THE MAN IN THE GREY CAP.

Otago Witness, Issue 3714, 19 May 1925, Page 74

THE MAN IN THE GREY CAP.

By

Rowland Cragg.

(Copyright.—For the Witnlss.) Quite a comedy of errors was being played out on the lonely road this fine evening. The actors were two, and the comedy was proceeding, notwithstanding that between where she sat in her car, gazing and thinking, and where he sat in his car, watching her and thinking, there was a mile of sinuous moorland road. It was proceeding because each was thinking of the other, and each was reviewing, reshaping, rebuilding and once more destroying, the events of three years ago. The comedy began when, beating by a short head, so to speak, the plans of a conspiring relative, they had unexpectedly met in the middle of the lonely road, met and bridged a trying gap of three years. And for what was now happening, let it be said truthfully if brutally, that Helen was much to blame. There was some excuse for lier. It certainly was inconvenient to have a breakdown in( such a place, with no one in sight, with the trouble beyond ber powers to repair. She was not afraid of the loneliness, nor alarmed by the fact that dusk was just beginning to gather; it took much more than that to alarm one who had a deserved reputation for possessing a will of her own. But it was annoying, for it meant a four mile tramp to the nearest town, and her host and hostess would be waiting for her. She had just diagnosed the trouble—a broken petrol pipe—and had determined to push the little car to one side and begin her tramp for help, when a faint crackle disturbed the quiet of the moors, and almost at the same time as she heard it took shape as a big touring car coming along the open winding road towards her at speed. With a quick feeling of relief, for here was help, or prompt aid to help, she stepped out into the road to hail the oncomcr. And was aware of two things —that the solitary occupant of the car was a man and wore a giey cap tilted over his ears at an aggressive angle. “One of the bounder type,” she thought. “Well, I hope he doesn’t become too effusive,” then that there was something oddly familiar in the figure. Next moment she had turned away, the red blood rushing to her face, a feeling of embarrassment almost overwhelming her as the man sprang from the car. Confident as she was, self-possessed as she was known to be, the situation beat her; she could not for the moment face the man who, when last she saw him, had left her abruptly, oddly, and in circumstances almost tragic. She had turned swiftly to regain control of herself, and so it happened that she missed the eager light that came into the man’s eyes, the eagerness of- his spring from the car, the open ingenuous smile, hie outstretched hand. For a second or two he waited, regarded the turned shoulder that unquestionably was a cold shoulder. His hand dropped to his side, a dull red suffused his face. His legs felt to be of lead as he moved a little nearer. "Can I bo of any help?” he asked quietly. Out of the corner of her eye she saw he was fumbling with his cap, but only to drag the flopping droop of it lower over one ear. Somehow the action roused her anger. She grew cold, critical, cruel, “lie’s uglier than ever,” ahe thought, “with that thing on.” Then in a tone that indicated a big gulf between them, a tone in which she might have given instructions to a garage mechanic. “My tank’s empty,” sho said. “The petrol feed is broken.” Without a word he raised the bonnet of the little car, took a brief survey, then began to do things. A piece of rubber tube and some copper wire repaired the fracture. Two tins of spirit went into the tank, ho swung the starting handle, and the engine roared lustily. “That will carry you to the nearest shop,” ho said. “There you can get a proper repair?” Tt was the first time she had spoken to her since his opening question, and that little circumstance added to her growing

annoyance. She had watched him all the time he was helping her, watched him silently, but closely, and his quiet workmanlike way of going about the business angered her. She knew she had no cause for it, that in fact gratitude was due from her, and she was angry with herself for being aiigrv. Which naturally fed the flames, so that a demon seemed to possess her, and when he had finished and the engine was running she calmly drew forth her purse. “Four gallons of petrol,” she said, “that will be six and sixpence.” H was cruel of her, and she knew, was the more aware of it as he abruptly sprang back into his seat, his free again a dull red, and with another pulling down of that grey cap over his ear shot off down the road. But not before she had caught a quick glance from him. It was a glance that set her thinking. She was back in her car now, but instead of starting off she leaned forward wearily, her arms across the wheel; there was sadness and some remnants of that angry spirit on her face. She was, in fact, grappling with the circumstances that for the moment had been too much for her. It came back to her with a rush that she had not known of his return to England ; she had thought he was still on the NorthWest frontier, where she had left him, or, as she insisted to herself, lie had left her. He was looking well, she thought, in spite of all those years in India. He hadn’t 'the washed out appearance of a man on sick leave, nor that peculiar brown pallor that life in India stamps on some men. He was obviously hearty, fresh, and quite as obviously the same man of few words, but much quiet effective action she had known; a man she had always ikened to a quiet-running, deep, irresistible stream. “Anyhow,” she thought, “he’s as ugly as ewer, and that silly cap makes him worse: common.” Which showed that the lees of anger were still there, and that gratitude was yet dormant. Her thoughts and fears ranged freely over a wide gamut. She repictured that scene, when he had so abruptly left her, leaving unsaid what obviously he had meant to say, and ought to have said. She felt sorry that she had met him again, glad that he had recognised her; wondered where lie was staying, then hoped she would not learn it. Then, what appears to be some inconsequence, a.oud, “Anyhow, if he wants me he must find me. He must have seen my number.” V. suggests that there is more virtue in motor-car registration than the law comprehends. Meanwhile the man had driven on, hot and angry for a moment. Then suddenly he laughed, stopped his car, swung it round, and from a distance watched the black spot in the distance that he knew was her car. It did not surprise him to find that it had not moved; he expected that. A man who has won a reputation for seeing through brick walls may be expected to know a efching or two, and he knew that this sudden altogether unanticipated meeting with Helen meant a new beginning with things, and that sho would be disturbed, then thoughtful. “Poor girl,” he thought. “She’s taking it hard, and no wonder. There will be a lot to explain, and it won't be easy. However, it's going to be done, and she’s going to have to give me the chance.” And there came a curious stubbornness about his iaw. Helen had called him ugly; he had in point of fact a strong, rugged face, and what that indicated many men had discovered. “As well try to bend cast iron as argue with Vickers when he’s made up his mind,” was the verdict often expressed by those among whom Vickers had lived. And the tribes on the Frontier had also come to know him as an unbendable man. It has been indicated, too, that Helen had a mind of her own. Two strong characters, a misunderstanding, a sudden meeting, and the result of this little comedy of errors on the moor top. Vickers watched her, perhaps a little anxiously, as if feeling that much turned on her next move. Suddenly the little patch disappeared ; in the deepening dusk Helen had suddenly moved off, continuing her journey. “Good,” he said. Had she turned back, the matter between them would have been more serious; it would have suggested on her part determination not to forgive him. Whistling lightly, he swung the car round, did his errand in the town in the valley below r , then raced back across the moorland at a pace that, in view of the darkness and the winding nature of the roa-I was risky. But, then, he was light-hearted, and hopeful, and, moreover, a lover. The conspiring relative, hereinafter referred to, when necessary, as Aunt Georgina, met the girl at the door, totally unaware as vet that fate had forestalled her. “You’re late, Helen,” she cried. “But you’ve nice time to dress for dinner. I was beginning to think something had happened to you.” “So it did,” was the response, with some effort at lightness/ 1 Broke my petrol pipe when coming over the moor, and lost every drop of tbe precious juice.’’ “Over the moor.” There was a quick, curious look *n the other’s eyes. It came and went in a flash. “Did you come that way? I expected you’d come round by Scaleby. It's a much better road. Did you meet anyone? How did you get through?” The second question came almost too hurriedly on the hells of the first. “I met n big man with a big car who patched things up for me.” If Aunt Georgina hadn’t been just a little excited, realising, as she was now, that the meeting she had plannned had already taken place, she would have noted the icy quietness of the girl’s tone. “What sort of a man?” Helen smiled a little grimly. She, too, was beginning to see things. “Oh, a horrid, vulgar sort of man—in a way,” hastily, feeling that she was betraying herself. “He nad a queer faco and wore a horrid, vulgar cap right down over one ear.’*

“How horrid!” was the bland response. “Which ear?” “The left,” and, meeting the amused smile of her aunt, Helen blushed. She realised that she was caught. Aunt Georgina was still smiling. She v.as a wise woman, and saw that although fate had intervened in her plans, things were not going so badly. “Poor Jim,” she said. “I told him the only the other day that he looked positively ugly without that oar. And when he grinned in that cheerful way of his it seemed to make him worse.” “Without that ear? What do you mean?” The elder woman smiled again to herself. ‘‘Oh, well, he’s not altogether without, you know. He’s lost some of it, but the wound is about healed up now. As for the cap, it’s Eustace’s. Jim was starting off bareheaded when I snatched it up and stuck it on his head, to cover the wound.” “Wound—..’it wound? I never hear a feeling that things were running away with her. “Oh, hadn’t you heard? Of course, nothing got out about it; these things don’t get into the papers, and you had left India when it happened—had left some time, of course, for it happened only recently. Jim had to settle some trouble among the trihes again—you know he was always having to do it —and some old chief who hadn’t liked a previous decision, lay in wait for him among the hills. He got Jim through the left ear. Of course, it’s a pity, for it spoils his looks.” “What are mere looks in a man?” warmly now, for she was picturing those great hills of the Frontier, hills that she had ridden among, hills and the hidden dangers they could hold, she was familiar with Jim's little expedition, so lightly touched upon, she could also realise and could sense the risk of it. Those great days she had spent out there when a little community of white folk lived the life of watch dogs, when danger was never far away, when that small community ruled not so much by power or pride but by utter. fearlessness, days that were full of joy of living notwithstanding all else, came back upon her with a rush. She was in an instant a rosy emphatic champion of the man she had just snubbed. Nay, even insulted, and she turned a hot red as she thought of the incident of her purse. “Better get on with your dressing, child,” said the elder woman, watching signs keenlv. They had gone arm in arfii to the girl's room, chatting thus all the way. “We shall be a little late, for Jim went out —-by the moorland road—” this with a light laugh, “on an errand for Eustace. He should be back now. You’ll meet him at dinner.” There was a moment’s silence. The elder woman rose to go, but halted at the call, with her hand on the door. “Aunt Georgina.” A pause. “Does he —Jim—Mr Vickers—know I'm here ?” “I fancy I mentioned it, or was it your uncle Eustace? Dear me, how forgetful I’m getting. ,J And with that she hurried off; she could not tell the girl, certainly as things were developing, that Jim had asked to arrange their meetring. It was his one chance, he had said, before he must return to India. She went with some relief, too, for although things seemed to be promising well for that meeting of the two young folk, they had yet got to such a pass that she wanted to think. Jim had confided everything to her; how he was on the point of making his declaration, and making it with hope, when he received a pre-arranged signal from Colonel Grainger, Eustace as we have heard him called; that urgent summons, urgently given, which had obliged him to hurry off without a second for explanation. Aunt Georgina understood; sho was a daughter as well as a wife in the service that spent itself unwearyingly on the Frontier, and knew much of its secret history. It was a service where a man must put his life first and his love second. She also understood, being a very womanly woman, the deep hurt the girl had received, a girl who, being but temporarily among them on the border, had not yet dived deeply into its exciting world of undercurrents. Would she expect some explanation of the apology sort of order, as she was entitled to form her point of view, or would she be prepared to take up those delicate threads where they bad been dropped? And if she was net quite ready, could she be led to such an attitude by means of delicately dropped hints. Aunt Georgina fully realised that they would have to be exceedingly delicate hints. What she failed to realise was that "ood old-fashioned bluntness of the good oldfashioned British type might be equally if not more effective. In other words she had forgotten Eustace. Asa retired Indian officer, Col. Grainger ought to have been liverish, peppery tempered—a bore and a beast and all the rest of it. In point of fact, he was a genial soul, mentally short-sighted and blundering, but always ready to do his best, and it was his very best he did, as it happened, when after dinner he joined Helen on the lawn. Helen was just then in nervous fear of being left with Jim, and had escaped into the open as soon as possible. The elder woman rather approved : she read in it that things were still going well, and it would be harmful to bo too precipitate. So she turned to console and to take counsel with Jim, quite easy in her mind at leaving Helen to her husband. Tt was a fine, moonlight night—such a night as when Helen and Jim stood together near the dining room windows of that little dwelling thousands of miles away. She thought of it with a little choking in the throat. Something of old memories were stirred also in the Colonel’s mind. “By jove,” he said, “lovely night, Helen. Reminds me of a night when we were awav out yonder • one of the most anxious nights ever I spent.” “Oh,” she said, abstractedly. Rut at his next words she was awoke and tense with interest.

“Yes. Come to think of it, why, you were there, and didn’t suspect a thing. And we might have all been wiped out that night. It’s three years ago, or thereabouts. You were with Jim, 1 remember, in the dining room, when I came posting across the grounds to you. I’d got sudden and unexpected news of trouble, serious trouble, and it was Jim’s business to go out to straighten things up. He was always the one to tackle risky work; he had a way with him with the natives. I saw him with you, and gave him that secret, urgent signal we had agreed upon. You wouldn’t know it, of course, but I can tell you now that that signal called for the most immediate action under whatever circumstances. You should have seen Jim take that flying leap through the open window. Perhaps you remember it?” Remember it—she remembered more than that, and remembered much of what happened since, and recently. “Jim was just in time ” What more lie said she never knew. Her thoughts were busy, moreover her cheeks were hot, with some shame and also because of other things, half-formed thoughts that brought a fluttering to her pulses. With a nastily-formed excuse, she turned and went indoors. In the dining room, through which she was passing, or meant to pass, the lights were low. She heard a hasty step, an exclamation of gladness; her hands were seized. She trembled, but was not afraid. But let us see what happened to the Colonel. It was a minute or two before he was aware that there was no response to his talk and he realised that he was alone. “Queer,” he. thought. “Hope nothing's wrong with the girl. Better go and tell Georgina.” And he did. “Upset, you say?” she asked. “Why, what have you been telling her? Some of those old Indian ghost stories?” “Now, Georgina,” he expostulated. “As if I would. Though, to be sure, I did mention India.” “Oh,” looking up quickly. “What did you say about India?” ‘ Oh, well, the night, the moon, and everything, you know, reminded me of that night of Jim’s expedition. You remember, I never was more anxious in all my life. By the way, there’s a point about that business I’ve never made clear. I’ll go and ask Jim about it whilst I remember.” He was gone before she could move, shooting off in that curiously boyish, impetuous way that sometimes came over nim. She was after him at once, but the doormat turned up under her hasty step, blocked the door and her exit for some precious seconds. When she arrived at the dining room she paused, held her hand against her side to suppress her merriment, for this is what she heard: “I say, Jim, about that business . . •” Jim turned, but had not removed his arm from about the girl. “Colonel Grainger, I am your guest, and this lady is your guest, but we request you to leave the room. I am in the middle of a proposal to her, and- decline to be inter-n-pted. Once before you interrupted me, perhaps with some excuse. To-night I take it from no man.” “Good lord, old. man,” cried the Colonel, under this reproof, half banter, half seriousness. “I’d no idea, really—excuse me, won’t you, Helen?” Georgina swam in to the rescue. “Eustace, I want you a minute,” and took him by the arm. Something that sounded perilously like a giggle stopped her. “Oh, don t go, aunt. It’s all over, though I’ve forgotten what I said.” But that was merely a feminine move. It might bo recorded that at a little later period when the newiv-married couple were driving oflfin Jim’s new twoseater, Aunt Georgina slipped a grey tweed cap on the radiator cap, and there was a twinkle in her eye which one another understood.