THE "THIEF"?

Otago Witness, Issue 3335, 13 February 1918, Page 58

THE "THIEF"?

A SKETCH. By E. M. Stout. ' [All Rights Reserved.] " ' What's bred in the bone will come out in the flesh,' and' to my mind that explains it all." The speaker was a dogmatic Englishman; those to whom ha spoke were two women —the one fifty, the other thirty-live years old. The talk had been of honesty—was it an acquired virtue or inherent in certain typos? The man was well-to-do; he had a substantial banking account, and a prosperous business. He did not remember any other time; his aged mother did, but he was then an infant just able to toddle. The two women were of very different appearance, and equally dissimilar as types oi character. The elder woman did not look her years. Her greatest asset was a head of wonderful golden hair, great coils of glittering, silky gold. Her eyes were blue, clear, and frequently fearless; her forehead high and broad; her nose too small for the rest of the face, which was big and broad. Her mouth was wellshaped and capable of a rare smile. The whole face suggested serenity; but there was a mystery about it, the serenity being overclouded, wiped out, overcome, as it were, by a deep melancholy. The younger woman might well have stepped out of mediaeval times. She was several inches shorter than the elder, and her face suggested to the observer that of one who was constantly on the border of insanity. One felt as they looked at it that its owner possessed an old soul that had spent ages in an inferno and had not long emerged therefrom. In that inferno an incessant struggle might have been experienced as the soul in bondage sought to free itself from the tyranny of those who held it. Having escaped, "so as by fire," the terror was still upon it, the hideous fear that encompasses as with thick darkness. Her eye 3 were large, and of a dark brown. The lid of the left eye slightly drooped. The long upper lip and the prominent upper jaw told of an animality not always easy to subdue, even had the owner sought self-repression rather than selffulfilment. The complexion' of the face was an unhealthy, unattractive grey, as though immediate ancestors had indulged in strong narcotics. The hair was a light brown, fine, and worn in a natural style, low on the head. The whole face was meagre, and the narrow, pinched forehead suggested a selfish and narrow creed. There was an agility of movement and a mobility that lent vivacity to her, and when.she spoke with her Edinburgh Scotch brogue one momentarily forgot the idea of inferno. She was possessed by an intense individual consciousness, which held itself aloof from the general consciousness, and revelled in its own Ego, as if there were no other. One could not listen to her conversation for five seconds without recognising that for her the universe began, continued, and ended in self. Her credo in its evolution had been instrumental in slowly ridding her of all that could in any way' incommode her own, immediate desires. "Be good to yourself—l am always good to myself" was a favourite phrase repeated to the older woman, who seemed as though under the spell of the younger. They were not always together—the two women and the man. For the most part the younger woman was away, and on this occasion was spending her annual holiday of a fortnight with the other two. The elder woman, who was called Betsy, was unmarried, and kept house for the man, who had been a good friend, howbeit she was loth to acknowledge the fact, for hers was a difficult nature to please. Silent for the most part, and slow of speech and movement, there was a depth in her of which at times she herself was afraid, and shudderingly drew back from its contemplation. There was in the woman an enormous capacity for happiness, and therefore for misery. The same was true of the man. The younger woman had had enough of misery in some past inferno to deliberately shut'the door on everything she considered approaching it, and to open it wide when she fancied 6he heard the footstep of Happines drawing nearer. Happiness must not pass her by. She would grab it with both hands and feet sooner than it' should do so! The three were lunching away from home—an unusual proceeding"; but it was the younger woman's holiday. They had just finished soup, and were awaiting the arrival of the waitress with the second course. "I say emphatically," protested the man, " that honesty is inbred. What's your opinion?"—this to the elder woman. She was half-startled by being thus immediately addressed. She was think inj? of the younger woman, and how vapidly the precious days of the holiday were passing. " Yes. I think as you do," she said, scarcely knowing what she uttered. "And you?" he demanded of the younger woman. "Me? Oh, I'm an opportunist. . . ." He gruntled. " My mother was a very honest soul," said the elder women. " And so was her mother—l've heard my mother tell it, with prido." "Anvbody with half an hour can tell that you come of honest folk," said the man. "I can't imagine anything but sheer starvation that could make you steal." But she did not hear his remark; she was gazing at her dark friend. "Is that so, Betsy?' asked the latter. " I . . . don't know. I've never thought about it. I've never been tempted that way." " I tell you," said the man, " you couldn't be tempted into thieving, Betsy." The waitress arrived with the second course, and all fell to eating. Again she

cleared the plates, and a conversation ensued on the various diners at other tables. "For weeks before you came," said Betsy to her friend, "I walked all over the place to find out the best hotels and tea rooms. ... I could never quite make up my mind which you'd like best." "Oh, this is all right," answered the dark woman; "I wish there were music, that's all!" "You want too much for youf money," said the man.. He had no illusions about her. He saw her selfishness, and contrasted it with the selflessness of the fair woman. "I've as much right to my own opinion as you have to yours, surely," she answered. " Betsy, look at those beautiful cloves there in that vase. They're so fine: how I should like one!" "You can see them," said the man. "What more do you want?" " I meant to wear one. Betsy, I think they're lovely. I'd steal them if I dared. Betsy's blue eyes grey luminous. In a moment she leaned forward and drew from out the small green bowl a fine blossom—the finest of the lot—and passed it across the table to her covetous friend, who commenced to tuck it in her waistbelt. The incident had been noticed by the diners at a near table opposite. * The man's face had flushed to a deep crimson. He could not believe the testimony of his senses. Betsy . . . a . . ( . thief !! I "What . . . the deuce. . . Betsy I" he cried, and, leaning forward, peered into her face. "Are you daft ... is it you, who have done this' 1 -. . . you, whose mother and grandmother were so honest? . . . Why, I could have sworn you'd have starved sooner than . . , steal." " So I would," she said, looking at him calmly. "And," she added, "if you don't like what I do you can get your lunch elsewhere!" "Betsy . . . aren't Jyou well?" "She's all right," said the dark woman. "She'd do anything for me," wouldn't you?" "I . . . think so .1 ." answered the golden-haired woman of fifty honest years with an honest ancestry; and there was no look of shame on her face! The dark woman, noticing, that she was seen by other diners, removed the stolen clove from her belt and returned it to the :vase with a laugh. "Good-bye, Honesty," she said, " when Love . . . ." "Pshaw!" ejaculated the man impatiently. " Such a thing was never heard of before. ' What's bred in the bone . . . .' -I still hold to that." "But ... so many things ... may be bred in the bone . . . and some of them may . . . well, I couldn't have done that for—for myself ... or ... for anyone else . . ." said , Betsy. Great tears fell from the man. It was as though some unseen power had banged in his face the door of heaven. But the dark woman laughed I