SHORT STORIES.

Otago Witness, Issue 3519, 23 August 1921, Page 57

SHORT STORIES.

[Alt. Rights Riserved.]

THE BETTER WAY.

By

HARRY STONE.

Neal Vevdon—head and pretty nearly everything else of the shady concern known as the "City and International Investors' Banking Trust " —strode boisterously into his private office, dung hi 9 coat across a chair, and seated himself at his desk without troubling to take his hat off. "Now then, .Miss Ilalverley,” he stud in a. rough but not unpleasant voice. "Are my letters ready for signing? I’m in a deuce of a harry." His shorthand-typist rose quietly from her machine and placed a little wicker trayful of typed letters at his left hand. He picked up the topmost letter, skimmed rapidly through it. and in a bold, vigorous hand put his signature at the foot. When he had signed about a score in this hurried manner, he glanced at the pile of letters remaining and then at his watch. "(treat Scott!” he ejaculated. "I must buck up. Give me the rest one at s time, so that I can stick my name at the bottom. I suppose they're all right.” As she handed each letter to him he grabbed it, put his name to it, and flung it aside. The girl stood behind him. watching him with a curious intentness, and a faint sigh of relief escaped her lips as he took the last letter. "That the lot?" he snapped out. ‘‘Yes. That’s all." "Right ! I must he off. Good day. ’ lie ptilled down the roll-top of his desk with a hang, seized his coat, closed the door with another hang, and was gone. Left to herself. Lv<iia Halver’.ev stood thinking for some moments. ’! hen she carried the letters to a table, and. picking out one of them, read it through several times. "Perhaps I had better tear it up,” she reflected. But site remembered the pathetic letter, with its simple-minded, unworldly phrasing, to which st was a reply, and with a ouick, decided movement she placed the typed sheet in an envelope and dropped it into the post bag. A few days later while k erdon was going rapidly through hi- morning s port and dictating replies to his typist, he came across a letter which caused him to hurst out into a fit of laughter. "What iu the world does this fool mean.” he cried. "Here's somebody actually writing to thank me for advising him to keep his money in the Post Office". With a chuckle, he swung round in his chair, and as he did so lie caught sight of a startled look on the girl's face. Lor a few moments lie regarded her with a puzzled air. and then he demanded sharply : “What does this mean?" She remained silent, obviously nervous and ill at ease. “Just turn hack in your note-hook to” _.-he glanced at the letter ‘‘yes. to the 2ord. and let me hear tv lint I said to this man Meqord.” She read the reply from her shorthand notes. He had advised his correspondent to take n "call option” in ('hartereds, and to invest in the shares of an oil company in Asia Minor. 'Mm inevitable result of the "deals" would he that the confiding speculator would lose every farthing of his money. Version fixed his keen eyes on her, trying to read her thoughts. "It seems to me that von know something about this.” he declan d in a harsh voice. ‘‘lt doesn't look like a simple blunder. What have you b- cn up to, eh?” Miss Halverlev closed her note hook and faced her employer, with her hands tightly clenched behind her back. She was trembling with nervousness, hut her will was stronger than her phvsique. and she braced herself to look him squarely in the face and to leave his outburst of angc-r. _ . "Yes. T do know something about it, ’ she replied in a quiet, resolute tone. ”1 re-wrotc your letter and you signed it without reading it.” He sprang to hi- feet and towered over her with a blaze of wrath in his eyes. “What for?” lie hurst out savagely. “To save a poor old man from being robbed." she replied in a char, incisive voice. He gave a snort of contempt, and flung up his hands. '•‘And what’s the result? Why. you’ve done me out of a tounle of hundred pounds. Ho you think that old fool will take sensible "advice? He'll i ; nibbling some where else in a dav or two. I know his sort. He stalked to and fro, his lips tightly closed in a vicious line. Suddenly he came to a halt and turned to the girl. "You've rot a lot to learn yet. mv young lads.” he remarked. "And you re going to learn one big lesson to-day ‘Mind vour own business.' If you get another'situation just try to hear that in mind." "Another situation!" she echoed weakly. For the first time her situ it was daunted. But it. wnot for her own sake. A sudden recollection of the continual struggle her parents were forced to keep up in order to make both ends meet—a struggle considerably lightened during the past six months by her earnings as a typist -made her realise with pH ft fill vividness how those she loved might suffer through her action. “Here are a few hard facts for yon.” he went on. “I hey may not he very pleasant, hut they are true. 1 pay von to type what I want to say. not what

you want to say. You’re a part of the office machinery. You are simply a i time-saving device, like the telephone or a rubber stamp. If you do not do what is required of you, out you go. Do you see?” ‘‘And so you are going to dismiss me?” she inquired with a touch of scorn. “Yes, I am,” was his blunt reply. “Then let me tell you,” she answered firmly, “that I am not sorry for what I have done. But I am soivy for you.” He uttered a scornful ejaculation of contempt, but in spite of himself he was impressed by her words and her manner. “With most of the people who deal with you,” went on the girl, ignoring his interruption, “I have no sympathy whatever. They are merely gambler’s, and when they lose their money they have little cause for complaint. But when I saw that letter from Mr Mefford 1 felt that it would be a wicked shame to rob him of his savings, and so I altered your reply.” V erdon dropped into his chair and sat for a minute with his head buried in his hands. Her words had struck deeper than either of them realised. IT suppose you look on me as hard and unscrupulous,” he broke out, looking into the girl’s face. “Well, I can’t blame you for that. But what 1 am the world has made me. You are young. You are little more than a child, and yet you presume to judge me.” “No honest man would be afraid to be judged in such a way.” The words were quietly spoken, but they stung Verdon like the cut of a lash. “Listen to me,” he said huskily. “Let me tell you how I came to this. Five years ago I was a clerk in a big business house. I had a wife whom I worshipped. She lay dying. To save her life it was absolutely necessary that she should be sent to a genial climate. But I had no money and no means of raising any. I determined to get some, whatever the price I had to pay afterwards. An opportunity offered itself, and I embezzled money belonging to the firm, knowing quite well that 1 should be found out when the quarterly accounts were made up. But what did I care? My wife’s life was saved. When she grew stronger I told her what I had done for her sake. Instead of gratitude, I met with nothing but bitter reproaches. Sick of everything I confessed my crime, was arrested, and sent to prison. On my release I learned that my wife had deserted me, and I have never since set eyes on her.” For a little while he was silent, absorbed in thoughts of the woman he had loved. Then, rousing himself, he 'gave a hollow laugh and continued : “What else is there to tell you? I drifted down and down. The world was against me and seemed determined that I should never again earn an honest penny. I was capable of good work, but everywhere the door was slammed in my face. I grew hard and resentful. I am not one of those who go under without a struggle, arid I was resolved to have some of the good things of life. If I could not get them honestly—well, I would get them in some other way.” I am very sorry for you,” whispered the girl. “Don’t waste your sympathy on me,” he replied, and after a pause he added, in apologetic tones: “I am afraid I have been rather brutal towards you. But you see how difficult it is to judge others. And now let me give you a word of warning. I don’t suppose you are anxious to stay here any longer than you can help. Take my advice and look out for another situation as soon as possible. The police have begun making inquiries, and I am afraid I shall not have a much longer run.” “Whv don't you give it all up ” urged the girl. * ° “It’s too late to talk about that,” he replied. Please sit down, Miss Halverley.” The solicitor smiled at the girl through his glasses and waited for her to speak.” Thank you. I ve called to see you about this.” She placed a folded newspaper before him and pointed to a column headed : “Alleged Bucket Shop Frauds.” “Ah, yes,” he said. “The Neal Verdon case. I see from this report that you are :!'!enu'i.g Mr Verdon.” “That is so.” Then I think I can give von some ! information which may he of use. Would j L help you if you could find someone who i had strongly advised bv Mr Verdon not to speculate?” , Probably it would. Do you know of ! such a person?” ’A es. Some time ago I was employed In- Mr Verdon as a typist, and I distinctlv remember a letter which was sent to a man named Mefford. teling him he would certainly lose his money if he gambled in storks and shares.” . “He would certainly be a good witness if we could get hold <,f him,” .-aid the solicitor. “But how can we find him?” “Luckily his address has stuck in mv mind,” she replied. The folicit. made a note of it and thanked her for the information she had given. Before the trial was resumed, he wrote a strong app.-al to Mefford, and the old man was prevailed upon to appear as a witness. H;s eJdeiice, given with trails parent and lovable simplicity, had a striking effe- t upon h t!i the judge and the jure, and it was undoubtedly a "cat factor in mitigating V. rdon’s ic-rtence “Do you want me?” “Oh, yes, Miss I h! verier Here's a letter from a man name i Cortenay- who is staving at the Ora ml Hotel. He wants someone to take down a lot of staff from his dictation, and 1 think von’re the best one for the job. Will von take this letter and go to see him? I'll just telephone to say you’re coining.” A quarter of an hour later rln was eliown into Cortenay‘s sitting room. ilo

sprang to his feet and looked at her with i ~.n embarrassed expression on his bronzed features. “I—l didn’t know they were sending a 'young lady, he said hesitatingly. “I am a shorthand writer, and that is what you wanted,” she replied with a quiet smile, putting a reporter’s notebook on the table and taking off her gloves. “Of course,” he hastened to reply. “But w-on’t you sit down ?” There was an air of efficiency and selfpossession about her which impressed and pleased him, and his momentary awkwardness passed away. His keen, boyish eyes looked at her with an admiring appreciation so frank and unconscious that she could not resent it. “Perhaps I had better tell you what I want,” he remarked. “I have got a lot of material in my head to be set down in black and white. I can say what I have to say right enough, but I am no good with pen and ink, and so I want you to take it down and lick it into shape. Bring the typed stuff back to me and we will go through it together. When we have got it ail right, I should like some copies to be made. Are you ready to f begin this morning?” Certainly,” she replied, as she opened her notebook. For over an hour he strode about the room, and a stream of sentences, now weak and halting, now clear and fluent, poured from his lips. Partly from what he dictated to her, and partly from his general remarks afterwards, she learned a good deal of his history. He came from South Australia, where he owned a sheep run of some thousands of acres. He had settled down with the idea of a long steady spell of work, to be rewarded in the distant future by a sufficient competence to enable him to return to England. But a fortunate accident had led to the, discovery on his land of a rich bed of phosphates, and ho had come to London tor the purpose of obtaining sufficient financial and scientific backing to exploit tho-rougnly the valuable deposits. What F should like to find,” he said, is a man who knows the ins and outs of companly business. If lie will show me the way about I will make it worth his while.” The girl thought over his words. She ako thought of what Verdon had told her, f „ Felt, in spite of his second downtail, that l. he had a real chance he might etiil redeem his past. “I used to know such a man,” she told Lortenay after a few moments’ reflection. But 1 doubt whether you would care to associate with him in business ” “And why not?” he asked." In reply she told him Verdon’s story not ,as she herself had heard it in the man’s own bitter words, but with the insight and pity of a noble and sympathetic nature. 1 , “F feel sure there is some good in him ” she concluded, “and if you will give him a fresh start you will be the means of » fellow-creature from utter ruin.” liie Australian listened to her with in tense interest, wondering what lav behind aer words. Could this girl, with her innate delicacy and refinement, be in love mth the man—-a twice-convicted criminal? i u Flue back of his mind he was consmous of a vague feeling of displeasure at the idea, but he determined that this should not prejudice him against the man. , shouid like to have a talk with him ” ne sain. “Where is he now?” •That I cannot tell you,” she replied. 1 have seen nothing of him since 1 wains typist.” Cortenay felt relieved at her words Tendon's a pretty big place,” "ho Laughed, “but I'll see if lie can be run to earth. , A Few days later the inquiry agent he had employed gave him Verdun's address' H was in a mean, poverty-stricken street 1,1 I'attersea, and as Cortenay made his nay to the house he looked at the slovenly women and dirty children with wonder and pity. In response to Verdon’s surly invitation, he euterec the house and followed him up f ni ?l b gloomy stairs to a wretchedlyfurnished bed-sitting-room ' Verdon pushed forward" a rickety chair and asked him to sit down. "I have taken a great deal of trouble to find you, began Cortenay, seeking an H' r*’ V ,1 i m ' adlln § Object which had brought him. 1 don t know who has nut you on my . t!ack ’ returned Verdon coldly “ Vi>-1 in | any eve I may as well tell you straight j duay 1 uni t want help or charity. You see these —he pointed to the table which was stacked with, envelopes—“l a /,- nn i.‘ mg enough to keep b.Ty and soul together by tins infernal sweated work. I'm down in the gutter, now, but 1 shall be on my feet again before long.” There was a wild, feverish look in his eyes, and his features were haggard and drawn. ; T pi lTrely ’>“[><■ so,*” replied Cortenav --\nrt i vc come down here to give von' i chance. Don't think it's charity. ’ It's business business first and last. I under ■stand you know a good deal about the floating of public companies, and I'm prepared to pay you well for vour knowlodge. “Wliy <lo you come to me?'* "Never mind why. If you really want to get, out of this sort of thing,’ here's your chance.” 'Let, me ask you one question. Is the business you arc proposing perfectly -t r,'light and above board? ’ "iVilc tly,” said Cortenay without, be traying any resentment at the question. Verdon linked at him keenly for some '"'’mem a M■- y D ings Hashed through hn niiud in Dr sc fey- moments. |f j lO eon! I have just one chance -a fair and square i-luHiv - “Let’s talk things over,” he said at length. They In '.'.an a di i union of the details of Irish i - and before ( iirtenay returned to his hotel he bad fixed up an informal agreement vcD, Verdon.

Some weeks afterwards Cortenay snatched a few days from business and went down into the country. On his return he drove to his office, where he found Verdon waiting for him. “Good morning,” he cried genially. “I’m glad you’re here. 1 wanted to see you rather particularly. Do you remember this?” He handed a typed letter to Verdon, who stared at it in astonishment. “I have been down to see my dear old guardian, John Mefford,” continued Cortenay. “In talking over his affairs he showed me this letter of yours, and told me ail about the incidents connected with it. Verdon, old chap, I felt all along that you were a real good fellow at heart, and am jolly glad to have this proof of it.” ‘T am sorry to disappoint you,” said Verdon with a wistful smile. “But that is not my letter.” “Nonsense! Here is vour signature.” “The letter is not mine.” “What do you mean?” “The letter was written by my typist, and I signed it in a hurry without reading ! it. As she told me afterwards, she subI stituted it lor the letter I had dictated to her, in order to save a poor old man from beiii£ robbed.” An idea flashed through Cortenay’s mind. “Was your typist called Miss Halverley? ' he asked eagerly. “That was her name,” replied Verdon. “But do you know her?” “Yes. ” “Then you know the best and truest little woman in .all the world,” said Verdon emphatically. “I am pleased to hear you say that,” declared Cortenay, colouring with a sudden emotion. “I —I think so too.” The Continental train was about to start from Charing Cross Station. “Jump in, Lydia, or you will be left behind,” laughed Paul Cortenay. Ho helped her into the carriage with tender care, and then turned to Verdon. “Good-bye for the present, old man,” ho said, giving him a heartv grip. “Good-bye,” replied Verdon feelingly. “I shall never forget all vou’ve done for me.” Cortenay jumped into the carriage, and Verdon stood at the window. “Good-bye, Mrs Cortenay,” he said with a break in his voice. “I am sure you will be happy. When you come back from your honeymoon I shall be on the way to Australia. A new life, and—who knows?—perhaps happiness for me too.” The train began to move, and Verdon stood watching them until it was out of sight. His eyes were dimmed with tears. “God bless them both!” he said fervently.