A SHORT STORY.

Sun (Christchurch), Volume I, Issue 267, 15 December 1914, Page 11

A SHORT STORY.

WHAT HAPPENED TO BRONSON. i. « [COPYRIGHT.]

[By Robert Halifax.]

"Alone? Leave me here —alone?" "Why, yes!" Winnie faltered. His voice, going up to a shout, half scared even her. "Just this once! What could happen?" What! Of course, when once the romance of that day had become reality, it could all be traced to a few coincidences of the most prosaic order. Yet the memory of it is something to haunt Bronson to his dying hour. Its astounding climax alone —but wait!

Bronson undeniably had two distinct personalities. Bronson at work was a vastly different person from the Bronson who emerged, butterfly-like, to shine at •seleet little social functions. His friends tacitly considered him a born bachelor a happy-go-lucky Bohemian — a man who had merely to sit down, rummage among his stock of inspirations, xeel off something readable, and wait for an editor's cheque. They would liave scarcely recognised him in the furtive, irritable, overstrung creature who, from ten till five each day, shut himself off in a upper room from all communication with the outer world. That was his own professional secret; and he had guarded it very successfully. Winnie was behind the scenes, of course —Winnie, the "arch, dainty, tactful sister who kept house for him and invented all sorts of original excuses to puzzled callers at the house. As a sensitive literary man, with iierves that responded to every jarring he had a deep horror of being dragged downstairs from his mental world just to shake hands with some one whom he might have liked well enough overnight, but •whom he positively loathed in broad daylight. It was detestable, too, having to chat cheerfully with such chance callers, particularly ladies, unless he was tolerably '' presentable." Seeing that he smoked a pet clay pipe desperately at.-; his desk, could do vastly better work in the-shabby old lounge "Suit than in any ..other; and invariably.;; disordered his hair until it resembled a wild .man's, this was painfully seldom the case. If, in short, Bronson had not registered a vendetta against all and sundry callers who knocked loudly or talked. above a whisper, he had come perilously near it.

And here, on this very particular morning, when the maid had chosen to take her "day off," was Winine panting upstairs, dressed for walking, to say that he must positively take entire charge of the house until dusk. Only

that minute she had discovered it was ■the closing day of the curtain and costume sale up West. The thread of Bronson 's story parted with a snap. He slowly rose, aghast.

"But —you can't! " he gasped, dazedly. "I couldn't, do it. I should sit here waiting for the next knock. You must be quite mad.'' "I'm not. I must go.- Leslie — dear," she implored, with a flood of tears in reserve for his final stand. "You* wanted that complete set of art muslins for the house —and you like to see me dressed, don't you." Bronson's silence admitted that he preferred it. "Well, then!" She flung out both i.,rms dramatically. "Just one little daj ! You can have lunch whenever you like; —you,'ll have it the moment I'm gore, I know—and then there's a grand clear day before you. Not a sound, not a creak or clatter anvwhoiv. Why, you could finish that book nearly off in toe time. You've always wanted the perfect silence, and now you won't have i:!"

"Perfect what?" Ho felt himself being overpowered, and pointed to the stair. "Am Ito go all that way down and up again every time a tramp chooses to knock? Am I?" " No! I saw all that in a flash,'' she said. '' Answer no one —there's no one at home! I've left the loveliest fire, downstairs; you're not doing anything important—merely writing the last few chapters of your novel; you can take it down there to finish, your feet on the hob. If there's a knock or a ring, you need merely glance along the passage, and you 'll see through the glass panels if it's anyone important —just so that I shall know; if it were a burglar, or anything like that, of course you are at home. If any tradesman calls just sing out, <Not to-day, thanks!' You dear boy, to let me go! Good-bye—don't worry—you'll be like a happy hermit, alone with all your funny little imaginary men and: women dancing round you on the table as you pull the strings. Oh! " She had gone breathlessly half-way [ down the,. stairs, leaving him- dumb. "There's only • one thing. Should the dustnian call, let him in. We must have those bins cleared, whatever happens. dustman, dear boy; you're not frightened of him"—as he muttered something faintly back. "If you should want any-, thing done in a hurry, or if anyone wants to leave me a message, there's Aunt Keziah next door—although you don't like her, I know. Good-bye, good-bye! Eat all you can, feed the canaryjs keep the fires going. Oh, don't forget on. any account— —" '

The hall door banged. It seemed to his strained ears that she had screamed something about a '' pole." A pole! She was mad—starkmiad. And all this chaos to save five shillings on curtains and other

stuff, to justify herself in spending ten on a day's feverish enjoyments

With a groan —a sudden horribfe sense of helpless misery—he gathered up his MSS. and moved down to the kitchen, the fire in which indeed greeted him like a roaring furnace. He sat down carefully. He knew rtfwas but a matter of halfseconds to the first nerve-shattering knock; and presently—bang! He started convulsively, said something that was not to appear in his book, and grimly waited.. Silence now. He watched the clock — silence for just four mintues. Then — Rat-a-tat-a-tat!

'' Ah, you keep on at that till you drop dead," he muttered, cynically. It came again and again. With a half sickly misgiving he had to tiptoe a little way down the passage and stare. It was a lady, rocking something in her arms that looked to him unnervingly like an infant in "long"-—very long—clothes. He watched in stealthy fascination, trying to discern, her features through the glass. Some friend of Wiunie's, little doubt, come with an interesting story that would take up the afternoon; riot at any price would he open the door to her] One last ominous rat-a-tat, and away she went. Peering out after her, it struck Bronson with a curious sensation that the quiet street seemed positively alive with welldressed ladies and gentlemen, all intent upon knocking at every door in turn —and at No. 9 in particular. He crept back, and made a desperate start at work. The door might come down before he'd move again. But for quite half an hour he sat there, his pen poised ready, listening breathlessly for the next crash. In that space there had come a whole series of summons, ranging from the supercilious bang-a-bang of some indignant rate-collector dow v n to the halffrightened clickety-click that he knew to belong to the consumptive umbrellamender. :

"I'll serve 'em all alike—all alike!" he was whispering, tensely, darkly. ;

Then came a spell of inexplicable privacy. It awed him; he decided to have lunch, and be done with it. Perhaps inspiration would return,to him after that. It took him all but an hour to get ready the lunch, and 10 minutes to eat it. He pushed back the soiled dishes in a pile, and settled down to business determinedly afresh. Somehow,, those '' funny little men and women" of his imagination needed an agonising amount of coaxing back. ' He had just succeeded in getting the "grip" of their characters again, when—Bash!—and Bronson all but bounced in his chair with the start his nerves'gave..,,.

"Yon cur!" he said, feebly, looking along the passage. 1 It might be the young person back with her baby—lie didn't care now. Boom! boom! Then of a sudden it struck him with a prickly sweat that he was actually

driving away that most necessary evil the ■dustman. He leaped up, unbolted the side door, and threw it open in readiness. The wind whistled through in all directions.

■'' Coming —coming! " he roared, and rushed along the passage. "Any old iron to-day, sir?" "Old what?" tremblejd Bronson's husky reply.

"Old anything you've got, sir! I'll meet you fair, sir—threepence a time for any old suits o' clothes you're not wearin'. Any old boots- —— " "Go!" said Bronson, between set teeth. "Clear out this moment, or I won't answer for myself."

They looked at him with interest—there were two of them.

"A lot of hair, Bill," one remarked to the other critically. '' Can it be all our own?"

Bronson was drawing breath when, all of a sudden, he observed two or three people darting that way from different angles, all unmistakably intent upon gaining that door first. He closed it precipitately, fled back to the kitchen, and as the knocker banged away,, stood wondering whether his brain was snapping, or whether all his friends had con : spired to play him a ghastly trick. There were apparently several hands fighting for the knocker and beU at once now. He shook his fist—and shouted.

"May you all fall in a heap and lie there!"

It was a pointless remark,, but it relieved his overcharged emotions beyond all telling. Had the world gone insane?

Literary work,. lie decided, was.at an end for that day. Winnie should have his, private opinion of that '/perfect peace" when she got home. .Jn-iact, she should stand and knock* He'prepared to waste the entire afternoon in an arm-chair by the- fire, diagnosing door-knocks. Of course, the particular chair he wanted was in the 'front parlour. He was just dragging it out when, with a cold thrill, he saw through the window a hansom dash up and a young lady alight as if with a very definite object. Here!—at No. 9! [ i "'.. Just a flash-glimpse of. her pretty, eager: face —that seemed familiar—and he had dropped crouchingly beneath the bay window as the bell pealed out. Had she-seen him peering from between, the curtains? Heavens, if so —-! Again ! the bell jangled. Venturing to lift half I an eyelid above the window-sill, he saw I her staring that "way —knew he had seen I that pretty, eager face before some-. ! where. Down he went to drop again, : overbalanced, caught at one of the lpng : lace curtains—and down it canie-all over him. The burning,misery of that moment was something incredible. She stood there, open-mouthed—he knew it. Desperate, lie scuttled away on arid knees for the kitchen, dragging the curtain with him. ; Curse the curtain—the cal>—curse everybody breathing; he should go stark mad, arid set the house on fire.

;■ i Half, an ; hour .more and; ,he had ventured back for the arm-chair, and just got it into position when—iwas that another vehicle passing at the door? He got up, turned round three times, and wiped his wet forehead.; Yes! Rat-a-tat, and an elderly lady's loud voice calling to the driver. ... "What's coming to me?" put it to himself, solemnly. ''ls 'this really a lunatic asylum, with one inmate?"

He sank heavily into the arm-chair. He meant to doze off with a callousness that should obliterate every human sight and sound. • If any one had a life-and-death message to leave they could leave it on the step. He'd just make up the fire, and then —ah, no coal in the scuttle! Very good; he'd sit and freeze to death. A judgment on Winnie! Ting-a-ling! Rat-a-tat! At regular intervals they came. He merely smiled, and went on counting numbers as a cure for insomnia. And then of a sudden, through his partial coma, came that thunderous "Boom! " He had gripped the poker before he realised. He knew it! That particular knock belonged to the man who had wanted old boots. He should have one —with something solid in it. Down the passage Bronson crept, dashed open the door, and then —

"How much longer, boss? DustP''

A great burly form rushed past. Halfdazed Bronson followed him through the side door—to bob down in a guilty tingle as he caught sight of Winnie's Aunt Keziah peering through her kitchen window at the scene. Shje had heard it all; she had discovered that there was really somebody at home next door! The dustman's roar confirmed it.

"Mind yer back, guv'nor—nearly had me over! "

Ten minutes passed. All was. comparatively still again. Bronson sat staring at the dying fire with hollow eyes in a haggard face. His last shred of nerve was gone; he was prepared for anything now. And presently the climax came. There was a tap at the window behind him—the kitchen window! He could simply look feebly round. It was all a dream —it billy meant that the deathless army of callers

had climbed round to the rear to have one look at their victim. Let them look!

What did he see? A dainty figure in the dusk there —an oval, half-scared face peering into the chaotic room. He swayed up silently and faced the. apparition. Would he ever forget it? . '' Mr Bronson \" he heard in a sweet, apologetic voice. "Is Mr Bronson there? Oh, I'm so sorry to disturb you at your work in this Avay, but I had to. The lady next door has passed .me through her garden gate. Could I speak one word to you? Anywhere will do— I must!"

Mechanically he lit the gas, stumbled

to that side door, and stepped out. Yes; he recognised her now. She had called in that cab, and knew all about the curtain. She was the daughter of a leading political member of Bronson's own local club, and most likely was fully aware of his habits and his methods of work upstairs. A little smile was twitching her pretty lips. "It was such a liberty,'"' she whispered, "but I felt sure you would overlook it. I have knocked and rang so many times. You must have been asleep. Don't think me unwomanly, Mr Bronson, will you?" Bronson passed a hand through his

hair. He was a good-looking fellow at normal times, but he looked singularly uncannily the reverse now.. "Been knocking—at this house? Has anyone really been knocking?" he asked, blankly. "Yes, I—er—really, I suppose I must have dozed the whole day away, then!" "I thought so—l knew it!" She laughed and touched his arm —a touch as timidly -soft as that of a snowflake, and yet mysteriously, eloquently entreating. "Just in time. Oh, you're not angry? I've got the cab ready outside. I knew you would consent—a woman asks it. You know the poll " "Poll!" He echoed her amazing word —Winnie's parting word. He stared wildly into space. Once again a queer thought flitted through his mind. She was looking up at him with such breathless earnestness. "Well, really, •of all the extraordinary " "Why, yes, surely," she put in, as he paused. "We did so"wish, to get every possible vote recorded before the final rush from seven to eight o'clock. You really were.going to poll for Captain Claude Lenn.ox-Carmiehael, our candidate, I am. sure! Oh, yes—yes! " she ended, in a daring, thrilling gasp that set his heart pounding. * And—how did it happen? Bronson doesn't know in the least. With a blinding flash it all came to him —the meaning of Winnie's cryptic farewell, tne meaning of the cabs and ears, the excitement and the strenuous lady can-, vassers outside. It was the epochmaking day of the local by-election, and he had clean forgotten the fact. He didn't care a rap who topped this particular poll, but he found himself reaching out both hands and gripping 1 hers as if she had saved him from some nameless disaster in the nick of time.

"Going to!" he repeated, huskily. '<Need you ask? Forgive me—yes, at once. Or, rather, what a dense fool I've been! Miss Loveday, do you know, I had the strange notion that it all had something to do with an organised raid on confirmed bachelors — er—that when I saw you behind the window like tha,t it somehow struck me "

No, he could not finish. On an impulse as inexplicable as overwhelming he had drawn the sweet figure to him.

"Don't disillusionise me. Let it be that—my vote foy your promise—-and I 'll come and poll this instant.' '■ And he did. Beeause the resourceful, smiling little woman hung her head in the silence more eloquent than all the words—and then waited in the doorway to make quite sure of him. A man who could "doze'' through all that tumult of knocking and ringing was something to her eternal credit in the way of a snatched vote —at the cost of a snatched love! * •

And the rest of the romance can be summed up in a few words. Leslie Bronson, author, will shortly drive triumphantly away from church in a motor car the identical 3'oung lady who triumphantly carried him off in a cab to the poll.