THE STORYTELLER.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume L, Issue 60, 27 July 1907, Page 4

THE STORYTELLER.

r "COALS OF FIRE." I? 1 Girth Marriott's step was as light as ; . lila heart as he Sprang up the dusty lodging house staircase, and let himself into Ft- bis nhabby little room. •' He had just returned from indulging in a tug dinner—the first real dinner he had tad for «orae time now, and though, per-

haps, it bad been a piece of extravaguice, he had felt that he inu-t do something to celebrate the wonderful piece of lock that had just befallen him. It was a piece of luck indeed, this chance that had come after so many yean of waiting. Seated in the rickety arm chair, hU old briar-wood pi]ic between his lips, he thought of all that it meant to him—of the brilliant successes that he was going to gain in the future. No more hanging about agents' oflhi's, no more touring, no more of the sordidness of the unsuccessful- actor's life. With this part thaf had just been given to him, he would be able to do himself justice, to show the managers—and the world—what he was capable of, at last. He laughed, and getting up from his * chair, looked at his face in the little cracked glass over the mantelpiece. He was no old vet, in spite of all that he " had gone through. Why, at thirty-five ; a man was in his prime I There were only a few grey threads amongst his dark hair, and, as for his heart, it felt as young, as eager, as full of ambition and hope as in the days when—when Garth Marriott had not always l>een an actor. Once. long ago, he bad cher- < ished aspirations in another career. He bad been getting on well at it, too—those who had been entitled to know has prophesied that he would certainly make a same at the Bar—and then—then "that" that had happened which had changed ihe whole current of his life. Be beat down and flung some more coal On the fire. The handsome, rather . atem month twitched a little, and the bitterness deepened in the dark eyes. *' .Well, she had done her best to spoil his Hie, that heartless little llirt, wiiuin, in «? kit young, eager manhood, he had so J* passionately loved. And when she threw -1 Mm over, hie, in his reckless misery, had thrown over everything, too—profession, f * positien, friends, and started a new life a new career elsewhere, tie had , gam under, tor a but now—with this chance given hint, he would rise E" jfain. A. slow, rather sarcastic smile curved t the corners of his mouth. Sorry, projf UUjr. She had been utterly heartless, v atterly vain-proud of her victims. It * would be a blow to her vanity, no doubt, t. when the saw that the man whose life She had thought she had wrecked, had P Still managed to do something with it |< '(tfter an. I Be laughed again,' and began to pace jf' up aad down the room. He would d think of her no longer—she was not 2£ worth it—he would think instead of the future, which lay stretched out before ids like a glittering road, it really & Was wonderful, this piece of luck that L had befallen him. He had been getting M weary, so hopeless, the only engageBp Mot whjch had been offered him for ft weeks being one in a third-class company about to tour in Australia, and then, just |p •• he had been wondering if dire neces■jV sitjr would not, after all, compel him to 7? tab hj, then had come, only that very v. afternoon, a letter from the manager of

fc, * ft Mg London theatre about to put on an I* 'lmportant piece, offering him a leading b yut. He would answer the letter at oner, it before the last post went oat. m H would not do to keep so important s£-*» personage as the manager of the totanm" Theatre waiting! jL' He iat down at the table, drew a sheet owards him, and dipped his pen the ink-pot %.■ The ink ni dry. An exclamation of impatience escaped Lplfc lip*. It was too late to go out and ' f bay more. There remained but one L tfciag, therefore, to be done—to borrow. S-Up the staircase floated the strident

p.taMa of hi* landlady, engaged in a hcat- £• A altercation with the miserable inaid-of-aH-wort He shrugged his shoulders. p Jtn Sparkes was in one of her "tanp tnaw" evidently,.and from previous ex- ... perience he knew that this being the * CM* H would be impossible to borrow anything of her—save abuse. But he jf.'pi* get ink from somewhere. Suddenly, underneath the door on the P ofpoaite side of the landing, he noticed WW streak of light He gave a little start of surprise. That room had been empty for tome time, but it was 'evidently let at last

■A, Be crossed the landing and knocked j-Mskly at the opposite door, fc#. "Come- in," said a voice, and Garth f tabled.

, .He found himself in a small, sparsely--furnished room like his own. It was Ugh ted but dimly with a small JM>PL\lnto the centre of the room, beside the {•ble, was seated a man, with his -lion I'de» hunched forward and his head I lowed in his hands.

Suddenly he looked up. i Garth had not expected the tenant of -Uds room to look particularly prosperous and happy—the flotsam of humanitv .that drifted to the top-floor of the dingv fcdging-house Uke this seldom was that •-M anything more wretched, more utterly despairing than the expression of . the bee now uplifted to his he had Jjwver seen. It was a young face, too, [gkai waa the pRy of it

(.'■ Garth m not a sentimental may, hut >-fci felt i sadden twinge of compassion of this despairing face. Who this man, and what terrible grief *-gnu H that had made him look like this! t/B# hesitated for a moment, and then lljNtf rtrj gently: • E , "You will forghre me for intruding upToo In this manner, I hope, but the sSfMi kP—he fin a little constrained Rillgk—Tre got rather an important letCrtit «a write. andl find I'm out of ink! jTwie wondering if you —if you could FIMBir lend me " &•* 1S» Hi addressed stretched out his Find, took a cheap priny ink-bottle from rthe table in front of him, and handed gjt to Garth. f*f There you are," he said. B- Hs (poke gruffly, sullenly—his voice, gjfta hi* face, expressed hopelessness and Wimftir. fe- *Tm Tery mnch obliged to you," said Bthttk He took the ink-pot; then, just Stat he was turning away again towards C-iKe door, he addoi —more from a sense atf courtesy than from any other reason h I did not know until I saw the light £* Under your door that this room wa« let. r 4&n you staying here longl" >£» IV man looked up. IK- *Ho, not long. I only came up to r/taaitm just for one day after a Shop.' Tin going back to-morrow."

-A 'shop'!" Garth's had been on the 4oor. He withdrew It, and moved a few steps back to his room. Thin man Was in the same profession, then, as himself. He glanced again at the handsome head, with its untidy, rather long shock of hair, the shabbily-dressed form. T«,he looked like a broken-down actor. | "A "•hop't" he repeated. The man. at the table laughed. The ahter sounded bitter and hard. Sudy he got op, and slouched across to the fireplace, where he stood, his e!l»m* resting on the mantelpiece, his eyes fised moodily on the ground. ■ "Oh, it's failed," he saM grimly. "I dlways fail; I suppose"—again he gave -that Utile hard laugh—"it's my fate. ; I was a fool to expect anything else, fat this time I did think there was a . tit of a chance of success. I knew 10 we'i the kind of man Fletcher wanted for 'John Cow" " t "Fletcher!" cried Garth. '■■■ His faee flushed, and then, suddenly grew very pale. He came still further - festo the room. and. sittine in the chair VhMl the other man had left. looked uo :at him. "You—yon sre talkinsr of JVtfher, the manager of the Column' •l%Mtr»r»

The man bv the fireplace nodded MilTealr. He did not notice the pallor on ! Garth's ftee—the quirk interest that had WotifrXj flashed into M« rye*. Fletcher of thp'Column.' You've heard of him, no doubt. Oh. he** a big sunt I dareMV—but lie's plaved men arty triek. all the agm*. I'd j htm for yearn. and worked for him. and he Mtd to me on? liar: If prer T Income the manager of a tWtrp nr.' put en * good plav. ni trir.- rou a reed part.' .■Well, he ha* heeome th* manacr-'r nf n I wthefttre, and onlr vp*fprdav . But glut's the good of talking nbont it. nn<l I I'vtetv the good of Ton. a stranger. hearKI" S The man broke off with n midden p;- ] ktw* of diseosfed weariness. Til l snT|Uuiui csroe bark to his fnep. the lis>L' hiinill to Ms eyes. After all. he said. mn the food of tMklr» a Vint HiA tronb'e to it stranger. who enuM KMt MwlUr be Interested in th-m« But BbbHi apparently was iterested. 15 IMi perhaps." hp mid. "lint T iSmtMnce yon to go on with rour bloit, HLtl* MM*

•'Well, of course, if you really are interested"—the man at the fireplace Miruggeil his shoulders—"l'lTgo on. Fletcher wrote up to me yesterday: 'Com,. U p ami see me. I'm putting oil an important piece—the dramatised version of the novel "John I ion.' and you are just the man for the leading parti' Well, [ went —1 d been out of a 'shop' for some time, at such a splendid chance, and then " "Ye*— and then?" "Fletcher told mo. when I got to him, that he was very sorry, but he had just I jwmten and ottered the part to someone

riwr* w.i. a long silenre in the room. I ae man who hail hern speaking walked across to the window, where he stood looking out drearily into the street i • " ~!" 'k '» his watehe.l nun. What an odd place the world wis. he reflected, and what an o<ld eh.inoe that had brought him into the Presence ot th« very man. who. hut for h.n. would have bee,, tho ~,r t of , " . r:,nv ," w,l; > '"it for him, would have Wen ns he had himself Wen leaving today, a foretaste of fame. siicwi ' I

At last he spoke. "Did you want the past of '.John , l-ow, " he said, in a very low voice, "so very much!"

Tie man at the window turned round sharply, and fiarth was almost startled by the look on his fa«c. His eves were fierce, his thin cheeks flushed. ' "Want itr" he threw out his hands passionately. "1 don't think I have ever wanted anything half so much! If I had had it it would have made my fortune—mad my name I 1 knew what the part was—anil I could have acted it, I tell you acted it to the very life! There would have been no more weary touring, no more fruitless searchings for I should have 'arrived* at last, come into my own, won success, Fame. 11 "Stop!" Garth jumped up from his chair. "You don't seem to take into consideration the fact that perhaps the other man—the other man who has got the part—has been thinking all these things, too. Perhaps he. too, has been yearning for success, waiting for his chance."

He stopped, quelled l,v the look that Hashed into the other man's eves. Don t talk to me of him!" he eried passionately. ''Don't talk to n,e of him! I hate him, I tell you—hate him! Hasn't he deprived me of the one chance I ever had! Hasn't he ruined my life? I should have had the part, if it hadn't Iwen for him! Fletcher told me so himself. It rested between ua two—between us two."

Suddenly his wild passion died out, and he began to cry. weakishly. foolishly, like a child. The poor wretch was weak through want of food, worn out with miser}- and despair, and Garth, who had experienced all these feelings himself, watched him, not with contempt, but with pity. In a moment or two, the man's emotion had worn itself out, and he went on speaking. '•Oh, J daresay it's wicked of me to talk like this! . . . But if you only knew what this disappointment means to me—and not to me only, but for those others dependent on me—those two poor creatures who—God help them! —have only me to look to for the very bread they eat—my wife, my child." '•Ah!" said Carth; "you have a wife anl child. . . . Tell me about them." "Oh! it's a common enough story, the story of my marriage; I oughtn't to have married. I know, but—well, 1 thought then, in those far-off days when I had ambition, and a little hope, that I should perhaps some day win fame, position. a name worthy for my wife to bear. Ah! I little knew then to what I was going to drag her down! My pretty girl! My dainty Dolly!" "Dolly!" Garth's voice had a curious sharp ring in it. "Dolly!" "Dorothy, her real name was—Dorothy Delacourt." "Dorothy . . . Delacourt!" Gartli leant forward, his elbows on the table, his eyes covered with his hand. For a long time there was a silence, and when, presently. Garth looked up, his face seemed to have aged and there was an odd look in his eyes. "Go on," he said, in a low voice; "go

"Dolly was an only daughter. Her father was the squire of some country place down in Devonshire. I did not meet her at her own home, but at the house of a mutual friend, where we were both staying for some amateur theatricals—at least, they called them amateur, though there was a sprinkling of professionals, including me, amongst the performers. Dolly and I took the leading parts, and—well—that's how it all began. I had heard that she was supposed to be the biggest flirt in the county —that she had already thrown over one man—a young barrister"—Garth made a slight, movement in bis chair—"to whom she had been engaged some years before. I knew, too, that she was far above me in every way, but that made no difference to my love. In a very short time I persuaded her to run away from home and marry me. Whether she's repented since or not I don't know. She's a loyal wife; she never throws my failure and my poverty in my teeth, but she's bad her ups and downs. God knows! T often wonder if she regTets. poor girl, that she threw over that other chap—that barrister chap. Thcv said he was a rising man—bound to get on." "Ah!" cried Garth sharply. "Don't!" He got up abruptly, and walked across to the window. His head ached, there was a wild throbbing in his brain. For a while he -tood in silence, and then suddenly turned. "Tell me some more," he said—"more alwut your wife—and child."

Garth saw the face before him change suddenly. All the hardness and the bitterness faded away, and a look of inI finite tenderness came in its place. "The child! That'-, just what it is; we're both wrapped up in the childDolly especially—it's the light of her life. If it died, I verily believe she'd die, too. If it died-—" He broke off. There was a silence, broken at last by Garth.

"But there's uo prospect of that, is therel"

'There is every prospect. She's ill now, poor mite, and the doctor says that the only tiling to save her is to send her to the" sea!"' He threw out bis hands with a gesture of despair. "It would have Is'en a hard struggle. anyhow, for me to have afforded that, and now that 1 have failed again in obtaining an engagement, it's out of the question!"

Again he broke olf. Garth came a little nearer to his side. "And if—ir the child does not go to the sea 1 ." His voice was almost a whisper. •They'll die. The etiild will die. and then Dolly—she's never been strong—will ijie. too." Garth turned again to the window. Ouisiilc a thin rain was falling. The street was crowded with dim. dark forms, hurrying to and fro, the air noisy with the bustle and rattle of passing traffic; but Garth saw and heard nothing. He had lost himself in a reverie.

Only a very short time ago lie had thought what a fine thing, what a gland thing it would lie, in his hour of triumph, to show the little heartless flirt that, in Pjiite id her cruelty to him. lie had still managed to achieve success, that she had not mined his life, after all. and yet now—now- . Ah! What was triumph, what Was fame, when weighed ill the balance of a mother's grief? Slowly he turned, and faced the shabby. dejected-looking figure .seated by the table.

"Your story." he said gently, "has touched nte deeply. I feel as if 1 knew vour "iittle Dolly"'—for a moment the ,|uict voice faltered, and then went oil—"1 feel as if I knew your child. I should like to be aide to give you some comfort, and I think that I—thnt I-

The figiuv at the table stirred, and looked up. -You think Mat to- can comfort me--

l.arth fame up closer to the man's -ide Iff laid hi< 'hand— gently, as a brother mi'/lit —on the tlirn r-lionM'T. '•lt i- a fiiri'.n- coincidence. perhaps" —he pave an odd dry lauj/h—'"hut I —T happen to know the—the actor to whom Fletcher offered the part cf John O u w. . A.-.i T happen to know. too. that he—refnvd it. R> !ti—as FleHier told you—the disposal of the part rented be'-.veen you two. I think, if you are v. ise. von—you will eaJi upon him again

0 irth's fare was still very white, but th're was a smile upon it, ha.lf-an hour Inter, as he stood before the pillar-lx* at the corner of the street with. t<iro let'pr.j—mio to the manager of the comTonv whi'h was shortly leaving for A'lsItralisi. aee<Ttinf his ofer of sn mgntf.mi'iit. and the oth#r to Fletcher, of tte 'Column" Theatre, in whieh lie said he [wa- Born- to b" obliged to deeline the part of "John Gow."

''lie will think I am mad!" he muttered to himselt. "He knows that what he offered me was the chance of a lifetime! Well, perhaps 1 sftu mad, but • Ah, well!"

He sighed, gazed at the little slot through which the letters had just disappealed, then: "1 wonder if she will ever know," he thought wistfully, "who it was that saved lier child f" But that question he could not answer. He turned and walked back to his lonely room.