SHORT STORIES.

Otago Witness, Issue 3332, 23 January 1918, Page 65

SHORT STORIES.

THE UGLIEST MAN IN TH2 PARISH.

By E. M. Stout

[All Rights Reserved.]

"Saunders, my man, I dunno as I've ever really seen as yer was that ugly ; but now, as ye've took the prize fort, there's no gainsayin' it." Saunders chuckled; he was smart at chuckling. "However yer weren't ashamed of putting up for .such a thing I can't say; but yer always was a queer 'tin !" The "queer 'un" chuckled again, the second time, to the irritation of his wife, who exclaimed angrily, "I've no pashuns with yer, Saunders, and yer never look worse thau when yer a-laughin'."

"I've not heard you find fault with my laugh afore to-day," replied her husband.

"Nor I ain't heard alore to-day as yer could get the 'ugly prize,' " she answered sharply, her face flushed with wounded pride. "Well, weD," he answered soothingly, you're the one to make the best of a bad bargain; and I reckon if that prize means that I'm the best at ugliness " "Humph! Folks 'll not think much of my chice." 'They'll think a lot o' mine, though, when they sees you!" And for the moment peace was restored, and Mrs Saunders was so far mollified as to have a look at the prize. Saunders drew from his pocket a silver watch, and placed it in the hand of his critic. It's a good, 'un," he said; "I've had it valley'd. It's worth two-pounds-ten."

"To think of it, though," she whimpered, "as yer should have took the prize for sheer ugliness; it's as queer a notion as I've heard tell on. Did he pick yer out, or how wa* it?" "'Twas this way: he's been sellin' things under the hammer every night for the last month, and last Saturday he gev out as he'd gev three prizes the day afore he left—one to the parents of the finest baby, another to the prettiest mother, and a third to the ugliest father." "Who come out as the prettiest mother?" asked Mrs Saunders sharply. "Molly Ford; and she did look well."

"Molly Ford ! .That doll. W T eli, there's no accounting for- chice; did she congratulate ver?"

"She_did something ,o' the sort; but I didn't heed her remarks." "Wot'll Bob say?" - "He'll be proud on't."

"And of b.ein' : the .son of the ugliest father? 'Tain't. much to boast on!" and Mrs Saunders leaned hard on the iron she was using, and as .she- bent over'it a "tear of mortification dropped on it and fizzed itself dry. The tear was unobserved by the ugly man; but he noticed that his wife stooped tiredly, and, taking the iron from her hand, he backed her into an arm-chair and continued the work, whistling "When we were married." The clock ticked a cheerful accompaniment; the fire glowed brightly, and was reflected in tjje brilliance of the shining kettle; the yearold baby slept peacefully in its cradle, the rough-haired terrier dozed at its feet with one eye. open, as is the manner of its kind. Every now and again the pleasant silence was punctuated by the deposit of the iron on its stand by Saunders, as he freed his hand- to uncurl and edge or to rule out a faint, smudge. As he worked his wife watched her prizeman and reflected. •

The quiet was interrupted ;by a noisy thud at the door, followed by the shouts of angry boys, and in burst Bob, beside himself with .excitement, His face was swollen and bleeding,, his collar shapeless and stained with blood, his jacket half wrenched off his back, and his cap mudbespattered. His father looked keenly at him, and his mother only suppressed a scream to obviate a baby chorus.

"I've guv it him, Ihev," panted Bob. "He'll get it harder next time, he will." "Wot yer been up to, and who are yer talking of?" demanded Mrs Saunders. "I've been nghtin' big Ford, 'cos he told wot ain't true. I'll teach him to tell lies about my father." "Lies! Wot did he say?'' "Said as 'ow you took the prize for bein' the ugliest man in the parish." "It's no lie. I did- See here," and Saunders drew out his silver watch. "Then it's all true what Ford said?"

"It's true that I took the prize for being the ugliest father in the parish." "Don't matter; Ford needn't ha' said it. I'm glad I walloped him; it'll take some of his cheek out of him." "It's added to yours, Bob."

"That watch is a stunner!" said Bob. "I bet Tom Ford would think so too." "Just yer hold yer tongue about that watch, Bob," said his mother; "and don't let me never hear yer talk on that mad folly to nobody; and yer'll bide at home till yer face has gone down, or there'll be more chatter at school, I know." Bob had' no objection to "bide st home," and once again peace and quietness prevailed. It was a custom with the Saunders family to receive their friends on Sunday afternoons; it made a change both for themselves and their visitors, and was an event regularly looked forward to by all concerned. Occasionally the married folks brought their children, with them, to Master Bob's personal satisfaction. Then, too, it was that the respective mothers compared notes, or contrasted their offspring, and an interchange of views took place as to whether Tommy or Milly, Molly or Willie, was the most "favoured" father or mother. The yea.r-old Saunder 3 was a pet subject'for discussion, and eyes, nose, and mouth were duly criticised. But on the Sunday following the prize-taking a decided check was given to all comments

on the personal appearance of Baby Saunders.

Mrs Brown's friendliness and motherly .interest in her neighbour's progeny had reached the culminating point of' " the bu-ty boy; he's iv.' image of his dadda." when she was startled by an unexpected, protest from Mother Saunders. It's glasses yer'll be needing, Mrs Brown, it yer can't see folks better nor that; but there's them as can't see no difference between a hangel and a monkey!" " Why, dear me, Mrs Saunders, I'm sure I meant nothing but kind. It's proud I am when frms say as 'o\v my uns favour Brown, and I' thought "Well, Mrs Brown, purvided as yer can see without yer glasses, will yer look at Saunders when he's a laughin , and then tell me, after that, if ye're the 'art to say as this *ere blessed child comes up to that likeness!" The ebullition cost Mrs Saunders many a little pang in her calmer moments. She had clearly given herself awav in her Sunday evening observations *to Mrs Brown, for what did the sense of her words amount to if not that she had made a "poor chice"? Trulv, she had meant to ignore all remarks directly alluding to Saunders's prize; but, then, 'ints she couldn't abide. That Mrs Brown's well-meant .commonplaces had been uttei *ed on many previous Sundays, and had hitherto been kindly received, never occurred to Mrs Saunders. What did occur to her was the irony in the wordsthe bu-ty- boy; he's the image of his dadda " —the ugliest man in the parish. IN or was the parish blind. True, it had been either blind or oblivious so far as Saunders's ugliness was concerned until the North Country auctioneer had inaugurated the competition and awarded the prize, but sines then it manifested a remarkably clear vision—in fact, it was all eye. It peeped out from behind window-curtains; it turned back at street corners to stare; it stood at its shop door, with its idle hands under its coattails, and watched its ugly man as •ha passed—in short, its observation was always on the- alert, and its entire ear inclined towards Saunders's pocket, where it listened to the tick of the prize watch. It did more. It sent its naughty children to - sleep with a threat of the ugly man and his whip, though where he kept that scourge no one knew. Did the children of the parish mischievously pull grimaces, the likeness to the ugliest was instantly descried. The parish had had its mind* made up, and sealed with the silver watch. This being so, who would be audacious enough to try to shake it? One morning early in summer certain of the parish fathers met to consider applications, should any be forthcoming, in reply to an announcement displayed on the vestry doors: "Wanted, nurses for the sick. Those having had experience in cases of smallpox specially invited to apply here between the hours of ten and two o'clock." The good fathers waited patiently, enough the first hour or two, discussing the black outlook should the fell disease continue its strides. But by ono o'clock their patience was exhausted. Neither man nor woman had applied, and this in spite of the fact that the epidemic was making ravages in the homes of the parishioners, and in the little hospital which was full to overflowing. The town was cut off from its fellows, business was in a trance; Death was reaping hie har-: vest, and his servant, Disease, was branding with his disfiguring iron those whom he spared. Such as escaped the one and the other shut themselves in with -their beauty, more afraid of losing it than their lives. A scare was on all; rich and poor were benumbed by a terrible fear of " the plague that walketh in darkness." The good fathers looked in each other's faces in dismay as two o'clock struck and not a single application had been received.

Well they knew that the fine, resolute women- who worked night and day in the parish could hold out unaided no" longer; help, must be found. Perplexed and sorrowing, they withdrew from the vestry, one of their number locking the door, for their usuai attendant was lying dead in his house at the moment. "Your servant, gentlemen." wereMhe words that arrested the progress of the trio. It was the ugly man who spoke. " Mebbe I could do a little, just now.'' " Ha! Do a little?" asked one of the three. "Nursin', sir. I could give 'em drink, and tend 'em, and follow out the dcctor's orders. Some of 'em is alone, sir, ,and moanm' shock'in'." "But are yon used to the disease? Are you not afraid?" "I'm not used to the smallpox; but I could follow instructions: and wot should I be fearin', sir?" "Well, well! Go and see the Sister in the hospital. Tell her no one else has applied, and ask her if you can render her any assistance. Stay, man, what money do you want?" " Wot I earn when .I'm at my usual work, sirs." " What's that?" " Thirty-five shillings a week, sirs." "We'll make it forty-five on account of the risk. You won't be allowed home.'' " No, sir. ' " Very good. Let .us hear hovr th« Sister decides. Sister's decision was instantaneous. "You're a God-send, Mr Saunders.' We'll set you' to work at once." Together they proceeded to the men's ward. " One moment, nurse," said Saundera as they reached the door. " You'll instruct me' 'ow to save 'em—their good looks, you know?" "What to do to prevent pitting," said the Sister. "Oh, yes, 'tis simple; I'll tell you. The disease is' very virulent, and many may be thankful if thev escapa death."

“Some, might choose it before disfigurement,” he replied quietly, and there was that in his tone that touched the woman s Heart. “It’s a vain world,” she answered; “ and we’re most of us born fools.’ Entering the ward, the Sister introduced her new assistant to the patients, gave him some simple direction, and withdrew to bid one of her worn-out helpers rest, as relief had come in the person of a goodnatured man (she was not of the parish herself, and was therefore unacquainted with Saunders’s sobriquet). Eor the next month the new nurse was unremitting in his care of the parish. He shook up its pillows, made its, bed, lifted it in and out in its weakness, fed it by a spoonful at a time, measured out its medicine, was solicitous over its beauty, and tender in Iris tones as he an. vvered its oft-repeated qu.ry “Am I disfigured?” almost before it was asked. He appeared never to rest. By day and night he was ‘)on duty”; his energy was marvellous. Was the parish restless, fevered, parched, his presence calmed it, and he was always at hand to hold a cooling drink to its aching throat and burning lips. / ' . One afternoon, the first on which Saunders had found a few minutes’ leisure, '’ho was seated beside the bed of a man who had invariably turned his face away at the approach of his nurse, offended by his personal appearance. On this occasion he had summoned him to his side, and Saunders, feeling no grudge —his weakness was his refuge, —had complied with his request. The patient lay silent for a time, thinking. “Nurse,” ho said at last, “I dreamed of you last night.” “Of me?” “Yes; I saw a party of villagers all dressed in white garments standing round you, and they sang over and over again the same words, and the words got a hold of me.” , ; “Do you remember them?” “Yes”—hesitatingly, —“l mind them .well.” “What was the song?” “It ran this way: For though the cup Be earthen bowl, ’Twill hold the juice of grape! ' Then up, up, up— And judge the soul. And not the outward shape. , I heard The choristers talking together, and one said, “The ugliest man in the parish has the most beautiful'soul.’ And another answered, ‘ I know it; but mortals are blind to SOUL BEAUTY.’” , “You were a little off it,” said Saunders simply. Wild talk’s a feature of this disease. I’ve had several of ’em raving.” “It was the sanest dream I ever dreamt,” said the man, “and, God helping me. I’ll not forget it.” “When you’re strong enough sea breezes Tl do you good; they’ll blow away fancies.” But neither sea breezes nor land breezes blew away from the mind of the parish the influence of the beautiful soul of its ugliest parishioner. It has known the soul’s patience and selflessness, its strength and tenderness, its peace and - calm dignity. It had looked more attentively at the marred face, and its attention had discovered there lines of beauty and grace. It grew apt at interpretation, and read in varying expression the motive. The Earish in its sufferings was peevish and ■ritable; but it was at times teachable and grateful, even folding its hands humbly and thanking God for the “gift of this His creature mercifully ministering to affliction.” Before it rose from its sick-bed it shyly acknowledged its love for the “ugly” man. It did more: 'it acknowledged its jealousy for the good name of the object loved. It grew pugilistic in its new mood, desiring to fight any whose short sight could not see to the “other aide of ugliness.” When it rose from its sick-bed and grasped the hand of its gentle, patient nurse it expressed its contrition by the act,, and fell to hero-worshipping. “You ought to bo a proud woman, Mrs Saunders,” said one of the parish Fathers as he met that worthy dame, when the bloom of health- was once again on the village. • “Your husband is a fine fellow, ■ a very fine fellow; he is the most popular man in the parish, I’ll be bound.” --- , “Ay, and the best-loved man, too,” said the vicar, who had come up as they met. “Mebbe, gentlemen, mebbs,” she replied. “I’ve ’card say as ’ansome is as Vnsorne does. Yex can best judge if thA-'e’s meanin’ left in them words after the prize ho took.