COLLABORATORS.

Otago Witness, Issue 3487, 11 January 1921, Page 58

COLLABORATORS.

By

M. L. Barry.

[Copyright.]

When Philip Herbert, briefless barrister and struggling author, applied to his friend David Reid for work to help him over a slack season, he little thought that he should have such prompt ana bitter occasion to regret the success of his application. Reid had obtained a commission for him to collaborate in writing a novel with a Mrs Endicott, a rich young widow who devoted a considerable portion of her time to literary work. This lady, who had been extremely business-like in arranging terms with him, soon revealed a quality of temper and disposition which considerably aggravated the difficulties and perplexities of his work, and only this morning he had received a note from her, so exasperating in tone, so gratuitously aggressive and peremptory, that he felt angry with himself for having submitted so long to the petulant whims and caprices of a purse-proud and unfeeling woman. To-day, however, he would frankly tell her that their literary partnership must cease at once, convinced that he would inevitably lose all control over his temper and openly resent her conduct unless he adopted that course. And the latter contingency was precisely what he wished to avoid; For, though Mrs Endicott had occasioned him great pain and annoyance, he felt he could never forgive himself for it if he were to speak even roughly to her. Resolved then to announce his withdrawal from this ill-starred literary undertaking, Philip Herbert left his dismal chambers in the Temple on the afternoon of a bright March day, and directed his steps to Mrs Endicott’s pretty house in Mayfair. The young widow received him in the library, where she was seated at a table strewn with sheets of manuscript. Scarcely deigning to return his salutation, she waved him to a chair, saying in a tone of angry protest: “Really, Mr Herbert, you are incorrigible. In the last instalment of the story which I have received from you I find you have deliberately departed from my written instructions, and from the carefully drawn-up synopsis of the plot with which I provided you. This is not the first nor -’’ “Excuse me, Airs Endicott, but will you kindly tell me in what essential point I have failed to observe your instructions?” “I warned you before,” continued the widow, in the same high-pitched tone, “that the love-making in the story was to be held in check until we had reached the twentieth chapter. Yet, in the fif-

teenth, you turn the hero into a mere moon-struck philandering ” He started-to his feet, saying abruptly: I quite understand you, Airs Endicott, and there is no occasion for another word of explanation. I have indeed come here expressly to tell you that I must relinguish all further share in your literary project.” His altered tone and manner seemed to embarrass her, and she held her head down as if anxious to avoid his gaze. After a moment’s pause while placing five sovereigns and a slip of paper on the table before her: “I received twenty-five pounds from you Airs Endicott. I now return five pounds and give you an undertaking to repay the balance within three weeks from the present date. The relinquishment of the work which you engaged me to do involves, in my opinion, an unwarrantable breach of our agreement, and I must pay forfeit accordingly.” “Oh, Air Herbert, I hope you’ll But words were useless now, for the handsome, though somewhat haggard-look->ng, young man had abruptly left the room the moment he had finished speaking; Ten days after that unpleasant incident, the widow called upon Air Reid, her lawyer, a benevolent-looking man of sixty, who, instead of greeting Mrs Endicott with his usual cheery smile, bowed gravely as she entered his room, an unmistakable expression of disappointment in his shrewd yet kindly face. “What’s the matter?” she asked?- with a familiar nod, for the lawyer was an old and valued friend. “I was just now thinking about my young friend, Philip Herbert, and ” “The very person that I wish to speak to you about,” she said, quickly, and then in a few words told him of the collapse of her arrangement with the young barrister, adding that she had written to his address at the Temple, inviting him to rei-ume his suspended work, but had received no reply to her letter. “Nor are you likely to receive one, Airs Endicott. Mr Herbert is very ill. He must have recently suffered a severe mental shock, I fancy. At any rate one of the best and most amiable of men is now so ill that his life is despaired of.” Airs Endicott dropped her veil, and rising to her feet muttered a few words inaudibly, and then left the lawyer’s office and hurried to her carriage. That evening when David Reid called at the Temple to inquire as to the condition of his sick friend, the charwoman, Airs Lorrigan, a bibulous and plenthoric person, who was Herbert’s only attendant, informed him that a professional nurse had arrived at the chambers only an hour before to take charge of the sufferer. Philip Herbert was very ill, indeed, and for several days the flame of life flickered so feebly that the doctor despaired of pulling him through. But at length, after three weeks of acute suffering, pale and emaciated, the young barrister was able to sit up in bed and converse with the doctor, whose parting words to him to-night were: “You owe you life mainly to your nurse, Air Herbert. You must always remember that. ” The professional nurse came at ten p.m., remaining until the morning, always taking precautions that the patient should be well looked after during the day. Prepared for her usual night’s watch, the last which it would be necessary for her to keep, the nurse sat in meditative silence at the bedside of her patient m the darkened room. “Did a lady call here while I was ill, nurse?” suddenly asked the convalescent, waking from a refreshing sleep. “No, sir.” “Fact is I owe a lady some money, and if she should call- ” “She is not likely to call for it surely,' said the nurse in a low voice. “She may do so, for I always found her very harsh and exacting.” After a pause he added, “And yet, nurse, she is dearer to me than anybody else in the world. I love her.” “Wliv, did she treat you badly ?” “Well. I fancy she guessed my secret and resented my presumption, for she is rich and I am poor, though heaven knows! no sordid thought even tainted my love for Rose Endicott.” There was a pause, and then a convulsive sob broke from the nurse, and she started to her feet. “Have I said anything to offend you, nurse?” he asked, anxiously, grasping her hand and pressing it gratefully to his pallid lips. She bent over him and looked into his eyes, the dim light from the fire playing upon her face. “Airs Endicott!” he exclaimed, in a tone of alarm. “No, Philip ; your Rose for life.”