SHORT STORIES.

Otago Witness, Issue 3448, 13 April 1920, Page 66

SHORT STORIES.

[Axl Rights Reserved.] BARBARA. By Richard Dark. Author of "My Friend Dob," "Grade's Ideal/' etc. Mrs Hargrave was grateful, but determined. ~ "It is really too good of you, she earn; "but I'm afraid such a creature would be thrown away on us. If it were a dog, now, or a cat, we might manage to make room for it, but a monkey—no, it's out of the question. Why don't you send it to the zoo?" Gerald Pennington thoughtfully buttered a piece of toast. "No, he answered, ' "I sha'n't send Barbara to the zoo. I want somebody to make a pet of her; she has a very affectionate disposition. I declare I'm quite fond of the little beggar. Do-you know of anybody who . would care to adopt her? She is really rather a valuable specimen. I can't keep her myself, because I'm off to the Congo in a month or so." ' Tom Hargrave glanced at his wife. "What about the Tancreds? They used to keep quite a menagerie. A monkey would be just the thing for them." "Yes, I should think it might be managed. You don't know the Tancreds, Mr Pennington? They're very old friends of ©urs, and have a place in Dorset. Mr fancred is a naturalist, and has a- collection of the weirdest creatures imaginable. It you like,. I can easily write '.. to them'and suggest that you should run down for a day or two, and take the monkey with you." "Oh, I hardly like- " . "I'm sure Mr Tancred would be delighted to hear about-your African experiences. He is an enthusiast; a fauna and flora man, you know. So if you care to go I will write to-night, and you can .send for the monkey." "It's awfully good of you," replied Gerald. "What a pity is is that Mr Pennington is going back so soon," remarked Mrs ■ Hargrave later on in the day to her hus- ■ band. "He's much too nice a man to be wasted on a continent like Africa. Why doesn't he marry and settle down?" "My dear, I have known Gerald for I years,' and I assure you he is past re- % demption. Though he is naturally polite .. and urbane in his attitude towards the f , sex, his many and varied interests have so far precluded his being sufficiently attracted' by any particular woman to ' "Oh, Tom, don't! I'm not a mass meeting. That's the worst of being the || wife of a politician. By the way, what doos he'call his monkey?" _ "Barbara, I believe he said." v She smiled. "How curious." Four days later Gerald Pennington and bis charge were proceeding by the Great Western Railway to the home of the Tan-, . creds. For the first three-quarters of an hoik of their journey Barbara, who had been carefully fed by her owner prior to her disposal within a large wicker cage in the guard's van, slept the sleep of comfortable repletion. At Reading, however, she awoke in a condition of considerable excitement, and as the train steamed slowly out of the station she emitted a cry of pathetic poignancy, occasioned, perhaps, by some mysterious, subconscious realisation of the proximity of a paradise of biscuits hitherto beyond her wildest. dreams. :> The guard, a man possessed of a sensitive organisation, a large afmily, and a tendency to confusion of ideas, afterwards described tne sound to his wife as resembling the wail of a murdered infant. _ i .' In a short time the cries she uttered wrought upon him to each an extent that at the next stop he suggested that Gerald, who was occupying an empty carriage, should take the cage and . its . occupant under his personal supervision for the remainder of the run. • To this arrangement the latter consented, and the transference had no. sooner been effected than the little creature, suddenly appearing to grow resigned, curled up and relapsed again into slumber. At last Greald alighted at a small country station, and, taking his gladstone bat; in one hand and th 3 cage in the other, he made his way towards a brougham which was waiting outside. The groom touched his hat. "For the Grange, sir?" he asked. "Yes," replied Gerald, and a few seconds later they drove off. As they passed the station gates they met another conveyance, which arrived just as the train steamed out. A journey of five miles through undulating country brought, them to their destination—a square-built old house of red brick, flanked on one side by a grove of elms, on the other by a wide stretch of lawn and garden. Gerald alighted, and handed the monkey over to the groom, with f° ber on biscuits and water, and lock her securely in a warm out-house or stable for the night. Then, as the man drove away, he walked up the front door steps and rang the bell. A minute later he found himself in a drawing room where several people were . 'engaged in consuming "afternoon tea. As his name was announced his hostess rose and advanced to meet him. "Mr Pennington?" she said, with a suspicion of vagueness. Gerald proceeded to explain that he had just arrived from town, where he was staying with the Hargraves. At £he mention of the Hargraves- the lady's face cleared. "We were expecting Barbara this afternoon by the 3.50." "I have brought her down with me," aaid Gerald. "I'm glad you're looking forward to see her. But, of course, I could nardly bring her into a drawing room "

"I beg your pardon ?' said the lady of the house. "So I asked the groom to take her round to the stable and look after her." "You sent her to the stables!" At this point the conversation between Gerald and his hostess appeared to become a centre of interest for the other persons in the room. Indeed, hung upon the young man's next words with an almost embarrassing intentness. But, being now fairly launched upon his favourite topic, he proceeded with light-hearted enthusiasm ' to discourse of his journey from London. "Barbara became so troublesome after I leaving Reading that I was obliged to ! take her from the guard's van into my own carriage. Curiously enough, she quietened down at once, and curled up and slept like a lamb." Here a youth of vacuous appearance tittered audibly, and then, finding every eye fixed upon him, slowly blushed a painful and apologetic scarlet. But Gerald needed him not, nor yet the silent horror with which he himself was being generally regarded. "You can't imagine," he went on, "how 1 sorry I shall be to lose her. "I believe the little creature, is never so • happy as when she's sitting on my knee." .] "On his knee I The little creature sitting on his kr.ee!" repeated the lady of the house, mechanically. J "It's very good of your husband to take her off my hands out I think she will prove rather a valuable acquisition. She : is, in a way, quite unique ; at least, she's ■ the only specimen of her family that I i have seen with hair growing over her , nose." | There ensued a silence so deep, so pregnant with emotion, that the sound of a ! light object falling to the floor struck the I ear with a painful suddenness. It was a monocle, which had escaped from the ■ astonished eye of the youth who had tittered. I • "Allow me," said Gerald politely, and I stooping down he restored the glittering | weapon to its owner. I "Er—thanks, awfully," replied the latter, as he screwed it securely into its accustomed home. j The incident, though trifling in itself, appeared to stir Gerald's hostess from her attitude of petrified amazement. I "Please excuse me for a moment," she said, and left .the room. A minute later , she returned Svvith a footman, and adI vanced towards Gerald. j "James, will show you to your room, [ Mr Pennington, if yon would care to go I up." There was a tinge of excitement in : her voice. i Gerald, who was in the middle of a watercress sandwich, was rather surprised at her haste, but he acquiesced cheerfully, and followed the footman into the hall. The latter led the way upstairs and along ; two passages, finally -halting before a. door at the end of the second landing. j "This is your room, sir." "Thank you," said Gerald, and walked in. "Why," he exclaimed in surprise, I "this isn't a bedroom at all! What 1 the " I There was a sharp slam behind him, followed by the grating of a key as the footman locked the door on the outside. The room in which the young man found himself immured was a small, square apartment, devoid of furniture, and filled with an assortment of household odds and ends—in short, what is' commonly known as a box-room. He sat down on a leather portmanteau and pondered the position. Evidently the Tancreds were peoflße of no ordinary calibre, and their ideas of hospitality appeared confused. He examined the door, and decided that escape that way was impracticable. Next, he walked to the window, and. found, to his relief, that he was able to open it. Looking out, he caught sight, round a corner of the house, of a groom on horseback—the man who had driven him from the I station. 1 "The police station first, then the ; asylum.," said a voice. I The groom touched his hat, and made off at a sharp trot down' the drive. I "Am I supposed to be an escaped lunatic?" thought Gerald. The absurdity of the situation overcame him, and he shook with laughter. But his merriment soon subsided, and once more he began to consider if there were; any possible means of getting out of his prison. j He looked, carefullv down the wall outside the window, which was on the second storey. Half-way between it and the ground was a second window-ledge, ana* •the whole wall was covered with a strong growth of old gnarled ivy. I "I wonder if I could manage it," said' I Gerald. j There was no one about. Obviously the I possibility of his escaping by this means had not occurred to his captors. He buttoned up his jacket and took his seat on ; the sill. Then, clambering down to the j window below, he lowered himself to the ; full extent of his arms, and dropped on to a flower-bed'. This manoeuvre accomplished, he ran at full speed across the lawn to the shrubbery, and thence to the railings that bounded the gardens. Next, striking across some fields, he finally gained the high road about a mile and a-half from the house. | Here he sat down for a few minutes' rest. j "It'll take me three-quarters of an hour •to reach the station," he thought. "I'll go to Dorchester, stay there for the night, I and to-morrow return in force and recapture Barbara and my baggage. For i to-dav my adventures' are practically over.'' I But in this conclusion he was mistaken. In a little while he started at a brisk pace along the road. After a mile or so he came to a turn at the fodfc of a short incline. As he rounded the corner he was ! aware of a feminine figure on a bicycle coasting down the slope not more than | twenty yards away. The girl saw him, and swerved to the right, but, losing control of her machine, wheeled abruptly into the ditch at the side of the road, and landed not ungracefully in the grass

beyond. Luckily there was no hedge at this particular spot. As Gerald ran to her assistance, she sat up and regarded him indignantly. "It was all your fault," she remarked; "why were you walking in the middle of the road?" " I'm really—er—awfully sorry," he stammered, somewhat taken aback, but immensely relieved to find that she was apparently uninjured. "Can I help you at all?" The girl refused his hand, and got to her feet. Then she suddenly sat down again. "I feel rather shaken," she said a little breathlessly, "but I shall be all right dircctlv. Perhaps you will kindly see if my bicycle is damaged." Gerald obeyed. "The front wheel .s buckled," he announced; "it will be quite impossible to ride the machine, or even to wheel it along. May I ask if you have, far to go?" "About three miles," said the girl; 'to Sir Humphrey Redmayne's." Then, again waxing indignant, "why were you walking in the middle of the road?.- Isn't there a footpath ?" But Gerald countered the attack. "Why didn't you rino- your bell?" he retorted. "You might have killed me." She glanecd at him doubtfully for a moment, then smiled: and her smile struck Gerald, who ordinarily never noticed these tilings, as engaging. "You have had a fortunate escape," she said drily. "Would you mind collecting my goods and chattels?" He hastened to pick up a small paper parcel and a tennis racquet, which had become detached from the bicycle and were lying in the road. Suddenly his eye fell on a label which the racquet bore. On it was . written the name "Miss Barbara Barracombe." He had heard that name before. Surely his friend Tom Hargrave's wife had been a Barracombe. "I beg your pardon," he said to the girl, "but do you happen to know the Hargraves of Lancaster-gate?" "Mrs Hargraves ia my sister," she answered'. "And Tom is one of my oldest friends." "What is your name?" she asked, a little mistrustfully; "Gerald Pennington." "The African explorer?" "Well, yes," he admitted; "I have put in a good deal of time in Central Africa." "Where the footpath and th© high road are synonymous, I suppose?" There was a twinkle in her brown eyes. "They are certainly interchangeable terms," he replied gravely. "But now what are we to fdo with your bicycle even suppposing you are sufficiently recovered to walk?" "I'm afraid I'm hardly capable of moving yet. I seem to have given my ankle a twist.'' She hesitated. "Perhaps " "Yes?" said Gerald. "It's giving you an awful lot of trouble, but if you wouldn't mind walking back to the Grange and getting them to send some conveyance for me, I could look after the bicycle in the meantime. It's a large redbrick house, about two and ! a-half miles along the road." "But that , is the Tancreds' place, surely ? I thought you said you were going to Sir Humphrey Redmayne's." "Oh, no; the Tancreds live in quite the opposite direction. I expeced to be met at the station, but when I had collected my baggage, I found there was nobody there; so I left my thingsi behind and came over on my bicycle, which I happened to have brought with me." Slowly the truth dawned upon Gerald, and he realised the mistake that had occurred. "And I said her hair grew over her nose!" he muttered abstractedly, gazing at Miss Barracombe. "I beg your pardon," she said. "Oh, nothing," he responded hastily.. "I'd better be off. You will have nearly an hour to wait, though." "It doesn't matter; this road is quite free from tramps, as a rule."" He hurried off, not without misgivings as to the reception which awaited him on his return. However, ho was spared the ordeal in part, for at the end of a mile or so he heard a noise of wheels behind him,. and turning, saw a wagonette which contained Miss Barracombe, her bicycle, a groom, and an elderly man in a panama hat. The carriage pulled'up, and Miss Barracombe proceeded to introduce the two men to each other. "You must really come and dine with us/' said Sir Humphrey; "my wife will be delighted to see you." "On that point I have my doubts," answered Gerald with a smile, "but 1 shall be glad to accompany you, if only to recover my bag, and—er—another belonging that I happen to have left at your house." "At my house?" asked, the other in surprise. "If you will allow me, I will explain as we go along," said Gerald. He got into the _ wagonette, and told his tale, introducing some slight modification into his account of his conversation in the drawingroom with Lady Redmayne. As he concluded, the baronet drew a deep breath. "The most extraordinary thing I ever heard!" he exclaimed, bursting into a laugh; ' 'but, do you know, I don't altogether blame my wife for what she did." "Of course not," agreed the young man heartily. "One cannot but admire the promptness with which Lady Redmayne dealt with a person whom she had every reason to consider an escaped lunatic." On arriving at the Grange, there was a second explanation, undertaken this time by Sir Humphrey. Lady Redmayne*s horror, on learning the mistake which the afternoon had witnessed, was intense. "You might have been killed In climbing down that dreadful wall!" she exclaimed to Gerald. "It wan entirely my own fault," he replied; "I apologise sincerely for all the trouble I have given you. And now that

Miss Barracombe is safe, I really ought to be getting on to the Tancreds." "Not to-night, surely. It's far too late. You must stay with us till to-morrow. You You can send them a wire at once, and explain when you go to them." Gerald glanced at Barbara. "It's really very good of you," he said. '"But I should like to know what it was you said that shocked Lady Redmayne so that afternoon in her . drawing room," remarked Barbara, six months later. Gerald, who for some reason or other had abandoned his projected trip to the Congo, pondered' deeply. "My dear," he answered at length, "I think what shocked her most was my description of the way in which your hair grew in little curls just behind your ears." Andj he gave one of the said curls the geritlest pull in the world. "But that creature's hair doesn't curl behind its ears;. it seems to me that it grows more over its nose than anywhere." "Does it?" said Gerald innocently. Barbara looked at him half in reproach, half in, amusement. "I'm afraid I've made a bad bargain !" she said, with a sigh.