should think that to the last he dreamt of the garden of happiness and wished he could be carried in with the surf to the feet, of the woman who loved him."

Miss Hampton lifted her eye 3 to the eyes of the man who listened.

" Don't you think it was dastardly not to tell Harsden the nature of the illness—to let him go unprepared? Harsden was sent to touch and aid a man suffering from a deadly disease. I think the one who sent Harsden to the dying man knew that in all likelihood he sent him to his death. It can never be proved, of course. But there are two women who believe it— Mary Harsden who tcld the story, and I who listened."

The slow ticking of a clock in one corner of the room assximed now a curious intensity of sound. It was as if steps came treading about the room out of the past. Miss Hampton turned her eyes from the greyness of Hawes's face. " The man I refer to—it is not necessary to speak his name —cam© back to his native country, married, and did well in monetary matters. I do not think he can have known happiness. I should like to know the history of his dreams. I should think sometimes, in fancy, he hears the roar of the surf tumbling in from the Pacific and shivers at the sound of it. But I do not know. These things are hidden in his own heart." Miss Hampton got to her feet. " That is my story. You have found it interesting? In return I am going to- ask you to give your consent to your daughter's marriage to my nephew." She spoke slowly. " I do not think that you have quite the right to refuse it." Hawes's voice came hoarsely into the room. " She can marry—whoever she wants to." " Thank you," Miss Hampton said. She added, " After all, you are hardly the man to have the care of a young and innocent girl. There must be times when you fear to meet pure eyes." She looked at Hawes's ashen face. "Tn Honolulu," she said, "there is a womnn who has memory for a companion."

She moved to the door, opened it, and went out.

The man she left behind put his band to his face and found sweat upon it.

When Parkinson went to Miss Hampton's flat that evening he found her sitting, head in hand, before the fire. At sound of his voice she lifted her eyes and he saw shadows in them.

"You have failed," he declared. "I see defeat in eves."

"On the contrary," she corrected, 3 have succeeded. Mr Hawes gives his consent to your mariage wi*h his daughter." Parkinson stared at her amazed.

"You actually triumphed!" he exclaimed. They joyously, ' Aunt Catherine, you're a brick, you're a wonder. You found him a melancholy man? Hard to

move? Did you prick him to the least show of humour?"

Miss Hampton shcok her head. " Perhaps," Parkinson suggested, "he never had humour. I've never heard him laugh. But you should hear Mildred laugh! The melody ,of it! She's the sweetest thing on earth. I can't thank you as you deserve to be thanked, you splendid woman. You've triumphed. But how? In the name of all that's wonderful, how?" Miss Hampton, was silent.

" It doesn't matter," Parkinson exulted, " since you did succeed." He laughed. " Perhaps old Hawes will conjure up a smile for our wedding." " I should imagine," Miss Hampton mused, " that Mr Kawes's lips go stiffly when he tries to smile."

" His daughter is a piece of embodied sunshine though," Parkinson triumphed. "And she's as good as she's lovely." I am sure of it," Miss Hampton said. And she sat marvelling at this miracle of Nature, the blossoming of a lily from a cankered root.