THE NOVELIST

Otago Witness, Issue 3996, 14 October 1930, Page 64

THE NOVELIST

A NEW ZEALAND ROMANCE.

TUSSOCKY TOPS.

By

AUGUSTA WHITE.

(All the characters in this story are imaginary.)

(Copyright.—For the Otago Witness.)

CHAPTER I.

Julia Lovell looked round the room. Was everything packed, ready for the journey? Yes. And still more than half an hour before ■ the carrier’s appointed time. Julia hated waiting. Yet, being already, at 22, a philosopher of a kind—or, at least, determined to become a philosopher —she proceeded to transmute her impatience into a more useful form of energy. For one could not afford to be irritable. It spoiled one’s ■'Beauty. She would write a farewell letter. Yes, there was some loose stationery left out. “ Ever Dearest Grace, — “ You will be surprised. What I foretold has come to pass. I’m going. Yes, back ‘ home,’ by courtesy so called. Back to Tussocky Tops Station, or to what is now left of it to us. Father has quite definitely failed. I’m afraid he was born a failure; in which respect, however, I don’t intend to take after him.’ Had Tussocky Tops been the most naturally prolific land'in New Zealand, instead of being a desolate waste of stones and tussocks, which the very sheep object to live on; and threaded, moreover, _by allegedly auriferous creeks, to give ampler opportunities of ruining oneself by mining—even if these things had been different, still my father would never have made anything of the place. As I think I have told you, he inherited some money from his own father; upon which, knowing, as he did, nothing of land, sheep, gold, labour, or men, he came to the colonies, and sunk his capital in Tussocky Tops Station. One thing my dear old dad did know how to do, and that was to spend money, especially on racing. Another thing I must say for him—and it’s vastly to his credit —is that he does enjoy life. He is easily made happy (far otherwise than my poor mother), and he likes to see others happy as well; only, he is irresponsible. My brother Tom, ditto. Father all over

again—only, alas! without the breeding. Then Martha, my only sister, I’ve already described to you. Her name fits her, and she ‘ favours ’ my mother. Well, my dear, it took more than 30 years, but the money is all gone. Funny thing, that the people on the larger station adjoining ours—Yorkers -—a few thousand acres of just the same hilly, tussocky, desert-like land, ‘ made good ’ amazingly! Huge family —about a dozen. The parents came out when mine did, and settled there about the same time. And they —the Yorkes —though poor as mice in the beginning, are quite rich now. They’ve even struck gold, as well as being little wool kings. And, as they were always awfully good neighbours, I’m afraid we’ve been horribly in their debt for years. Probably old Yorke has bought us out. “ Well, Grace darling, I can’t stay here any longer. And I don’t know whether to ‘cuss my luck,’ because I wasn’t warned sooner—dad having always kept up supplies somehow—and have therefore wasted my substance in riotous living—or whether to thank the gods that at least I’ve had my University spin—taken honours — learned some music also, and managed my L.A.B.—and above all, had that European tour, and that little run over most of Australia. Which joys I may never more experience. I fear they have taught me rather to despite the smallness of my native

land, her crudity and quietness. I had such a lovely time abroad that I’ve grown ambitious for fresh conquests. But you know all that. The carrier comes, so I must cease. The first train takes me towards Tussocky Tops, towards home, mother, and Martha, For God’s sake write to me -—write immediately, write often, and write long! How sorry lam that you had to go north, taking your mother to Rotorua, just when all this happened! I hope Mrs Mason’s rheumatism will benefit. My regards to her, and eternal love to yourself. Julia.”

The carrier waited meekly, while this soniewhat egotistical outpouring of eternal love was folded and enclosed, and the envelope addressed to Miss Grace Mason, at the Hot Sparks Hotel, Rotorua. After which the luggage was dispatched to the railway; and then, Miss Julia Lovell put on her things with care and smartness, and prepared to follow. She ..disliked the ordeal of saying farewell, even to her good landlady—for the same was talkative. Therefore Julia had

arranged to have no spare time, and to cut all good-byes as short as possible. Putting on her hat took longer, but it was done. In looking after herself, and in learning such lessons from life as she judged might be most useful to her, Julia was accounted brilliantly clever. Although short, snub-nosed, and with a suspicion of a moustache, she was accounted alluringly pretty. For the shortness of stature went with a compact b °4i mOUId i and a flexibility The snub nose went with a soft roundness of face and a provocative expression; and the faint shadow "of a moustache went with lovely brunette colouring, and enhanced the whiteness of pretty little teeth. Julia treasured thi e TmiH hat «i here was gipsy blood in SenfH? P S ’l r lle - preferred that to the Scotch Presbyterian blood of her good an d a?mn h J r ’ Va S ue tales an almost prehistoric “Romany Rye” on her father’s side. And perhaps Juba’s eyes showed something of the gipsy vet/t'tim Ve 7 fi - nC eyeS ’ darkly bro ™> yet at times showing a green tinge in the brown; while in certain lights they were black and unfathomable. The 'lashes were long and richly curled. Yes Julia was interestingly, even fascinating pretty; and she knew it. But she tried not to think of it in the „r“g Xfo, she well knew that a ™ conceited air would detract from heJ beauty She was simply excessively car/ ful to dress well. And she took a lontime to put on her hat. ° There, the good-byes to Mrs M‘Nab and to the one or two women boarders whom Julia had bothered to become acquainted with, were over. Julia was never mean Like her father she knew how to spend money. And with a sweet smile which became her extremely, she “ Jiri ”f,' footed ’ middle-aged toil!, Mrs MNabs assistant, a farewell present which surprised that worthy person, and made her happy f or the dav Miss Julia was a young PP fady who ltd some warm friends, and also some cordial enemies. But for some reason, wlbch perhaps lay remotely in the good blood of her ancestors, she had no enemks among the employee class 3 Julia picked up her handbag, threw a heavy coat over her arm, opened and tKreet She d °°n and stepped into uie street. She would walk to the railway station. Her way lay down hifl and the picturesque city of Dunedin, featured by soaring church spires, and girdled richly by its belt of green bush h spreail beneath her like a picture ’ ' Albeit but m August—earliest sprin—the morning was almost hot. That would probably not last, for a gusty bieeze was blowing, and great bln/ shadowed cumulus clouds were rolling , he bright blue sky above th"e S beyond the sapphire streak of the ha?’ ?o°r U tlm A br ° Wn b 0r ’ der of tidafmud f ? tidewas out. But between two hills Julia had a glimpse nf fha sea beyond St. Ciair,Wly blue “aS being wondered over by the youthful citizens and condemned as of diabolic? origin by the conservative old. The idea of the motor bicycle had not yet been conceived in the infernal regions To own a common “push-bike’’ was thought lather the dashing thing. Julia, had sold hers, impulsively, on receipt of bad news from home. For almost the first tinie i her career, she had been completely out of ready money at the moment And the price of her excellent Rover bicycle md been her only means of paying her landlady, rewarding the “girl,” and must now cover her expenses to her destination.

Jidm. was not happy, as she tripped lightly and evenly along. No—thou-h it was a glowing morning of earliest spring; though there were bunches of violets and jonquils peeping from among the oranges in the Chinese fruiterers’ shops; though she, Julia, was young and beautiful, accomplished, and in perfect health; though she held a university degr ee and a. musical degree; though she did all things well, from dancin- to debating; though “the boys” (her fel-low-students) lost their heads over her at times when those heads were most required for their term examinations; nay although much “New Thought” literature mingled with the drier lore she so intelligently perused, and though she meant to be a philosopher, and to con-

quer life—Julia this morning was not happy. The recent news from home (of course, father had got mother to write, he always avoided hardships), not totally unexpected, had deeply upset her. She felt a profound anger against her family. Why had they not warned her of the inevitable calamity? Why had they never explained what they must have known, of their, and her financial resources ? True, Julia had neglected and avoided dull old Tussocky Tops of late years. Both her letters and her visits home had been few and hurried. She was too modern and intellectual a young person to feel that the ties of blood must bind one to the point of servitude.

“My people and I have nothing in common,” she would have said coolly. She did, however, realise their obligations to herself. It was the duty of her father, as “ the author of her being,” to provide for her. Nor could she deny that he had generously done so up till now. True, she was of age. True, albeit not definitely trained in any profession, she was equipped with an education superior to that of most girls, and might be deemed fully qualified to earn a living for herself. But Julia did not want to earn a living. She wanted to live. She thrilled with the sense of her own vital energy, of her own graces and efficiencies; and she claimed for herself a life of social conquest. As she walked on she was mentally turning away from the thought of life at Tussocky Tops. How should she endure it? There would be nothing congenial; no musical society, not even tolerable sporting society, within miles. And now there would be no money. Hence, no escape! Of course there would never be anybody to marry! There were men. But Julia was fastidious. Breaking hearts had been a pastime for holidays and travels—a pastime that with more leisure might have developed into a hobby. But Julia was an enlightened young lady, and she knew that marriage was a more momentous business. Was there anyone she was acquainted with whom she could possibly marry? “ Well—perhaps—there was Mr Hardy.” The “Mr ” and the “ perhaps ” might both be taken as indications that Mr Hardy was much Julia’s senior, that he was an important personage, and that he was something of an enigma. Mr Hardy was a gentleman she had met in Melbourne and also in Sydney, during her late delightful Australian tour. He was one of the heads of a big banking concern in Melbourne. He was at least 50; perhaps, thought the young girl, he might even be 60 —which

would really be awfully old, you know. But Mr Hardy did not regard himself as being in the sere and yellow leaf. He spoke, looked, and felt like a person of wealth, honour, and importance. Julia’s own father being a gentleman, and always most kindly indulgent to his daughter, she rather liked all elderly men, and was inclined to feel filial towards them. Mr Hardy, however—a widower of two years’ standing—had some grown-up daughters of his own somewhere, and did not seem to be looking for filial attitude from Miss Julia Lovell. His manner, on the whole, was cold and reserved, and even slightly flavoured with' contempt. He talked politics with men, but would not even approach the subject with Julia, who was quite ready to discuss even political economy.

He took a great deal of notice of her, notwithstanding. Yet Julia, little flirt as she was, had never felt more surprised in her life, than when, meeting Mr Hardy later in Sydney, she gathered that his reason for being in that city was, that she had come thither from the Victorian capital, and that he had followed her. She had by that time forgotten all about him, but Mr Hardy took some pains to impress himself on her remembrance. Mr Hardy was taking a holiday, which, it seemed, might probably include a run over to New Zealand later. Meantime he took her about a good deal in Sydney, usually accompanied by the lady, Miss Long, who acted more or less as Julia’s travelling companion, and who was a very bad sailor, while Julia was an excellent one. And Mr Hardy did extend his holiday trip to New Zealand. That country was honoured by his presence at this blessed moment. He was either in Dunedin or in Christchurch. For, a week ago, he had spoken of going north. There was nothing vague, as a rule, about Mr Hardy’s plans, only he did not readily divulge them. He was “ unco canny,” was Mr Hardy, cautious and unwilling to commit himself. For this reasqp, and also because he was old enough to be her father, whereas his attitude towards her was certainly not fatherly, but had something in it from which she secretly shrank, Julia did not really like Mr Hardy.

But still, he was rich. 'Rich, respectable, important, and a .widower, who, it seemed likely, was thinking of taking a second wife. After thinking it over a good deal, Julia dashed off a carelesslooking little note to Mr Hardy at his hotel, apprising him that she was leaving on such a day, that she was returning home for an indefinite time; and thanking him for all the pleasant times he had helped her to enjoy. She said nothing about their meeting again. That was for him to suggest. Julia felt that Mr Hardy was keenly alive to that sort of etiquette; and if she wished to retain his peculiar kind of homage, she must risk nothing. (To be continued.)