LOCHINVAR’S RIVAL.

Otago Witness, Issue 3854, 24 January 1928, Page 81

LOCHINVAR’S RIVAL.

By

Dale Craven.

\ Copyright fob the Otago Witness.)

While the wedding bells were ringing in the old. grey tower of the church Arthur Gregson vias taking his customary morning stroll through the mills. He had no keen interest in the business, but he was a member of the firm, and he deemed it his duty at least to make an outward show, and conscientiously he had Walked twice, a day through the huge works, a pleasant smil e always on his face, until the duty had become a. habit. It served its purpose, for all the workers liked this quiet pleasant-featured young man, though everybody was aware that the driving force of the concern was the father, who, succeeding to a father of equally outstanding personality, had built up'works begun in an old blacksmith’s shop until now the mills and sheds and dyehouses covered acres, and Gregson’s cloths found a market in almost every corner of the world. There were times when the folk of that hilltop town wondered what the third generation would do, for in Arthur th e product of a strenuous father and an invertebrate mother, the vigour of the paternal stock seemed to-' have run to sap. He was,- ran the verdict, very nice but a softy, - • : :

But . this -morning there was no smile on his face. Over-it was spread gloom,

and something more that the workers, tittering in safety in the loom gates and in the walks of the spinning frames, could not fathom. His brows were drawn together, there was something more purposeful in hig step. They tittered, but they did it with face B averted. Arthur, they said, after he had passed on, was ieeling it. Well, it served him right, he, with all that money coming to him was a big softy. ’ Arthur was well aware of what was going on, and his eyes burned and in his heart was wrath. He paused for a moment by one of the. open windows and looked down over' th e valley below. He was remote enough from the machinery to be able to hear the clanging of the church bells, and the frown on his face deepened. He bit his lip in vexation. Had the workers seen him their titters would have been redoubled, thinking as they would have don e that he was taking the business badly to heart. For those bells were ringing for the wedding of one to whom he had been engaged, and who, according to all outward appearances, had been snatched from him by a more virile man Arthur was in ■no doubt about this common impression. He had learned it only that morning when on opening his letters he had found one containing a plain postcard, on which was written :— And the poor craven bridegroom said never a word.”

So, he was Lochinvar's poor stick of a rival, was he?—a weak man who had allowed Ins sweetheart to be snatched from him and had raised never a hand never a protest, against it. He turned from the window to meet one of the foremen. The man passed him with averted face, and something that to the young fellow seemed like a contemptuous movement of the shoulders. Hot anger moved Gregson. He half took a step as if to stop the man and speak to him. Then irresolutely he paused; the hot wave flamed and died. He went on into the designing .office, and was at once aware of a tension in the atmosphere. Some of the younger men were bent too closely over* their work, and he knew that inwardly they were laughing at him. He passed into the office of the head designer. Crawford looked up as he entered, and Arthur was aware of a quick expression that flitted across Ins features. It was enough. In a second, and for the first time in his life Arthur sa— red. As Crawford rose to meet him Arthur gathered himself together, all the pent-up emotions, anger, and resentment found vent in a blow straight from the shoulder that sent Crawford on to his back. It was but a matter of seconds before Arthur felt as if he had been hit by a sledge hammer, and in turn he, too, measured his length. Scrambling to his feet he got in another blow, and by good luck, aided. by the other’s surprise and by his own impetus, for Arthur was a wellbuilt and powerful man, Crawford went down again. It was all done without a word, without a sound save for the impact of the fist on -flesh. Then for the second time Crawford rose on his feet, and scientificallv and with experience polished off Arthur neatlv and quickly.

“Now. old man, what’s the matter? IVhat’s it all about?”

Arthur found himself in a chair, somewhat limp and beginning to feel pain where he had been hit. Crawford was standing over him, wet cloth and towel in hand, sponging away the blood, and refreshing the dazed youth with cold water.

“Feel better?. That’s good. You’ll soon be all right. But what in the world —I say, I didn’t know you had it in you.” ■

There was something in the admiring tones that was more refreshing to Arthur than the cold water. He glanced up at him through eyelids that., ached and seemed to be swelling, and found him good-humouredly looking down at him.

Im sorry, Crawford. It was mean and cowardly of me.” Crawford looked at him shrewdly. He was no mean judge of men. As an international Rugby captain he had to handle men and handle opponents, and he was as wise and as broad-minded as he was shrewd. Moreover, he had a regard for Arthur that few had been moved to, seeing something below the surface of this mother-coddled youth that few- had visualised. Moreover, he remembered the words of Greeson senior: ° ’

“That lad o’ mine’s a softy just now, but one day he’ll waken up and astonish folk. If thou gets a chance take him in hand and make a man o’ him. It’s my fault, and I’m ’shamed o’ myself, that he s a softy, hut I’ve these works to keep going, and that’s a job bioenough. Don’t be afraid to use him rough if thou thinks fit. He’ll stand it.”

Crawford, pushing on as he knew he was through the designing room to the manager’s office and to a place' in the firm, felt curiously drawn to this youth, who could so unexpectedly break out in’ this Berserk fashion. There was more oeliind it all than he yet knew* “ Cowardly, bosh! ” abruptly, and the tone was like a tonie to a consciencesmitten Arthur'. r ." You hit out like a man, and in more ways than one knocked me off my feet.”- He paused, then, dropping a hand on other’s shoulder: “What’s it all about, lad?”

Arthur, standing now, looked at the other, caught the keen yet encouraging glance, hesitated a moment, then drew a postcard from his pocket. . “ That! ” he said.

Crawford read and understood. Again he looked Arthur shrewdly over. Treat

him rough, the old man had said. The time seemed to have come for that treatment.

“ VV ell, it s what we’re all thinking.” Arthur s eyes flamed. The moisture in them, that might or might not have been the result of the happenings of a moment or so ago, dried instantly. He snatched the postcard from the other's hands, and tearing it into fragments, stamped on the pieces. “ There isn’t a word of truth in it,” he almost shouted. “We all think so,” Crawford administered more rough treatment medicine. Arthur tossed hi« hands in a gesture of contempt and despair. “ Well, you’re all fools, that’s all I can say.” Crawford watched him keenly. Another dose. “ Um, the trouble is we all think you’re the fool.” Gregson sprang to his feet, his face red. “It you say that again I'll punch your head even if you beat me to a jelly.” Crawford, smiled. “ Splendid, my lad. Now sit down and let’s have a talk.” He motioned to the chair, and drew up another, producing his pouch. “ Your face will soon be all right again,” he said. “ Better sit here a bit and keep applying that wet cloth. They won’t see anything after half an hour or so. Luckily, I didn't hit you hard.” Arthur opened his mouth, amazed, then he laughed, a real hearty, robust laugh. “Didn’t you?” he grinned. “I thought I’d been kicked by a mule.”

The other nodded. The medicine was working. “Well, now what about it?” Arthur's face went gloomy again. “ There isn’t anything in it. I know everybody thinks I’vd been soft to let a fellow take a girl from me; I felt everybody was thinking that when I went round the works just now. But there isn’t anything in it, and she and I know that. Why, all that's happened is what we both wanted.”-

“ I don’t just follow,” said Crawford. “ Molly and you were engaged.” “So we were in a way. You can see how it all happened, can’t you? We grew up together, and we were friendly, very friendly. I took her about a good bit, and then it seemed the natural and the correct thing, too, to become engaged. My mother wanted it, and her mother did, and it appeared that both said so to us. Each to —you know what I mean, they both kept hinting at it. So we just drifted into it. And then this fellow came along, and Molly :old me she wondered whether we were just suited. And as soon as that point was raised, and for the first time, mind you, we both agreed that we weren’t. It was the pleasantest thing in the world the -way we came to this understanding, and I just stood aside, that’s all.” Crawford nodded. “ All the same,” he objected, “ you can’t go about explaining to everybody by such methods as you recently adopted. It would take too long, and there’d be too much trouble following.” Arthur laughed again, then: “ I say, old fellow, I’m awfully sorry you know.” /‘Bosh,” crisply. “I don’t blame you a*bit. But 1 didn’t think you’d so much in you. Why, you’re as strong as a horse. I can understand going down the first time; you took me by surprise. But the second, by good luck or good management, you caught me although I was ready, and easily bowled me over.” A pause. “ What are you going to do about it now ? ”

Arthur’s face was troubled again. “ I don’t know,” he confessed. Crawford pulled at his pipe for a while in silence.

“ I’m going to preach a bit,” he said presently, “ and you’ll have to stand it. This firm employs four thousand people. It isn’t a business, it’s a moral responsibility. It was built by your grandfather and father, and what’s going to happen in future years? I’ll tell you. My dad, now manager, will become managing director, your father will be chairman of directors, and I shall be manager. You will be a r director, of course, but for how much will you count? You’ve brains arid physique,, but you haven’t enough real interest. You ought to be mopping up experience to qualify you to be head when. your, father is no longer here, to carry on the family tradition. But you won’t, unless' things change. You’ll have money enough and to spare, but with all the family tradition behind you, you’re likely to lose the real inheritance.”

“That’s true,” said Arthur! “ but I never looked at it like, that before.”

“ There’s a remedy, and it is to get you to believe in yourself. I don’t mind if you get a conceited notion so long as there is so'mething behind that. I have a proposal to make. In brief it’s this: If you’ll: put yourself into my hands I’ll make a real man of you. What say you?” “ Done.” Arthur’s hand went out, and was fi- ly gripped. They sat and smoked awhile in silence. Then ’ Crawford chuckled. “I’ve often -wondered,” ■ he said, answering • the other’s questioning glance, “ what the real Lochinvar fellow, the one .who was done in, did when he came round. I expect he carved a retainer with his sword.”

Gregson flung the wet towel at him. In a second the two were locked in friendly but fierce grip. When later they emerged into a wondering office Gregson was as neat and debonair as usual and Crawford as cool and as unruffled as ever. But it was noticed that the. young boss;- as. he was sometimes known, was inclined" to beuri-' usually-critical in the works, ~ j"

It was the beginning of a change that others noticed. Some months later the mother complained to Gregson, senior, that Arthur was getting rough. b b

Her husband grunted. “I shouldn’t call it rough anyhow, but rather that he s getting more spry. And he’s making folk take notice. I’d two or three in my office the other . day telling me that he had boxed their ears and they were going to take summoi ses out. I telled ’em they could if thev liked, and by all means get him fined, but that if there was any slack work going on, well we’d no romin for slack workers, he chuckled. “ Something’s come over t lad. He’s beginning to conti adict me, and he's getting his own way, too. That last big order from South Africa was all his own getting. He’s beginning to know what’s what.”

Business! And I wanted him to go into Parliament and have a country seat.” It was almost a wail. Aye,” drily. “A woman's dreams. 1 want him to shape to be head of Gregsons, on whom a thousand families depend, and he’s doing it. I do believe he s doing it.” There was more wailing some months later, and more grim delight to accompany it, -when Arthur finally made known his intention to get married. Jt was all of a piece with his new character, a way he had developed of doing things and telling as much as he thought of telling biter. His . iiiteiv tion had been awaited in the little town with interest. That it was there was certain; had he not built a house for himself, and had not all the matrons who, openly or surreptitiously, had inspected it as it progressed towards completion, decided that it -was intended to be a bachelor establishment ?

Letty Crawford,” wailed the mother, when Arthur had dropped the name, and had departed, unconcerned as to its reception, for business. “ Betty Crawford.” She looked across the table at her husband, “the daughter of your manager. Arthur could have done much better.*’ “He couldn’t,” brusquely. 1 Betty takes after her father; she's plenty about her, and I’m glad. I began to fear the lad would do worse.”

He s surprised me,” she wailed again. Her husband laughed. But Arthur had surprised more than his mother; he had surprised Betty herself, if only momentarily, for it was a sensation only just felt in a wave of other sensations and even emotions. As Arthur himself said later there was something Lochinvar-like about his wooing, which he had intended to be other than the quick, brusque, caveman-like thing it was. But circumstances conspired to make it so.

It came during an election period which began with some sullenness on one side and . ominous hints that trouble would develop. Passions ran high, and the higher because in this post-war period the town had developed and had brought in new residents who knew nothing of the traditional regard, mingled with a good deal of sturdy independance, held by the working population for the old family concern of Gregsons. There came a night when packed meeting in the one large hall developed out of hand. Arthur was on the platform, with his father and mother, with Crawf ril and Betty, among others. His quick eye noted'-the trouble brewing, and he exchanged a quick and meaning glance with Crawford. The two of them, it was understood, were to withstand any rush.

The rush came suddenly, and when it opened Arthur almost unconsciously acted alone.

“ Clear the platform, Crawford.” It was a short quick order from a man who spoke .as one born to command. “ Get the women folk away, I’ll hold them.” He did, whilst his friend steered the ladies and the men folk out by the side door to safety, Gregson senior, feeling the recurrence of hot youthful blood, protesting the while. Meanwhile- Arthur caught, the first man to mount the platform, and flung him back'into the mass surging and yelling below. More came —they, too, were flung back. Still more. Arthur’s face was alight, his eyes were blazing,, his voice rose in something like a war shout, but with it all he was cool, resourceful, and purposeful. The many more were becoming too much for him, and also for Crawford, who had rejoined him,; when he caught sight of Betty lying as if crumpled up and half-hidden by the curtains of the stage. In an instant he had her on her feet. A quick word,! and he learned that she was not hurt, but that a chair had swept her off her. feet. He looked round quickly. Then his mind was made up.

. “ Get away, Crawford,” he cried. “ I’ll manage Betty.” He caught her. up. easily in one arm. With a, mighty laugh, triumphant, challenging, he stepped dowii among the men below, and sweeping the first aside/ walked through the thick of them and out at the front door, unmolested because of the sheer challenging daring ol his action. Out into the dimly-lit street, he strode, and continued to stride until Betty, recovering from her fears, an# from that first overwhelming fine feel« ing of being in his possession, recollected herself demurely. " Put 'me down, Mr Gregson;” “Who?”

In the' darkness Betty- knew well enough that her face led-flushed Piit me down —Arthnt.’* ; " N'ot yet,”

“ But you can’t carry me through the streets like this.” s

“ You’ll soon know better.”

This was too much. The thing would be all over the town by,breakfast time. She began to get flustered. “ Oh, Arthur, put me down. What will people say 1 ” He laughed. “ Bother the folk. Who cares ? ” ' -

“ Oh, I do. Put me down. Arthur, oh do. I can walk. I’m not hurt.” Then, as he still strode on, “ Where are you taking me to? ” recognising that they were certainly not going home. He laughed, bent to the face pressed against his shoulder. “To our house, to be sure. This isn’t the way I meant to let you see it, but as things are, why, we may as veil go.” “ Well,” in sheer amazement, and yet in a queer exultation, “ of all the ” Some relaxation of the pressure enabled her to slide to the ground, but there was a pause half way, just long enough for his lips to meet hers. It was an embarrassed but pleased Betty who tried to give an explanation to her mother next morning. “ Oh, mother, he didn’t give me a chance to say no, or —or yes. He took it all for granted.” The mother smiled. “ Was it no you wished to sav ? ”

Betty, rosy-red, evaded the question. It’s a dream of a house, mother,” she said, hurriedly. “You must come down to see it. Arthur said I must take you down as soon as you liked.”