A Bread and Butter Miss.

Southland Times, Issue 19048, 16 May 1903, Page 2 (Supplement)

A Bread and Butter Miss.

An impassive faced waiter paused beside her. ■ . ...

"I'm waiting for a friend," she managed to say. " Service ; for , two, now, please — well be in something of a hurry." . \yould she succeed? What if the ruse failed?

But hor misgivings vanished, for, besides ohina, glass, arid silver, the waiter brought brown crusty rolls, pats of pale, unsalted butter, olives shining under crushed ice, and Southern radishes as pretty as half blown buds.

Twenty minutes later, having poured the last glass of frothing ehampagno at a big table where six debutantes laughed in shrill gunts under the eye of a chaperon, the waiter bethought him of the young lady " waiting for a fricud," and turned to see if he were yet wanted.

She had disappeared. So had all tho volla and butter, the oiives, the radishes.

On the three days following Grace made these entries in her memorandum book :

Tuesday : No letter yot. Same ruse for luncheon at Cnviar's.

Wednesday ;No letter. Landlady impertinent, Same ruso for luncheon. Foeling weak. TUuis.lay ; Dreadful hcadn-lie. No Mltr. Mrs. V. bus asked for my room on Monday. Distracted. Samu ruso for luncheon at Swisstou's.

On Friday she went into a restaurant in Collins-street. Was it she or some ghost beside her who framed the usual but now faint remark to the waiter, " I'm waiting for a friend " ?

When the bread and butter appeared with the service, she ate without disguising her hunger, until tho waiter hauded her the morning paper folded'so that her eyes rested on one black head line :

BREAD AND BUTTER, Under it in smaller type she saw

Who is sue? Puktty, well dressed YOUNG WOMAN LIKES BREAD AND BUTTER, BUT OBJECTS TO TAtiNG FOU 1T.. ( HaS WORKKI> THE GAME AT SEVERAL OK OL'll BEKT RESTAURANTS.

In an article following, a full description of herself and her methods was facetiously given. Seized with a fvantic desire to get away, she hurried to the hall. The head waiter was there, He touched her arm with the pointed nail of his little finger. " Step zin way, if you pliss," he said, looking into her frightened eyes, a covert sneer in his own.

" No — no," she muttered miserably. "If you pliss, inadame ; you haf played ze little trick once too often."

She became inert, numb, until roused by a low, distinct voice over her shoulder :

" How dare you? "

She turned and saw a young man who had just entered.

" How dare you speak to this lady as you have done?" He turned to Grace, looked commandingly Into her eyes, yet with a smilo, "You grew tired waiting for mo, Cynthia ? " ho said with emphatic clearness.

She felt all at sea, yet like a gkiain above a wreck an intuition shot through her terror.

" Ye«, I thought you were not coming," sho said, and marvelled at the words her own tongue spoke.

By this time the waiter had buried the snea- and drawn in tho impertinent little finger. Oh, if only tho gentleman would stay and let him prove his regret by service from his own hands !

The gentleman stayed. Grace walked by the side of this stranger to the table she had just fled from. She was bewildered, ashamed, and very near teara.

. " Well, Cynthia, I think I know just what you'll like ;" and her companion permitted himself one amused flash of understanding as lie glanced up at her pale face from the menu. "There; " and he pushed the slip to the waiter.

When they were alone his manner changed. " I .saw — I understood," he aiid gravely. "In fact, I had been reading about— the matter — in the paper as I came up town. You realize, dou't -you, I did the only thing possible ? "

" You did awonderfui thing. I don't quite realise it yet," she said, her lip quivering ; '• I don't know why you did it, either."

He thought that much of the reason lay in her gray eyes, but did not say so.

" Don't cry — please don't."

" and she winked her lashes

"I mustn't; obediently.

" Lot mo see what sort of an actress you'd make;" and he laughed softly. "Tho waiter is coming with the oysters. Suppose we adjust our relationship now. You ore Cynthia from — say, Brisbane, aud I'm your Sydney cousin "

"What name?" asked Grace, feeling suddenly at her cuse.

" let me be

; "Torn/" ho said gravely; Cousin Tom."

. Grace was amazed at her own audacity. She made the most of the experience. PL-spile her dire need and the Lhusfc tomonow which threatened her, she felt this was tho most exciting happening of her life — yes, and the most delightful. She felt that no sonnet could fittingly have described that luncheon.

( " How do you know I'm not an adventuress ?'" GracS asked- suddenly, when the Waiter had left them to linger over their coffee.

" An adventuress would not have risked so mud) for bread and butter."

" Arc you not curious about mo? "

" Very. Uc.-iidcs being curious, I am anxious," he said. " Where will you lunch ■to-morrow? "

" Perhaps — nowhere,"

He waited, looked at her, an-1 then said with a respect not to be misunderstood ;

" You know nothing ol me, but i am sincere when I say I want to help you in some way — just as if you were indeed my Cousin Cynthia."

"I wonder- if you can," she said us siucerely; "at "any rate, I'll tell you about it. I am a New Zealander,"

"Which Is just the same as an Australian." "

" My father is James Rlearson, one of the largest contractors there. He believes that women^s lives should be spent within a triangular area, between the fireside, church pew, and nursery. A woman with an ambition seems to him not quite normal. I loved the theatre. He hated it. I was wild to go on the. stage. For years my mothor and I triad to win him over to let me have my way. No use. Oh, my cage was certainly a pretty one, with seed and water galore, but the bars were cold aud tho prospect ugly."

"Well"— her tone grew graver— "l think I became a little mad with it all and ran away io this gay, heartless city —but no matter what J thought. I ani quite cured. I shall never again mistake the footlights for sunshine. I failed even to get a hearing, economy arid hopefulness I came at last to downright terror at my situation, The letter of forgiveness I've watched for has riot arrived. For a week I've been literally destitute ; that's all."

•"That's all'? Poor child!" lie said impulsively. There was a deep sympathy in hi 3 eyes \yhen ho spoke again. "I know what I'll do. I'll send my sistop Madge to you,"

, "How good of you! 1 ' said Grace, with tier protty air of dependence. "Ami your name — youv ftwn name? Wo must get that right." "Grace Meorson. And yours?" she asked with a touch of ghyness. " Rodney Blair." " The great artist! Why, wo havo one oJ your pictures at home." "Yes, I remember;" and he smiled. •<Wo are not suoh absolute strangers." Grace nodded, and then added quickly ;

"By the way, you jSfasiTleli riio pay for half this .luncheon — when my letter comes. That's only fair." " Not at_ail. It would, be inQj$ } j4Qfft>r.; ." and. he .leaned ..toward her,,, sinjling. .f I charged your father ..far too ;,miich for, that seascape. Don't you see what a chance this gives me of relieving my conscience a bit?" • • • Two nptes passod between fcfigi Mearsbn and her champion that afternoon : On arriving homo I round the letter. Father has beem generosity itself. I gail on Wednesday. I hope to Bay good byo to you, but I will not thank you again. No words can do.that, I am delighted for your sake, yet sorry, too— for this takes you away so soon. My 6ister will call to-day, nevertheless, and sho may induce you to lea ?e town in ths morning and spend Sunday with Uo m i. uxduo* Late though it was that afternoon, Grace . bought the prettiest Afternoon gown in a Collins-stveot shop, besides a lot of minor finery. She brought them all home in a cab, her radiant fnco above tho bundles glowing like a rose. ° " When I get to know him well enough," sho thought, shaken by a little laugh, "I'll call him nothing but ' Cousin Torn. ' "