THE MAYOR’S DAUGHTER.

South Canterbury Times, Issue 4982, 15 April 1889, Page 4

THE MAYOR’S DAUGHTER.

LITER&TURE

PART I. CHAPTER I. Though a match for almost any woman with his tongue, Mr Buddlecombe was temporarily silenced by this adroit turning of the tables, and Mrs Buddlecombe, now thoroughly roused, followed up the attack : ‘ I am very glad, however, that your fellow-townsmen do not take the same bovine view of the red rag. I am delighted to find that the sordid employment ot making buttons, to which Puddleton is addicted, has not deadened its mind to all feelings of glory and patriotism.’ ‘ Stuff and nonsense,’ spluttered Mr Buddlecombe. * The idea of disparaging the highly respectable the ingenious the useful employment of making buttons, and glorifying the disgraceful calling of slashing and cutting and shooting your fellow-creatures I It is outrageous ! To hear such sentiments proceed from the lips of any woman would be shocking, but when that woman is a lady, and that lady is a Mayoress, and that Mayoress is my wife, it makes me tingle from head to foot with shame.’ ‘ You are really too ridiculous Joshua so provoking illogical. Soldiers must be somewhere ; and if they are not at Puddleton they would have to be at some other town.’ * Not at all,’ snapped Mr Buddlecombe, turning sharply round on his wife. ‘Soldiers should be nowhere. They should’nc exist. What is a standing army but a standing slur on civilisation, a glaring anchronism, a perpetual menance to peace and goodwill amongst men, a dangerous tool in the hands of ambition, a gigantic fraud on the ratepayer, a fierce seething whirlpool of temptation into which——— Here the tresh voice of a young girl, warbling some joyous little ditty, floated through French window. . ‘ Hush ! there’s Florry come m from her morning’s ride,’ said Mrs Baddle-

combe. * Yes ; now you’ll be good enough nor to introduce the military topic before her, Georgina/ said Mr Buddlecomba, grimly, ‘ No more rides for her alone with old Reins the coachman, now that the neighbourhood will be infested by reprobates in regimentals, I can tell her.’ As the worshipful Mayor of Jruddieton pronounced this sentence, he took up his newspaper and seated himself in an easy chair. He had just settled down to the money article when the fair young warbler appeared at the open window, and arrested her footsteps and her song to stand surveying her parents with a playful demeanour, which as regarded by Mr Buddlecombe was not reciprocrated. Florence Buddlecombe was an only child, and was now “ sweet seventeen.” With her soft blue eyes, her fair complexion, and her hair, * A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men/ she would have carried off the palm for beamy in most assemblages of pretty girls.” Then, too, she was an heiress ; and when viewed from this standpoint, she was super naturally lovely. This morning, a secret joy illumined her countenance, until it was radiant with happiness, as well as with health, beauty, and youth. ‘ Well, papa/ said Florence, gaily as she advanced, and playfully _ tapping her father’s newspaoer with her riding whip, ‘ why don’t you have a flag flying from our flagstaff ? Puddleton’s en fete, and our house looks quite conspicuous by the absence of bunting.’ A savage grunt from behind the newspaper was all the reply. ‘ Let your papa alone, Florry darling/ said Mrs Buddlecombe. ‘ He’s busy reading the paper. Come and tell mo what you’ve been doing,’ Thus enjoined, the light hearted Florry rattled away, regardless, or rather in the exuberance of her spirits, unconscious, of the nods nnd winks and frowns with which her mother sought to warn her off the dangerous ground. ‘ Oh, such fun, mamma ! I met my dear old godpapa, Mr Bolitho, riding on Lis cob, and he says the_ regiment will arrive at the station very soon, and he was going up there gto see, and has promsed to ride down to tell us when they are com ing, so that we may go the lodge and see them pass. And what do think the dear thing ssid I would he having half a dozen young officers at ray feet, and that I wasn’t to go in love with more than one at a time, and a ’ Here Mr Buddlecombe started to his feet and dashed his newspaper down. ‘.Silence, prattling idiot/he roared, 1 Babbling botty, be still.’ gilri one bountT Florence was at her mother’s side, where she stood cowering while Mr Buddlecombe continued to pour out the vials of his wrath. ‘Look here, Florence. If I ever Lear another word of this vile trash, I will pack you off to your aunt Virginia in the North, Old Bolitho is a confounded old fool, and I consider him a very improper person to be your godfather. ‘ He’s ‘ such a dear old thing/ is he ? And you’ll ‘ have half-a-dozen young officers at your feet/ will you ? Much more likely they’ll have my feet at them. And you mustn’t go falling in love with ’ I’ll tell you what it is : I’ll take precious good care you don’t. As long as this neighbourhood is contaminated by these scamps in regimentals, you’ll have uncommon few opportunities for seeing them at your feet, and'all the rest of the trash of that miserable old dotard Bolitho. You’ll be confined to these grounds except when you go out with me and when you’re out with me if you even so much as glance at one these puppies, I’ll pack you off to your aunt Virginia in the North, by the

very next train. So mark ray words, my vivacious young lady.’ ‘And here Mr Buddlecombe turned on his heel, and paced up and down the room, and muttering to himself : ‘ Preposterous. That girl to whom give I £30,000 on her wedding day, and on 1 whose education no expense has been spared, should be guilty of such abominable sentiments,’

Suddenly Mr Buddlecombe stopped his furious promenade up and down the room ; and, turning sharp round, addressed Florence in ironical tones : ‘ I think you suggested that I should hoist a flag. A capital idea. Yes, I shall hoist a flag to celebrate the entry of the military into Puddleton. So saying Mr Buddlecombe bustled out of the room in a grimly mysterious manner. (To be Continued.)