IT’S AN ILL WIN—

Otago Witness, Issue 3511, 28 June 1921, Page 58

IT’S AN ILL WIN—

TAli, Rights Reserved.]

By

Walter E. Grogan.

There were two in it at the last. The world only recognised the possibility of one Erroll Thorpe was out of the question lreim Burgess however added his name in confidential conferences with her lookingglass. n There had been quite a crowd at first Irene had gloriously golden hair, and an equally gloriously golden father. She was quite one of the loveliest girls of her year and she was the only child of John 'Burgess. John Burgess had made money His father—John Burgess also—had shown nun the way. When John the second at twenty-five succeeded to the contractor’s business the firm was well established. At thirty-five he had built two railways, one in Argentina and one in Paraguay ’ had carried out water-works schemes for "three couth American towns, besides smaller jobs. At thirty-seven he married; at forty -five he was out of the business and well known in City circles. At fifty-seven be had a town house in South Moltonetreet, and Estreat, a biggish place in Gloucestershire. Irene was queen of both establishments —John Burgess having been a widower for ten years. The reason of the existence of the crowd at first is now apparent. Irene was a modern product. That probably accounted for the smart wav in which she reduced the field of indiscriminate desirables and undesirables. She was frankly delightful and rude. The pack gave up the trail reluctantly, but did not < ease to chorus her praise. ’ She was popular. That in spite of her modernity. And popular with women as well as men. You can conceive how great a »ei«onality wan hers, for this position was achieved without niawkishness or flattery. She had a dozen qualities and a hand of lovers, male and female, for each. John Burgess, middle-aged, a bristle of iron grey hair, and a quiet, determined, rather heavy face, redeemed by alert eyes, watched his daughter's progress with admiration and silent bewilderment. He dined a gay world, conveying the impression that be was not present ; iie attended balls, receptions, and gatherings as a preoccupied, detached person, who, bv the humour of the gods, was the parent of this divine Irene.

[ After the season—a curiously unsatisfactory one for Irene, -with hesitations and sometimes almost a feeling of panic—the Burgesses went yayhting. John Burgess enjoyed that means of passing time as much as anything that was not business. With them went the Hon. Tom Scratton. That was foregone. He was from the first chained to Irene’s chariot wheel—big, handsome, penniless, helpless in a moneymejing way, amusing, a curious compound of frankness and shrewdness. He was of the Scrattons. They, as you know, hold an unique place in English society. They have given soldiers, statesmen, governors, pro-consuls to the nation. They seek no honours, but bear those thrust upon them with becoming dignity. They have, besides, a streak of well-bred inability. The lion. Tom inherited the streak. He accepted the position with cheerful resignation. Three or four years ago he had confessed his fate —to marry an heiress. Now such frankness had to be restrained, his infatuation for Irene being too marked, and she a notable heiress. It may be said tor Tom Scratton that he had genuinely fallen in love with Irene. He thanked his stars that his luck ran to this. It might so easily have been far different. “It is wonderful,” he had complained once, “how very difficult it is to love some women, however hard you try. ” He had in his mind’s eye then the widow of a peer. Burgess himself asked Thorpe. He told his daughter .at dinner two days before they- were to join the S.Y. Irene at Southsea. There was quite a large party going. John Burgess had thought the young engineer immaterial. “Oh, by the way, Rene, I’ve asked Thorpe. There is ,a berth vacant.” Irene had a moment of mental paralysis. The quiet, strong, self-contained Thorpe—• dark, not handsome, but pre-eminently possessing the stamp of a man—had exercised her imagination. He was restful. She had abstained from proposing his name in connection with the trip. Her motives for this were mixed. Thorpe had latterly held aloof. She was a little uncertain ot her own feelings—she was quite uncertain about Jiis—and she was by no means cure that his position appealed to her. There was a glamour about an alliance with the Scratton family. Her place in society would be assured for all time. “Why”—she made great play with the savoury—“why did you do that, dad ? He —isn’t he a little, a wee bit, morose?” “Oh, no. I like him. I understand him.” This was the way of men —they understood Thorpe. She wished she did. For a week they idled from one port to another. Burgess wanted to be in touch with telegraph offices. They were .a gay, irresponsible party. Irene was in her element. Tom Scratton was at his best. He had a genius for the invention of games, he had wild infectious spirits. Perhaps it. was the contrast that made her keenly alive to the presence of Thorpe. Then came the day of wind. It was sudden. The glass dropped, a sou’-wester grew, the waves rose until the yacht wee pitching violently. They were then out in mid-Channel. The skipper snugged her a 3 well as lie could. Burgess gave an order to make the nearest port, and retired promptly to his cabin. He was a bad sailor. « The wind grew towards mid-afternoon. There was a loppy, unpleasant sea. Not that there was danger. It was merely a great deal fresher than a holiday party likes. Irene was still on deck—hair a little untidy, cheeks flaming at the sting of the wind. Thorne was talking to the second engineer. His eyes, however, were on the swaving figure in blue serge. Then came the lurch —sudden—a seventh wave that bobbed up under the yacht’s foot and tossed her unpleasantly. Irene lost her footing, caught at the taffrail, missed, managed to overbalance, and was gone. The next moment Thorpe was over the side, with a shout, to the bridge. The skipper acted promptly, but it was fully twenty minutes from the time cf Thorpe’s iump to the moment Irene* was hauled from his supporting arm into the yacht’s gig. It was an awkward, nasty sea, and tried all Thorpe’s skill and strength. They had to help him over the side. That evening they made for Torquay, and Burgess whisked his daughter ashore to the Imperial Hofei. He had serious thought of abandoning the trip altogether; he was much shaken by the accident. Irene overruled, however, compromising with the hotel and a complete rest for a dav. She asked for Thorpe before going ashore. “He’s asleep,” her father told her. As a matter of fact, Thorpe was feigning in his bunk. The twenty minutes while he supported her, half-dazed, her head near to him, her hair a tangle of gold in the dead green sea., had weakened him. He dared not see her now, he told himself. She would be dangerously sweet and grateful. The next evening, after dinner, she came aboard. With the exception of Thorpe, the rest of the party had dined with her at the Imperial. Thorpe, it seemed, had dug up an old chum, a fellow student of former days. His note of regret was frigid. Thorpe had returned early; in truth, the old chum was something of a myth—a man exhausted in the space of a cigar. Irene saw him as she stepped on the deck. Tie was standing forward, a lone figure, staring at the moonlight oil the bay. “Take them to the saloon, dad,” slie whispered. She was suddenly sick of the babbling crowd. “I must thank Mr Thorpe.” He turned at the light step. She was holding out both hands. “How can I thank you!” she cried. “Please, don’t,.” “But I must! One laughs now. But then ” She shuddered. “There was a long minute when I seemed alone. Then I saw you on the ridge of a wave. It was heroic ! That sounds banal. But—perhaps you can understand. I’m generally glib enough. Now I’m tongue-tied. Everything scorns inadequate.”

“Please don’t ” he said again. He was schooling his voice to a suave indifference. “I had no fear when I saw j-ou. That was strange in such a sea.” “It was rather a nasty one.” “You risked your life.” “Hardly,” he replied. “I am a good swimmer.” “You are strong!” Her admiration rendered her voice low and soft. “But even so—twenty minutes! My clothes weighed you down. Thej' had to pull you in. You were nearly at the end.” “I am glad that—that I was able to be of service.” His stiff formality was like a cold douche, when her heart was aflame with gratitude. “Glad also that” you suffer nothing.” “Oh, that!” She brushed the suggestion aside. It was like the civil formula of “Glad you slept well.” It was almost repellant. She could see his face in the moonlight—cold, reserved, inscrutable. “I am healthy enough. After all, you had tile work—the labour of keeping me afloat.” “That was ” he commenced. ‘Oh, don’t say it !” she burst out, stung to it. “You had * that was a pleasure ’on the tip of your tongue! I come to you because I feel—grateful.’ I want to saj T —thank you. It is all that I can say., I can’t make pretty speeches— I haven’t even your smooth politeness. ■ • But I mean Something swelled in- her throat and she could not finish the sentence. After a tense moment she continued. He had stood passive, ratner rigid. “And j r ou answer with little every-daynessea. " It might have been a glove j-ou had picked up! . . . Don’t you think that I realise that it is my life that you have saved—that it is all my earthly future for which I thank you?” Ho stammered something in a low voice which she did not hear. Quite suddenly she turned to him with a wild, swift gesture that—if he had dared—he would nave named surrender. “Air Tliorpe, I want you to believe that—that I am so grateful—that—that I would give you anything you askeef for—anything. Y’ou understand!” Pier voice, something hoarse, thrilled through him. “Nothing you can ask—nothing would I refuse.” On the silence that followed Scrntton’s laugh—a breezy, good-natured laugh—rang out. through the saloon. Thorpe clutched the taffrail behind him fiercely. l y I am awfuilv glad—that I got you all right. . . . That in itself is "the best reward I could—er—have.” He stumbled through it stiffly. Por an instant she remained motionless. Then the shame of it overwhelmed. He had understood—and he had rejected. “Ah, well, then- we are quits,” she said ligiitly, and was gone. He heard her laughing as she went down the companion ladder. He did not guess at the effort it cost her. Half an hour later she found Tom Scratton alone in the tiny smoking room. He held a cigarette between his lips, and was strumming on a banjo. “That you, Rene?” he said. “All the ot.iers are at auction bridge. I wasn’t up to it.” “Tom,” she said gravely, “it’s ‘yes.’” Good gad! he cried. The cigarette was flung away, the banjo dropped. “And I’ve had the hump! Rene, "vou shan’t regret.” No, don t kiss me,” she said, as he bent towards her. -AB right. . . . I’d lost hope. • . . I’m pretty footling, Rene, but— care. AY ell—we 11 have a jolly time. I’m pretty easy—to get on with. ’ I’ll—do what j r ou like. Perhaps you’ll make something- of me. I think perhaps that there’s something in me. Not all the giddy goat you know. I haven’t had much chance. AY e were too crowded in our family—seven boys, you know. And so jolly poor. Perhaps now—l’ll try, old girl, by the Loi'd Harry, I’ll try! Just to make you—feel I’m not all joke and footle.” “Torn, you’re a good sort,” was her answer. ihorpe left the yacht Die next day. It appeared that a board of directors wished to see him about an appointment. Towards the end of the cruise the steam yacht Irene was never more than a day out from port. John Burgess spent his time between telegraph offices and his own cabin. Irene, in the excitement of her engagement. and the maelstrom of her thoughts, saw only dimly that he was worried. The cruise over, lie carried her up to South Alolton street. Scratton grumbled, but followed ibedieiitly. He was too happy to notice either John Burgess’s preoccupation or the curious limpness of Irene. “Y'ou look a. bit hipped, Rene,” he said once, with a flash of insight. ’‘Nothin’ worrviu’ ?” “Nothing,” she replied glibly. 'Town in August is rather terrible!”" Thorpe, she heard, had gone on a flying visit to Roumania. Something to do with a new oil field. October still found John Burgess and Irene at South Alolton street, the wedding was fixed for the spring, despite Seratton’s entreaty for an earlier date. John Burgess, in the citv all day, not onlv looked worried, but ill. Then came the smash. Over speculation with falling markets, a big coup that failed in America, the collapse of a bank in Australia all synchronised, and John Burgess was ruined. Irene took it very bravely. Her thought was entirely for her father. “Don’t worry about me,” he said. “It’s vou I’ve thought of. And you—have never said a word of reproach.” “Dad!” “I don’t think—l quite realised your grit, Rene . . . Y'ou’vn always been away up above me . . . Now" I know the worst- T’ll build again. As l did before. I can.” Irene sent for Tom and told him. He sat, looking rather stunned, staring at her.

“So, of course, tliat puts an end to our engagement,” she added. ‘‘Kene!'’ he cried, looking abjectly miserable. ‘‘We must look at it sensibly.” “Can’t we ’’ ‘Tom., how can we?” she asked. “It’s absolute ruin.” Oh, what a miserable rotter I am!” he burst out. “If I knew any way—but I couldn’t make a shiling. A chauffeur’s job is all I’m fit for. And you—wouldn’t fit in. iou are so plucky, poor old girl! And I ought to be ab’c—to buck you up. 11 d I can’t. It’s a rotten world !” .Tom, you are a dear. But you see it wouldn t do.” He looked so miserable that she was ashamed of feeling a sense of relief. He seemed to pull himself together. It was no good. He couldn’t ask her to live on liis two hundred and fifty a year. That and an artisan’s earnings. JL’ossibly lie never did anything better in nis life than when ho accepted the inevitable. She seemed sorry for him. Weli, hang it ad, she had enough to worry her without that! iNo, it wouldn’t do. Don’t you grouse about me, Rene. It’/t rough luck. But I m easy going. I— er don’t crumple much at anything. Of course, it’s a nasty biff in the face. But it’s no use crying over spilt milk, eh, what?” thank goodness lie doesn’t care,” she thought afterwards cheerfully. Two weeks later John Burgess and liene went down to Estreat-. There werts final things to settle, dismissals of servants to be given, arrangements for a sale to be made. then came the morning of farewell. They were to leave after lunch for the small house in Cricklewcod in which John Burgess was to start making plans for rebuilding his fortune. It was possible that two or three thousand might be saved from the wreck. John Burgess had gone a last round. Irene chose to walk through the park. It was a red geld world, an autumn morning with a touch of warning chill in the air. Her thoughts were not all sad. Sho seemed to herself to have been slipping through life half awake. Now life would lie real. Her ancestors were fighters, men and women who had worked hard. Near the lodge she turned, and looked back at the old grey-faced house. The last time. There is always a touch of sadness in that thought. She stood thinking, brooding, remembering. The lodge gate clanged. She turned at the sound. Errol] Thorpe met her. “You?” Her lips framed the word. He he.d out his hands. His eves were shining. ‘lrene, at last!” he cried. “I heard last night.” 'T-ast night! But everyone has known “Not I. I returned from Roumania only to be sent to Russia. I saw no papers—no one mentioned your father to me. I mjght have gone to Brazil without knowing—only 1 met Scratton. But what dees that- matter now? The barriers are down ! ’ “The barriers?” Tour wealth! Oh, I would be sorry if I could, but . I have wanted you, wanted you! And I could only offer you comparative poverty. I could not be your pensioner. But now I can speak. I can tell you how I have worshipped you, loved you since first I saw you! Irene, Irene, how I have hungered for you! But now It means Brazil—but von won’t mind.” ITe was eager, impassioned now. She had a mental vision of him on board the yacht, reserved, cold, impassive. She could guess how great his restraint must have been. .‘‘lou won’t. Oh, I am sure of you! Ton were made for me. You are a man’s mate, to work with and for. And I shall win through! With you beside me I shall do great things!” He had all a lover’s egotism. “You will come?” She laughed happily. Go with him? How strange a ouestion. She would go to the world’s end so long as he was with her ! “Yon gave me back my life months a ?° —l give it to you, Erroll, freely, freely!”