A BLIND PROVIDENCE.

Otago Witness, Issue 3806, 22 February 1927, Page 81

A BLIND PROVIDENCE.

Bv

G. B. Burgin.

(Copyright. —For the Witness.) Silas Arks, the blind beggar (he was, blind only at intervals when his clients came along ; at other times his sight was preternaturally acute), rose from Ins frowsy bed in the dim light oi the c “ l ** November morning, and gently poked “Bones” in the ribs. Bones, a Skye terrier of ancient lineage, and beautifully combed and kept, got up in his basket on a chair by Silas’s bedside and displayed his white teeth in a yawn as he gazed with patrician disgust, at a tin cup attached to a collar which had been thrown into a corner of the room. To the collar was also fastened a thick cord with which Silas, when he was blind, led the patrician Bones, his most valuable asset. People stopped as they saw how tenderly the dog was cared for. poured largesse into the cup, and loved Bones for his beautiful soft brown, ingratiating eyes.

Silas, after making a primitive toilet, for he had to keep up a poverty-stricken, unwashed appearance, prepared a generous breakfast of eggs and .bacon, which he shared with Bones. “You being- my partner, so to speak,” he declared as Bones daintily ate his share of the meal, “You being my partner, so to speak, goes shares with me, if it’s only to make up for my giving you such a name. I did think of •Montmorency,’ or something high-flown like that, but ‘Bones’ was handier.”

He put his hand under the bed, and produced a big bag of money in silver, notes, and coppers, mostly coppers. “I’ve been thinking,” here he dexterously covered his right eye with a ragged black patch, “it’s about time wc retired; I’m getting- old and a bit tired of the weather. You’re rising four now, and it’s time you married and settled down. We’ll get a dog paper and find you a wife as well-bred as yourself. I know of a cottage near Arkley Common as ’ud just suit us. I c’d plant taters, and you c’d scratch ’em up when you felt like it. A few taters, more or- less, won’t matter to us if you can get any fun out of ’em. Now I’ll brush and comb you and we’ll be off to our pitch. I'd best take your coat along too, for it’s a nasty day to be out.” After carefully locking the door, Silas, preceded by Bones, tapped his way down the narrow steps, and started for Bryanston square. They leached -their “pitch” without any mishap, and made themselves as comfortable as circumstances permitted, Bones sitting on a cork mat and rising up to beg at intervals from the passers-by. But owing to the state of the weather business was dull, and Silas shivered once oi- twice in spite of his comforting, dirty old clay pipe. Bones, too, looked a little piteops. “ I’m only doing this to oblige you,” his manner implied as lie snuggled up against Silas, “but I shall be glad when we get home again.” “ Right you are! ” said Silas understanding this mute appeal. “ We’ll go ’ome a hour earlier and make ourselves comfortable. It’s nearly 5 now. We’ll go at ’arf-past.” .

“ That’s a good dog of yours,” sa*id a manly voice as a "very handsome, fairhaired young man stopped and patted Bones. “ Where’d you steal him ? ” Silas was indignant at this unwarrantable assumption. “ Bones came from Lady Smithson’s, Grosvenor square,” he said shortly. “He was only a pup, and they thought he was dying of a chill. The butler was told to get rid' of him or drown him, so he gave him to me, and I nursed him day and night. They tell me he’s worth a mint of money.” “ I beg your pardon,” said the young man. “What a pity you can’t see him. He’s a beauty.”

“ Y’es,” said Silas cautiously. Maybe, if I ever get my sight back, I will some day.” “ Of course you’ll get your sight back, Silas, ’’ said a clear, sweet voice at his elbow as beautiful Moya Malone picked up Bones and kissed him. “ How are you to-day, my dear doggie?” “Your dog! What do you mean, Moya ? ” The lovers clasped hands. She was a lovely Irish girl with bluegrey eyes, a wealth of chestnut hair, and a complexion which seems to be the peculiar prerogative of Irish girl ex' “ How did you know I’d be here at this time 1 ” asked, the enraptured Hilary. “ It will nerve me up for tackling your old pig of a guardian.” Silas listened with interest, for lie

loved the light-hearted Moya almost as much as he loved Bones.. Cautiously shifting his black patch he. saw that the girl was unhappy and a little frightened. Moya liked the old impostor for his quaint witticisms and kindness to Bones, and though her allowance was a small I one never failed to give him a copper and a biscuit for Bones. If a day passed without her coming to the corner of Bryanston square Silas, in spite of his takings, missed her solely. And sometimes. when the girl was very weary and

tire., of her old guardian’s bad temper and exactions, he knew that she wanted sympathy. Apparently she had found it, for the young fellow beside her seemed just the right kind of man to give it to her. Deep down in Silas’s heart was a certain amount of romance, and as he came to know Moya better it made him delay giving up ’the pitch and taking Bones to the country. Now she was evidently apprehensive. “ Do you think you had better speak to Mr Brookerson to-night, Hilary-?—Di-rectly he knows we’re engaged he’ll be furious. All he will think is that you haven’t a penny beyond your salary in the city as a stockbroker’s clerk. -I shan’t be of age for another year, and he’s already hinting that the cost of bringing me up will leave very little of my mother’s money for me. We must wait, dear.” The young man shook his head decidedly. ‘“No, dearest. If we wait he’ll sav that I’m after your money. Better

have it out with him now.” “But I’m afraid, Hilary.” She reluctantly put down Bones after he had given her a lick on her pretty nose. “ You have your mother to provide for.” “I know,” said Hilary, a little less bravely. “ But she loves you, and things are sure to improve. If I’d only £5OO I could make £3OOO in a week. But I haven’t £5OO, and next week it will be too late.” Silas pricked up his ears; a tear stole down Moya’s cheek; Bones, conscious of trouble, whined sympathetically. Moya, even in her distress, did not forget the customary copper for Silas, Bones received*two sweet biscuits instead of one, and the young couple moved slowly away towards Mr Brookerson’s. Contrary to Bones’s expectation, Silas did not pick up his stool and prepare to go home. ‘'Tell you what it is, Bones,” he said suddenly. “You’ve got your biscuits and can hold out if supper’s a bit late. I want to have a word with that young man when he comes back.”

Bones began to fidget, for it was nearly six o’clock when Hilary Tempest came swinging angrily along. Darkness had descended on the face of the earth, although the lamps were lit in the square. In his excitement, Hilary was about to pass the old man without noticing him, but Silas put out his arresting stick and the young man stopped. “What is it?” lie asked abruptly. “I gave you some coppers before we left you.”* “I ain’t thinking of-coppers,” sturdily declared Silas. “ ’Scuse me, sir, but I’ve got other things to think about.” “So have I. Good-night.” “Stop a bit, sir. Stop a bit. You’ll excuse the liberty I’m takin’, but speaking for self-and Bones, we’re very fond of Miss Moya.”

“Well ?” “And I take it, respectful like,-- she’s very fond of you?” Hilary laughed in spite of liis anger. “You’re quite right. Sorry I was so rough. Have a cigarette?” Silas shook his head. “I couldn’t help hearing what you and the young lady was sayin’ afore you left me, sir. Was it ajl_right with the old un?” “No, jt wasn’t all right with 'the old un r ; in fact, it was all "wrong —-very wrong. He nearly kicked me out of the house, and when Moya tried to stop him, rudely pushed her away.” “Did he now! Did he now! Old uns, when they meet young une, is sometimes took that way. Maybe, if you’ll pardon the liberty, sir, you’d come' along ’ome with me and Bones and ’ave a bit of supper with us ?” The young man hesitated. Even in his anger he did not like to hurt the feelings of anyone who loved Moya. And he was in no mood to face his gentle mother with the news of his failure to placate old Brookerson. <

“I wants to ask your advice, sir,” persisted Silas. “My advice! What on earth about ?” “ ’Taint about nothin’ in ’eaven,” whimsically declared Silas, folding up his stool. “It’s about investin’ a little bit of money I’ve got.” “Oh, well! ” The young man was goodnature itself, and hesitated no longer. “If I can be of service to you, I shall be delighted. Any friend of my future wife” (he swelled with’ youthful pride) “has a right to my advice. I’m too poor

to give anything else. I’ll come with you on one condition, and that is that you let me buy our supper as we go along.” The old man heartily agreed. “Now take my arm,” said the impetuous Hilary, “and I’ll carry Bones. His legs are so short he’ll get all messed up on this damp pavement. Besides, I love dogs.” He tucked Bones under his arm, and they set out, stopping by a butcher’s on the way home to buy a couple of pounds of steak for their own supper, and some liver for Bones. Hilary was rather surprised when, after reaching “ ’ome,”’ Silas locked the door from the inside, and turned on the

gas. A nurrieu glance rounu me room showed, him that despite its frowsy appearance it contained all the elements of solid comfort, a cosy armchair, a padded wickerwork basket for Bones, and a modern gas range. Jle was still more surprised when Silas removed the patch from over one eye, sponged off the paste which stuck down the lid of the other, and grinned affably. “You—infernal —old —humbug,” Hilary gasped. “Maybe I am, and maybe 1 ain’t. There was no other way of makin’ a livin, up to me, so I took this one. But we’ll have supper first, sir, and then I’ll tell you all about it. I don’t know as whether you’re partial to beer?” Hilarv admitted that he was “partial

to beer.” “There ain’t no such thing as bad beer,” contended Silas, getting out a gridiron and carefully putting the steak and liver on it. “Some beer’s better’ll others; that’s all the difference,” and he produced two small bottles. The odour of the cooking steak was appetising, and, in spite of his troubles, Hilary was hungry. He took up Bones on his knee and petted him. Bones’s bright eyes were fixed expectantly on the liver, as if he knew what would fall to his share. Silas deftly sliced up some “taters,” then placed them in a fryingpan beside the steak, Hilary marvelling the while that he could afford so expensive a range. When the food was done to a turn, Silas placed three chairs round the table, one for himself, one for Hilary, one for Bones, slnd they took their places, Silas carefully mincing up the liver for Bones. “Now, Bones, say, ‘For what we’re going to receive.’ ” en - iir* in hia ohnir nnd barked

once for each word. “The Lord make us truly thankful,” said Silas. .. And they did eat. “You take that armchair by the fire,” suggested Silas, when they had finished supper. “Bones ’ull have his basket in front of it, and I’ll sit on the other side if you’ll ’scuse my pipe.” By all means, _Hilary was comfortably somnolent; so was Bones. The adventure amused him. Besides, he was more than a little, touched by the perfect understanding between Bones and his master. “Now,” said Silas, after he had filled his filthy clay, lighted it, turned the bowl upside down, and puffed away: “Now, we’re eumferable. The door’s locked. No one can come nigh us, and I’m goin’ to s’prise you.” He went to the bed, pulled out a big bag from under it, and laboriously hauled it into the middle of the room. “Now, sir, maybe you’d count 'that for me. Never mind the coppers.” Concealing his surprise, Hilary went down on his hands and knees, sorted out the silver and notes in two big heaps, and counted them. “£497, £498, £499 19s Od. It’s just a shilling short of £500.”

Silas seemed disappointed. “I reckoned it was £5OO without the coppers.” “So it is.” ; Hilary took a shilling from his pocket and placed it on the silver pile. “There you are. Now, what’s it all about?” Even then he had no inkling of what was going to happen.” Silas drew a long breath. “It’s Miss Moya’s money. Every penny of it, ’cept the coppers.” “What! do you mean to tell me—” ‘‘She told me all about you and what a prideful young man you are. ‘I dussent dare ask him to take the money from me,’ she said, ‘but lie’s a stockbroker and knows how to use money, though he ain’t got any of his own. I’ve been saving it up for years, ’cos I knows my guardian won’t let him marry me if he can help it.’ Now you take my tip, sir, and make that £3OOO you was talkin’ about. Then you can. get married right off the knocker. You’re sure it’s a dead cert ”

“Quite sure.” “On your Bible oath?” “On my . Bible oath.” “Then put it up into a parcel and make the three thousand,” said Silas, taking another long,whiff at his pipe. _ The young man hesitated. “It’s Moya’s money; I’d rather it were your’s.” In his excitement, he did not see the improbability of Moya ever having been able to save so large a. sum. “There’s my money. Every copper of it,” and Silas pointed to the immense heap of coppers on the floor. “You’re sure Miss Malone meant me to do this?” “Certain sure.” Silas made up the money in a brown parcel, and gave it to him. - “Best be off now,” he suggested, ‘ and do it fust thing to-morrow. Don’t let on to Miss Moya as I’m not blind. She might want her coppers back.” When Hilary had gone—with the riioney —Bones got up, stretched himself in his basket, and looked reproachfully at Silas. “And I thought you-the soul of truth.” his manner implied. Silas feebly reassured him. “So I am. Fust time you ever heard me tell a lie; and there’s no denyin’ it’s a big un. Let’s go to bed to sleep it Off.”

“I want to see Mr Brookerson,” said Hilary, a week later, as the pretty maid opened the door to him. “My instructions are Mr Brookerson won’t see you, sir, and I’m not to Jet you in,” answered the pretty maid. “But I must see him; it’s most important. Go and ask him again, there’s a good girl.” “Very well, sir, but I know it’s no use.” She went, and as quickly returned. “Master says if you don’t go away, he'll send for a policeman, sir.” Hilary brushed by her, and went up to Mr Brookerson’s study. “Come in,” drowsily said Mr Brookerson in answer to his knock. “Did you send that impertinent young scoundrel away, Martha ?.” “The impertinent young scoundrel is here,” smiled Hilary. Mr Brookerson started up from his afternoon nap, purple with rage. “How dare you come here, you a mere beggar, to ask for the hand of my ward!” “Only as a matter of courtesy, Mr Brookerson. I’ve looked up Miss Malone’s birth certificate and find that she is exactly a year older than you have made her believe she is.” ‘‘Well, sir?” -“Further, I have made three thousand pounds, my salary has been raised, and I am in a position to marry Miss Malone to-morrow.” “Very well. Go and marry her tomorrow. That’s no excuse for interrupting my nap.” And Mr Brookerson, realising his impotence, went to sleep again. Hilary found Moya anxiously awaiting him in the hall. “It’s all right, dear.” ‘‘All right!” Moya was incredulous. “Yes, I have his permission to marry you to-morrow. I found out you were really of age. Besides, there’s vour £3000.”

“My £3000! Oh, you’re not well, Hilary dearest.” “ Never so well in my life. When old Silas gave me your money to ” “My money! He hasn’t got any money of mine except the coppers I give him.”

Hilary turned white. “ The awfulold—liar,” he said confusedly. “ Why—what ? Whatever do you mean, Hilary ? ” “He took me home to supper with him and Bones. A jolly good supper it was too.” “ Never mind the supper, Hilary.” “ Then he produced your £5OO which he said you had given him for me to invest.” “ You must be dreaming. I’ve never had so much money in my life.” “ Well that was his story. Like a fool I believed it. We must give him back his money—and the rest.” “Of course, dearest. Then we’re just where we were.” “ Not a bit. My salary has been raised and I’ve enough to marry on. We’ll be married before the week’s out. Brookerso? said I might marry you to-morrow. Put on your hat and we’ll give back his money to that old humbug of a Silas.” “He isn’t an old humbug. He’s a dear, sweet, big-hearted old man. And —and

so is Bones.” “As you please. Anyhow, we’ll get rid of this money before it’s stolen from us.” They went to Silas, who greeted them warmly though not without traces of embarrassment. Moya walked up to Silas and kissed him, patches and dirt and all. “ Here's your £3500, Silas, and I shall love you and Bones all the rest of my life.” “ I’m agreeable if you don’t ask no. okkard questions,” said the bewildered. Silas. “ Very well. I’ll promise not to ask any awkward questions, and Hilary shan’t ask any either, you —you old dear. Now Hilary will go with you to a bank at once.” Silas counted out £5OO and put the notes in his pocket. Then he divided the £3OOO into two equal heaps and handed one of them to Hilary. “Your share, partner! ” The tears came into Moya's beautiful eyes. “ Take it, Hilary,” she said softly. “If we don’t he’ll never forgive us.” * * * After all Bones had a potato patch in a little garden near the Tempests house, and, greatly to Moya’s joy, Silas miraculously recovered his sight!