SHORT STORIES.

Otago Witness, Issue 3517, 9 August 1921, Page 58

SHORT STORIES.

* [All Rights Reserved.] KOW BILL BAkBY WINI >Ci.

By

Alan Graham.

“Might as well scratch a jar o’ meat jooce,” remarked Bill Bardy. “Ye fat, : double-breasted, stoopid mountain o’ beef — leave off proading me with them great . horns. Me clothes won’t stand the strain. Leave off of it, Joey !” I To which admonition Bill added several \ violent but friendly punches in the neck of j Farmer Stubbs’ prize bull, which only aroused his clumsy friend to a more exuberant display of affection. We happen upon Bill Bardy at a moment ! when the habitual taciturnity had slipped from his face. The tight-lipped, cleanshaven slit of mouth, usually immobile and expressionless, was relaxed in a smile ; and the eyes, over which the lids were accustomed to hang their veiled lashes, w ere for once widely opened, and full of a kindly life which, would have surprised his associates in the Green Man at Hobbleton. It was characteristic of Bill that he should show pleasure in the society of dumb animals. With his fellows he always wore an expression of what appeared to be amused tolerance, so that the admiration which Hobbleton had for his cuteness was tempered by a certain resentment of his air of calm superiority. So we find him now with the prize bull on one side of the gate, himself leaning in his favourite attitude upon the other —leaning being an occupation which never palled upon Bill. Sitting he seemed to consider an overrated pleasure, necessitating an ultimate uprising, which involved useless expenditure of energy. As Bill meditatively scratched the formidable head thrust at him between the bars of the gate, the sound of approaching footsteps caused him to turn slowly. The bull rubbed its huge cheek upon his back as a purring cat might against one’s leg. Tom Ransom, the Hobbleton carpenter, stepped in amazement. The bull, disturbed by his approach, bellowed savagely. “Behave yourself, Joey,” said Bill, as he turned and drove his fist into the great brute’s muscular neck. The bull took the hint and was silent. “Well! I’m ” Tom Ransom was at a loss for words. ‘I didn’t believe there was a man in Hobbleton as would have fancied taking liberties with Farmer Stubbs’s bull.” “Friend o’ mine,” said Bill calmly, his faoe once more sphinx-iilce; his mouth a mere slit across his face. “Like to see me go in the fierd?” “For Gawd’s sake, no!” said Tom quickly, and truly the bull had an evil reputation in the neighbourhood, even his owner having a proper respect for his prowess. “Well, I often do,” remarked Bill. “But I don’t want to upset you, knowin’ you have a bad heart, an’ may drop dead any minute. .Any news?” “No. Lestwise, there’s a young toff drove up to the Green Alan with a couple o’ big bags an’ a bundle o’ fishing rods. Looks as if he was going to put up with Peter Bourne.” “Ugh!” grunted Bill. “’Scaped from a lunatic asylum, I should expec’. Who else wants to come to Hobbleton. Well, I’ll get on an’ have a look at him,” and with a final prod at Joey, and a nod to Tom Ransom, Bill tore himself reluctantly from the support of the gate, and slouched off in the direction of Hobbleton, the bull bellowing a parting message as he rounded the bend of the road. 11. At the bar of the Green Man, when Bill entered, there stood an obvious stranger ; a clean-shaven, good-looking young man, from whose well-worn but well-cut shoot-ing-jacket and breeches Bill deduced that here was the “toff” of whom Tom Ransom had spoken. He was chatting with Peter Bourne, the landlord, the bland look on whose fat face was inspired by thought of the pickings to be had out of a guest of this nature.* “Talk of the devil!” exclaimed Peter, as Bill drifted in and leant instinctively upon the bar. “We was just talking about you, an’ in you comes.” For replv. Bill merely raised his eyebrows slightly. “This is the very man, sir,” continued Peter, turning to the stranger. “Knows every pool in the stream, an’ where all the fishes lies. You see, lie spends half his time leaning agin the trees watching the water go down.” “Quite correct,” confirmed Bill. “Not much of a job, maybe, but better than leaning up agin a bar watching the beer go down, though it don’t pay so well.” “He’s got you there, landlord,” laughed the stranger. “You seem to be just the man I want,” he went on, turning to Bill Bardy. “bet me introduce mj'self. I am Geoffrey Lonsdale, a barrister, in want of rest, and a change. A friend kindlv got permission for me to fish in the stream that runs through Hobbleton Court Estate, and I want a man who knows the pools and who can manage a landing net, to go about with me. How floes it strike vou?” “T’rn on,” said Bill briefly. Tho agreement was sealed in a round of gin, at Lonsdale's expense. The only difficultv, that of remuneration, was ea ilv surmounted by Lonsdale accepting Jti! 1' • proposal that payment should be by results ; that is. that Bill should receive a royalty upon the poundage of the fish caught. Bill always preferred a sporting chance to a steady wage. The arrangement worked well. On the very first day it was in action, Lonsdale had a fine basket of fish, and was ready •nongh to pay the stipulated price, for his

success was largely due to Bill, who did not exaggerate wlien he claimed to know every pool in the stream. As they v,<t ldered down the pleasant banks, making an occasional cast, Lonsdale paused at a gate which they must pass in order to follow the stream along the border of a large meadow. He pointed to a notice board which stood beside the gate. "Beware of the Bull.” “it's all right, sir,” said Bill soothingly. “Joey’s a friend o’ mine. Come and be introduced.” He clambered over the gate into the field, giving vent to a loud and peculiar call. Almost immediately, from behind a I slight hillock, appeared Joey the Bull, galloping to meet his friend. I “I say !” exclaimed Lonsdale. “Are you sure he’s safe?” for the bull, thundering I down the slope upon the unprotected- Bill, i looked exceedingly like business. I “Eight as rain,” answered Biii carej lessly “It’s only his fun.” i The bull lowered his head and charged, i and only when within two or three yards ! of Bill did he throw out his legs and bring himself to an abrupt halt. “Morning, Joey,” said Bill as he stepped forward and scratched between the sullenlooking beast's horns. “Here’s a -gent as wants the pleasure o’ your acquaintance. Come along, sir, and be introduced. Joey’s as harmless as a sucking-pig.” Lonsdale was fond of animals, and though inwardly somewhat shy of the huge boast, he stepped boldly forward and put out his hand. The bull sniffed at it suspiciously, and looked at the new-comer out of the corners of its cunning little eyes. “Pleased to meet you, sir,” said Lonsdale. “Here’s to our better acquaintance.” He patted the bull’s neck and made much of him, and soon Joey forgot his suspicions, and the acquaintance ripened into friendship. As there was good fishing to be had along the boders of the meadc'-v, Joey often had an opportunity of meeting with the new-comer, and, thanks to ' Bill Bardy’s introduction, the two became great cronies. Lonsdale brought bread and lumps of sugar for the bull, learnt Bill’s peculiar call, and was soon able t-o bring Joev galloping to him from any quarter of the meadow. 111. Bill got on well with his employer. A mutual liking sprang up between them. Lonsdale was amused by the mingled cunning and simplicity of his henchman, and Bill, on his part, was drawn to the young barrister by his geniality, and by his freedom from all affectation of superiority. Lonsdale was sitting—it was fully a week after his arrival in Hobbleton—by the side of the stream, meditatively smoking his pipe. Bill leant on a tree near by. “BiT,” said the barrister, with the air of one who had just decided upon a course of action, “I didn’t come here for the fishing!” “No,” agreed Bill, unmoved. “I observed as much. I reckoned you up after three days. You never gave more than half vour mind to the fishing.” “Uni,” grunted Geoffrey, somewhat taken aba-ck. “And what conclusion did you come to about me?” “Well,” said Bill, rubbing his back gently to -and fro against the tree, “first I thought you might be keeping out o’ the wav o’ the police, but I soon saw you were nothing in the criminal line. Then I dedooced it was a girl you was keeping out o’ the way of.” “I’m glad you decided I wasn’t a criminal,” laughed Lonsdale. “But what made you think I was hiding from a girl?” ‘ “It’s such a natural kind o’ thing to be doing. From observations [ have made since, howsomever, I see I was on the wrong tack again. In fact, the contrary bloomin’ tack. You wasn’t hiding from Miss Delamore o’ the Court, Toosdav afternoon, not bv a jugful, vou wasn’t!” “You saw us!” exclaimed Lonsdale, starting and colouring slightly. “Did anyone else see ?” “Not as I know of, sir. T was up ground-baiting a pool, or I wouldn't have hit on you myself.” “I was just going to take vou into our secret and a-k vour help. but. rang it, you seem to know the whole thing ! already.” said Lonsdale, half annoyed and ! half amused. “Perhaps I’ve dedooced more vet.” said ! the quite expressionless Bid. ‘Squire I Delamore. I should sov, is noways a pal o’ vnurs. eh?” “Right again. Bill. A T ou should have been a detective. There isn’t really very much more to tell vou. T have spoken to her father, but he won't have me for a son-in-’aw at am- price. What do you think is liis reason?” “Cash?” suggested Bill. “Not a bit of it. I've plenty of that, and I’m going well in mv profession. He refused me simnlv beran e, years and rears ago, he had a. row with mv governor about something. It’s all on his side now. and mv dad is quite resigned to me m.srrvjp rr Miss Delamore.” Bdl drew at his pipe thonghtfuHv. “What’s the game now?” lie said at 1 last. “Clone “T would like a shot, tint she won’t marry me without her father’s permission. Po now. what am T to do?” '■rice!, it.” prowwo.l pill helpfully. “How do cop men,,’” “Let it. slide. Afarria"e, thev sav, is a letter---- hut it ain’t. Tt’s a dad snip. The v-a’kilirr-oiit's ;, ’e hst of it. After B'-at it’s like work -plenty to do an’ blamed little to get.” “A r on are a neo-imist, Bill.” laughed Lop-dale. “Whatever 1 do, T’l! never ehiK'l, it.” “Seems .a pit-v.” Bill thoughtfully. “Well, if T can’t stop you, what have T got to do to Tie’ii?” “Can vou t-aX? a letter to Alias Bela more without her father knowing it?”

“Nobody better. I’m often up at the Court stables having a chat with the hosses. If I hang about long enough I’ll see her, an’ she’s sure to have a talk with me. I’m a local character.” IV. So Bill Bardy took on a new role —- that of go-between in a clandestine love affair. He would stroll into the stables of the Court, where he was on good terms with the grooms, two or three times a week. About this time, too, Florence Delamore developed an interest in horseflesh. With Bill playing Mercury, it was easy for the lovers to arrange meetings and to communicate, between times, those allimportant nothings which are essential to a well-conducted love affair. Yet things did not move. With all his trained powers of persuasion, Lonsdale could not convince Florence of the desirability of marrying him without her father’s consent. There came a day when, in his extremity, the foiled lover turned even to Bill Bardy for support. It happened that the lady had come upon them—by chance, maybe—when fishing was toward, and very lovely she looked i:i a simple summer frock, her head framed in a bright sunshade of flaming red. Notwithstanding the presence of Bill, Geoffl my returned to the subject of the elopement. The lady was still unconvinced. “I say, Bill,” cried the lover, at his wit’s end to move her, “don’t you think Aliss Delamore is too conscientious?’ “•Seems to me,” returned Bill, “that for a man as is a lawyer, you've missed a remarkable line o’ argyment. lust look at things deep. Squire don’t hanker art-er you, so you says ‘ Blow Squire.’ The voung lady says, ‘ No, he’s my dad. Blowin’ him’s no good.’ Well, it seems to me the only plan left is to make him hanker arter you.” “Quite right, Bill,” cried Florence, clapping her hands and laughing merrily. “But how is it to be done?” . “I dunno, just yet,” said Bill reflectively. “It wants a bit o’ thinking over.” “Look here, Bill,” Lonsdale sail, drawing a coin from his pocket and passing it to his attendant, “suppose you um back to the Green Alan and think it over. If you hit on a plan it’s more than I can do, though I have been scheming for months. Bill was somewhat de trop, and it was worth a shilling to get rid of him. When he had gone, the usual formalities of lovers were gone through witn spirit, and without loss of time. Meanwhile a more than usually taciturn Bill Bardy leant against the bar of the Green Alan, silently sipping gin and water, gazing into vacancy, and treating the occasional remarks of Peter Bourne as one treats the ill-timed prattle of chil dren. At length, with a sigh for the effort entailed, he straightened himself up and drifted out. He had decided upon a plan of action. As he made his way towards his little room in old Mrs Wallet's cottage, he muttered softly to himself : “It’s brains does it. Um! Better not tell Air Lonsdale too much, though. He’d be too soft-hearted to try it.” A r . Next morning Lonsdale went fishing as usual. Bill contrived that he should choose that portion of the stream which flowed bv the meadow wherein Joey the Bull resided. It was the first step in his plot. “Now, sir,” he said, when Geoffrey had settled to his fishing, “I’ll just wander up to the Court, an’ see if Miss Delamore has any letters to deliver, eh?” ‘‘Good idea, Bill,” agreed Lonsdale, smiling. “You'll be here when I come back?” Bid inquired anxiously. “Oh, ves, I’ll be here.” “You’re sure you won’t leave the meadow? I want'to be.able to find you quick.” “Don’t worry. I’ll stay here and keep Joey company.” The bull was browsing near by. and occasionally he strolled along apparently to see what kind of catch his friend was getting. “Right!” said Bill. “I’ll be back as noon as I can. Alavbe I’ll have a letter for you. so you stay where vou are.” Lonsdale was a little surprised at Bill's insistence, but, knowing him to be slightly peculiar in his ways, he took less notice 11 1 n• ’ he would otherwise have done. Bill was next seen in the neighbourhood of the Court, where he bribed a maid to carry a message to Miss Delamore, and these, two conspirators had a casual meeting in the stables a few minutes later. “Under an hour from now,” commanded | Bill, as the interview came to an end. “Whatever vou do, don’t be late, or vou’l! spoil everything.” “No fear of that. Bill,” said Florence, who looked rale but determined. “Don’t forget the umbreda. “No. no, Bill. I shan’t forget anything.” Tho aish-conspirator now left the stables, made a detour, and then directed bw. steps to the front of the house. Humblv, hat in hand, he asked if he might speak with Squire Delamore. The Sonire was accustomed to act as adviser and friend in n■wd to his tenants, and, thinking that Bill had nrohablv got into snm • minor porape requiring a recommendation to merry to be put before the Bench, lie readily gave him audience ’’Well, Bardy,” he began, in his peremptory manner. “what mischief nave vou boon up to now?” “It. ain't me this time, Squire. The fact is” Bill seemed embarrassed, shifted his feet, twiddled Ins hat—“the fact is, I’ve come about your daughter!” “What!’ roared the Squire, haif-angry, half-amused. “Is th's an offer of marriage?” “Not exactly, sir, but not so far out neither. Was you aware she has a young man—a bloke name o’ Lonsdale?”

‘Lonsdale !’' The Squire started angrily to his feet. ‘‘ls He here?” “Stopping at the Green Man, sir. ’ “Confound the fellow ! And my daughter deceiving me! I’ll have it out with her.’ He started towards the door, his face growing more purple every moment. “Hold on. Squire. Second thoughts is best,” said Bill, taking the angry father bv the arm. “Why not catch 'em together, and give that Lonsdale a bit o’ your mind. I reckon it’s him as is to blame. ” “Not a bad notion,” said the Squire, simmering down. ‘But how can I catch them? I don’t know ” “I do, sir. They meets along the river hank bv Farmer Stubbs’s big meadow every dav. It's just about their time now. Why not come along o’ me and have a look?” . For a few moments Squire Delamore stood undecided. “Good,” he exclaimed at last. TU see what the young scoundrel has to say for himself.” VI. A short time later Bill and the Squire were hidden in a clump of bushes near the gate leading into Joey the Bud’s field. Down the river-bank Geoffrey Lonsdale could be seen idly casting over the clear pools. A little up the slope of the field was Joey, cropping the sweet grass. Bill chuckled inwardly. Everything was as he desired. If only Miss Delamore did not fail him. But even as the thought crossed his mind, he heard soft footsteps on the grassy path, and turning, saw the lady approach. “Snakes! She’s a bold un !” he muttered. Florence was clad in a flaming red frock, in addition to carrying the red sunshade which had suggested Bill’s plan to his mind. As she walked, with the open parasol aslant on her shoulder, she spun the handle with her fingers and revolved the scarlet cover. Bill thought she looked somewhat pale and anxious. If she did, it was no wonder, poor girl. She opened the gate, entered the meadow, and closed the gate quickly behind her. Then she sauntered slowly along, spinning the open parasol as she walked. “She’s a game ’un!” said Bill to himself, while he lielj back the impatient Squire with a hand pressed upon his chest. And now things moved very quickly—• noticeably Joey the Bull. A hoarse bellow smote upon the ears of the two spectators behind the bushes. They saw Florence stop, apparently uncertain whether to go forward or to retreat towards the gate. Then they saw Joey the Bull, tail in air, charging downhill upon the defenceless girl, like a hurricane. She, apparently unable to realise the danger of the action, continued to spin the flaming red parasol upon her shoulder. And now the lonely fisherman by the stream became aware of the peril in which his beloved stood. Dropping his rod, he flew to her assistance, shouting as he ran. The red costume, the red parasol, infuriated the bull. He charged from one angle, Lonsdale approached from another: so equal their distances that none could say who would reach the lady first. Luckily for the success of Bill Bardy’s plan, Squire Delamore was at first too startled to move, and by the time he made to rush to his daughter’s rescue he was too late to be of any service. As the bull in his mad rush drew near, the girl flung the red sunshade from her. At the same moment Geoffrey, in despair, cave vent to the peculiar call by which he and Bill Bardy were accustomed to attract Joev’s attention. The bull stopped listened looked around him with his little, suspicions eves —then, seeing his friend running towards him, forgot his grievance, and altering his course charged down on Lonsdale. “To the gate, Flo—nnick!” shouted the latter, as the bull nenred him. To the on-looking Squire the bull’s rush on Lonsdale seemed as ferocious as that upon his daughter. Luckily, his attention was now taken up in hurrying her out of the meadow, so that he did not see Joey stop and accept a lump of sugar from the stock which Geoffrey generally carried in his pocket. " It was an anxious moment for Bill ißardv. Should the Snuire realise the friendly relations of Lonsdale and the bull, it was all up with the riot. “Onick, sir, quick! He’s after you ’ again!” he shouted to Lonsdale, who, not realising the part lie should play, was ! dillving with Joey in the open field. At Bill’s words, however, light burst upon him. Hitting the bull a smart blow upon the nose, he ran for the gat°. Joe--, pleased with this new game, ambled after him, ; head lowered, at nn easv pace. Thus it was that the. Snuire. having assisted his daughter to the safe side of the gate, saw her rescuer apparently in dire peril. Bill Bardv’s wild shouts, and his rush up a tree for safetv. aided the illusion When Lonsdale reached the gate, the bull snorting not- two yards behind, it was Snuire Belamore who assisted him over the bars. .Tew, again sighting the irritating shade of Florence’s at tire, bellowed furiously i from his own side of the gate. For a moment there was .a cause, everyone panting for breath. Bill, climbing ■ down from his tree, was the first to . recover. “Narrow squeak. sir!” This to the fikmirr. Then, turning to Lonsdale. “Non deserve i a Ttoval finnnnp medal, sir. There’s not a man in TTnhbleton would have risked ■ what von risked, even to save the Pnuire’s daughter’s life. Rbe’d have been messed about something horrid,” i ‘-Mr Lonsdale 1 owe von mv life! ’ ermd Florence, clasping ber hands—tears start , ip„ to bu- eves THr acting was splendid 1 Now Snuire Delamore was a decent old sort if firry. How could he 'tnw less gratitude than his daughter? Why, even TFU Bardy was affected by Lonsdale’s heroism ! He held out his hand. t “I owe you my daughter’s life, sir,” lie ; said simply. Geoffrey shook the hand silently.

“'Yet," continued the Squire, “but for you, I am told, my daughter would not have run into this danger. “How can I help it, sir!” Lonsdale burst out impetuously. “I must see Florence. I cannot live without her. I have tried—and yet you see, here I am, compelled to meet her surreptitiously.” “Hear, dear! Is it as bad as that?” said the Squire. He took off his hat, grew very purple about the neck, stuck his hat on again, and finally said : “Well, well! I can’t have Florence risking her life like this, you know. If you must see her, call at the Court in the usual, manner. Colne along, Flo, you and I He could not finish, for Lonsdale was working his arm like a pump-handle, and his daughter had thrown her arms around his neck and was diligently kissing his tanned old face. * * * * * When father and daughter had gone, Lonsdale turned to the stage-manager. “Bill! I can never thank you enough! Its all your doing—your’s and Joey’s.” “Well,” said Bill doubtfully, “I ’m sure I wish you joy. Very nice girl, I’m sure. IS ow what do you think might be the weight of her? Nine stone?” “What the devil has that got to do with anything ?” exclaimed Geoffrey in surprise. “I was just thinking o’ ray poundage—as per agreement—on all fish hooked an’ landed with my assistance,” replied Bill with a cunning grin.