AN UNEXPECTED PART.

Timaru Herald, Volume CIII, Issue 15742, 28 August 1915, Page 4

AN UNEXPECTED PART.

(BY G. B. BURGIN.)

I. It was a popular and populous teashop, uot a hundred miles from Charing Cross. The manager had converted tlio tea-rooms into the semblanco of a country cottage, and criss-crossed the white-washed walls with oak beams. There were oak settles, too, horn lanterns hanging from the ceiling, oak tables, and stools instead of chairs. Sometimes people forgcyt the stools had not any backs to them, and fell over. "I never thought of that," said the manager. He had a Back made for every stool, and, although the customers said that the stool backs were the one discordant note in the place, there were no more accidents.

But by this time the realism had become a little mixed, for the manager found it necessary to put electric lights inside the horn lanterns hanging from the oak beams across the ceiling, and the customers clamoured for Turkey rugs on tho red-tiled floor. They 6aid that though tileo were picturesque they gave them, the customers, cold feet. Realising that life is made up of judicious compromises, the manager mot their requirements. He even went to the length of selecting blue-eyed waitresses to match the blue frocks and the blue ribbon for tho hair; but his crowning inspiration was to advertise for someone with plenty of leisure to stand at the entrance and wear a smock frock, beaver hat, bird's-eye neckerchief, and brown gaiters. "When, however, Dickie Courtenay, a handsome young actor who could not get any London manager to listen to his Hamlot or anything else, applied for the place, the manager was dubious. "You don't look the part."

"I have played many parts—in the country. But that was because no one would have me in town. Give mo a quarter of an hour and the necessary garments, and I'll astonish you," replied Courtenay. "But your face isn't right," objected the manager. "How can vou be a countryman with a face like that?"

'"Wliat's the matter with it? I've boon told once or twice that it's a rather nice _ face. Some girls have even called it good-looking. 1 "' 'That's just the trouble. You're ttoo intellectual and clean shaven: anY] you've black hair and blue eves. I want a fellow with a fat, ruddy face and red hair —hair that you coukl warm your hands at. The kind of fellow who says,, 'I baint soin' to Lunnon town, I baint, mea-ster' ; and all that sort of thing, you know." "Of course I know. If I can't astonish the world as Hamlet, I may as well astonish it in a red wig and smock frock. But now to business. What's the ' demnition damage ?' " "The what?"

"I lie filthy lucre, the honorarium?" "What do you say to a pound a week if you suit after the first week?" "I could say a good deal, but I won t. If I am to play the part properly, I must have, to begin from the first day, thirty shillings a week. I've had enough of attending rehearsals for nothing and thon finding out that the play wasn't going to run." " Aren't- you making a little mistake?" asked the manager, wearily. "I'm not engaging you to fill place, but to stand at the door as' a country yokel and lure people in here to taste our country fare." "I see. A cottage loaf. Well, some day, people may come and ask for a bit of that door," hautily replied Courtenay. "You don't- want a man who ivill get drunk and abuse the place because there isn't any free beer. Let me try for a week."

"\ery well," said the manager, reluctantly, the bread and cake " "I can thrown into myself," laughed tho young man. "Where can I change?" 0 "The things are in a little room at the top of the house. Better go up and put them on now, and I'll see what you can do . Any 'make up' with you?" "Of course."

"There's a red wig on a nail behind the door," and the manager speedily lost himself in his accounts.

'"That's all right," said Courtenay, cheerfully departing upstairs. As he went up the corkscrew stairs tho pretty cashier, Thyrza Grey, eyed him suspiciously from her little "box 011 the first landing. ""Where are you going?" she called after him. °

Courtenay came back, saw that she was passing fair to look upon, and conveyed as much in a singularly beautiful bow.

The bow had its due effect. Thyrza blushed. "I beg your pardon," 'she said, "but we have to be very particular. Only last week a man went off witli two of our best teapots. The dining-room is on this floor /the smokeroom the one above. You probably want the smoke-room."

"I do," the young man somewhat ruefully admitted. "But, Miss " "Grey." "I am going to the top of the house in order to lose my identity." "I don't think I would do that if I were yon. You might not be able to find it again." "Oh? yeSj I si}a 11. I am engaged by your affable but extremely literal manager to personate a country yokel and stand at tlie door to attract customers. Be I agoin' right oop to attic, miss?" "You be, measter." , Thyrza laugh-' ed merrily, then delicately- turned her head away lest she should notice that Count en ay's garments were not in the most flourishing condition. "Oh, don't apologise," said the young man, lightly. "I know they're aging fast. 'My poverty, but not my will consents. 3 My brother -went to South Africa two years ago (we were neither of ns doing any good here), and, as he wanted money to buy a farm, I lent him my patrimonial five hundred. My landlady delicately hinted this mornthat unless I got some work I had better travel, too. So I answered the manager's advertisement. Now that I have told you all about myself, may I go oop to attic ?" "Certainly, Mr " "Courtenay. It's my real name, although it does sound as if it were assumed for stage purposes." When he found himself in the little, attic Courtenay smiled happily. "Blue eves and fair hair with gleams and ripples of sunlight in it, the sweets est mouth in the world, hands of a lady .and the manner of one. Some poor clergyman's daughter, I suppose. She ought to be adorning a garden of roses, and not cooped up' in that little j rabbit hutch at the top of the landing. Where's my hare's foot ? Now .for the wrinkles and the wig." He put on the "clothes and the wig, looked at himself in the glass, and blushed hotly. "I don't want that pretty Miss Grey to see me like this if I can sneak down without her doing so, but I suppose there's no help for it." There was no help for it, and he went down to the manager's room. Miss Grey glanced up as he passed, smiled, then looked a little pitiful. "Poor fellow! I hope the elder brother, will bring Jiim back his money before he catches double pneumonia standing outside the door."

11. The manager soon discovered that Courtenay more than earned liis salary, for the young man /had so simple ana engaging a way with him that it never occurred to customers that he was other than lie seemed. The more eurioUß of them asked him many questions, aijd others wanted to know what he dia "when Lo worked" ; and it took a great ,J deal of tof,oJi9ol SB Qa.vuie-

nay's part to explain that to stand at the entrance of a draughty passage for ten hours "a day in every kind of weather was not exactly "all beer and skittles "; whereupon one old lady gave him a tract and said that it would have made her far more hopeful about his "ultimate future" if he had said "all lemonade and buns."

"But I'm not at all'sure about my ' ultimate future' myself, unless my brother makes a hit," Courtenay declared, soiiiewliat lugubriously to Thyrza Grey. It was their "half-hour off for tea," and, actuated by desire to look his best in her presence, he had discarded his flamboyant wig, hurriedly washed away his "make-up," and appeared in his own natural skin. As a concession to sentiment, the girl had slipped oS her blue overall, taken the equally blue ribbon out of hor exquisite hair, and feigned to "receive" him as her guest. ?•

During the last few weeks their intimacy had greatly increased. Each knew the other's history, and on Good Friday Courtenay had been invited down to the Rev. John Grev's little rectory near Hertford, that quaint, oldfashioned toM'n.of running waters. The Rev. John knew that Courtenay was connected with the and wondered at such a handsome and well-bred young man being contented with what he somewhat vaguely called "commerce." Thyrza, the reverend gentloman explained, had gone into "commeice, and lived with her aunt in town because of the expense of rearing her eleven brothers and sisters at Hertford. She preferred "commerce" to being a governess: people were so much more polite to "commercials" than they were to governesses. i Courtenay explained that he was \raiting to hear from his brother in South Africa, to whom he had lent all his money two years ago. When his brother was in a position to refund the five hundred pounds, he proposed to do something more ambitious. Altogether, the'day had been a very happv .holiday, and everyone, especially the younger children, parted from Courtenay with the greatest regret. Now as Thyrza and Courtenay sat taking their tea in ',he cosy little room at the top of the house, they forgot their ca.res- "Better make the most of every moment Courtenay said longingly eyeing a huge tea-cake. "Hie wind in the passage makes me hungry." Thyrza. smilingly gave him two-thirds of the toa-cake.

''Eat fair." Courtenay took her plate in place of his own. Tliyrza smiled again, and then to laugh outright. "What are you Laughing at?" Courtenay paused with his mouth full of cake.

i-e_ so impossible, you know. Life's so impossible. Your brother will spend all your money and ask for more. You'J! never be able to get away from hers, and will gradual Iv take to drink.'

Not a bit of it. We're onlv experimenting with ourselves. It's the best of all possible worlds, we're the most 'possible' people in it, and Jim WJ 'l do wonders with my money." The girl sadly .shook her pretty head, uh, no, it's a dreadful world We're young now and can bear it. bnt the time will come when wo shan't be able to do so. Life isn't all that I expected.

When my brother Jim Hie was always the lucky one of the" familv) makes his pile and comes back to share it with me, I 11 tackle the stage again," Courtenay said, happily. "Perhaps my attempt at Hamlet was 'a "hastly mistake,' as one of the managers put it. I see so many queer people in the course of the day that I'm rapidly developing mto a character actor." . " Do -T 0 " think "—the girl put down hex dainty little teapot—" do you really think m your heart that four bi other will ever return the money he borrow ed from you and give vou a enance .

Think! I don't think anything about it. I m certain of it. You don't Jinow Jim. fiiere isn't a mean' streak ni , h ' m ' "'eve always been the greatest chums, and his good hick never" fails him. ]\ever. He can't help making a roitune, and.directly he's made it. he'll flv over to England to find me. But J m very happy as I am. And I've never censed to bless the dav I answered that advertisement." "You call yourself happy!" said the girl, passionately. "Why, I always feel so sorry for you. You, with your beautiful ideals, your great aims, your wonderful power of making one feel everything that is noble and great! Sometimes, when I think of your wasted talents, the way you are exposed to the derision of the crowd, I cry myself to sleep. Can't you do something better? I wish—oh, how I wish! —l coulcl help you." Courtenay's light-hearted manner changed to something deeper, more serious. '"Of course you can help me. You make the world a garden of roses to me. My chance is coming some day, I'm as sure of it as I am that Jijn will come back again. All my ill-luck began to disappear the first time I came up these stairs."

"And when your good luck comes, and you become a great actor, you will go away from her. I think," the girl added, with a desperate attempt at gaiety as 6he rose to return to her desk, " I think that I shall have to 4 marry money' in order to give you your chance." • The young man also rose. "Don t say that! Oh, don't do that! Don't yOu know why I'm so happy ?" he asked, gazing into her shining' eyes. "Haven't you already guessed that it is you who are sowing the seeds of greatness in me, gradually changing me into all I ought to be. If I stood barefooted on thorns, f and the passing crowds mocked at me, I should still he happy to be near you." "You mustn't! Oh, you mustn't!'' she said, hastily. "You will spoil everything. Our lialf-hour is up. We must go back to our work." '"'Just a moment." He took both her capable little hands in his. ' 'When the good luck comes, I am going to lay it at your exquisite feet; and " "And ?" she queried, half-smiling, half weeping. "And if you will not stoop to raise me with it, I shall leave it there." • "Oh-h!YYoyou—you —you —you impossible yokel!'' She fled ftutteringly down tho stairs.

"Oh, you—you —you possible darling! What a wonderful world it is! The good luck's coming. I i'eel it in my bones" ; and Courtenay jumped int-o his "make up" and returned to the draughty passage. "Well, this beats cock-fighting! What do you call yourself, any way ?" asked an amazed voice, as a handsome, wea-ther-beaten young man stopped in front of Courtenay and surveyed him curiously. "Jim back" again! I knew it. T knew it,-" said Courtenay, under his breath. The howling swell! He must have struck it rich, and come home to Hirprise me." Then aloud, "What do I call mysen, measter? I doan'fc call mysen nothing, I doan't." "Well, you'x-e just like, the old shepherd Dickie and I used to love. Have a drink," said the other genially. "I'd like to make .someone happy my day in London." ■ *

Courtenay shqok his head. "None of your whimsy whamsies, measter. I hain't 'lowed to .down, my beer now. Coom oop and have a soop of tea." ' Jim " started as if he had been shot. "You talk like old George the shepherd.. If you won't have a. drink, take this '; and he gave him half a crown.

"What be this for, measter?" Courtenay critically examined the shining coin as if unable to credit the extent of his good fortune. "For luck. I haven't sfen a soul I know since I landed vesterday, and you remind me of on© of the sons of old George." "Do I, measter?"

you do. I've nothing to do until I find out what's become of a brother of mine, so I may as well come up."

He strolled upstairs to the tea-room, and, to Courtenay's surprise, stayed for nearly two hours. As Courtenay went to change into his ordinary clothes, ho . surprised to see Jim animatedly talking to Thyrza. "Won'i you do a theatre with me to-night?" he asked. I hyrza shrank back with an indignant shake of the bead, and closed the little . window between them. Cf S iri ? n , ay took his brother by the scruft of the neck and ran him down the stairs. Then ho handed him back his half-crown "Get out," he said, passionately, "or I'll break every bone l mean boan—in your danged body." ■ But I didn't mean any barm, and there s something so sweet and attractive about her." Jim gathered himself together D'you think, you rustic one?" know a lady when I see

"I doan't know; but if ee don't ] e eeself like,- I'll break "vour danged neck," said Courtenav: 'and went back to Thyrza, leaving Jim staring after him.

"The fellow spoke just like dear old JJiokie he_ sbkl to himself. "And I taught Dickie that grip. Am I mad or drunk or both P Why/ didrt't he speakto me. Is he waiting* to see what I'll cio about his money?'' As he stopped to light a cigar in the rt.ha.dow of the wall, Dickie came down and walked rapidly away. Jim followed arter.

m. The next day Jim Courtenay came ■to tea, but found that the pretty cashier was not in her box at the head of the stairs, and that the rustic at the entrance was missing from his usual Mace. He was distinctly annoyed. At he end of three-quarters of an hour, however, his patience was rewarded, tor tiie pretty cashier cam© back to her box and the rustic slid awkwardly down the stairs. "They've been having tea together," Jim said to .himself. "She's found out , U - c ; klG ,'s, and they are in love with each other." He sauntered up to Thyrza Grev, ana, as he paid his bill, endeavoured to enter mto conversation with her. "Isn't it somewhat unusual for a place of this Mild to have such a rustic ass at the w T a r nce ' hazarded. "If yon ask Uie 'rustic ass' he will probably treat you in the same way as he did yesterday."- Thyrza handed inm his change and shut the little class windo-w m his face. "There's nothing to be got out of ner, Jim amusedly. 4< Loy,al i-ttle soul." He tapped on the window again. "What is it?" Thyrza slid back 'the panel an ominous rattle. "I only want-ed to tell you that T don t bear any malice against your otlicioiis friend, and have not mentioned our httle row of yesterday to the manager." Had he mentioned it to the manager, ' said Thyrza, icily, "you would never have been allowed to set foot in the place again. And if you persist m annoying me, I will mention the master to the manager mvself." Jim went down to Dickie. "You're a pretty muscular chap for a yokel." he ■said, amusedly. "If you hadn't'been in such a hurry yesterday I mi "lit nave explained to you that the girl was so modest and pretty that I was only trymg her. You must bo verv hard up to have sunk to this rustic tomfoolery. Are you in love with her?" I am employed by the management nere to play a -very important part " Dickie said, coldly. , "Of course ' I can t prevent you from coming liere buVI can throw you downstairs if you don t treat Miss Grev with proper respect." "Or course I will treat her with proper respect. Has she any relations ; in town?" - I ''Why do you want to know?" ] , "Because I wish, to do myself the I honour of calling on them and invitino-' you all to dinner to make amends for mv stupidity," Jim said, carelessly. He doesn't really know me, thought Dickie. Very well. I'll see how far • °? eans to go- Why should I stand m . Thyrza's way if he has fallen in love with her? He -can give her everything which my money seems to ha.ve brought him. It looks as if he didn't mean even to try to find me out. "I will ask Miss Grey if she has any objection to giving you her aunt's address,'' he said, stiffly. When Thyrza had finished her work, he took her back to her aunt'.s in a side street off Russell Square, and ex- ' plained the situation /to her. "It's my brother Jim. come; to repay me my money. He knows I'm not. a yokel, but he doesn't know I'm hfe brother.' ' Thyrza looked at him a little curiously. "Why do you-want me to meet him?" "Because Jim'a really a- splendid fellow." "But he made love to me." « Dickie's eyes were expressive. How could he help it?" Thyrza's eyes flashed in reiura. "Do

you want him to do it again P" "Of oourso not. Why do you ask?'* "Because he's following üb." "Very well, then. If you don't mind, we will introduce him to you* aunt, and hear what he has to say for himself.

» Jim sauntered lazily up, and bowed to Miss Grey. "How .do, Dickie, . old man? I saw you come out of tho tea shop, and couldn't wait till we'd arranged about that dinner. Will you do me the honour to give me a formal introduction to my future sister-in-law?"

Dickie "did the honour," and Thyrza bowed with more than Arctio severity. "If he tries to patronise my dear darling Dickie, I'll kill him," sha thought to herself. "How dare he call me his 'future sister-in-law' when ha knows poor Dickie hasn't a farthing!" "If you would allow me to com'o in; and be introduced to your people, and explain matters," Jim said, humbly, to Thyrza. "I knew Dickie directly ha r.ushed me downstairs. ' Taught him that grip myself." "If you wish it," Thyrza saidcoldly, as a neat littlo maid opened the door. "Is mv-aunt in, Mary?" "No, miss. But she'll bo back presently."

"Kindly come this way. Bring- at lamp, Mary." "Yes, miss." They waited in silence until Marjj brought the lamp. ■ 14 Won't, you. ijiw down?" Thyrza asked Jim. ( Jim sat down and pulled' out a huga pocket-hook Beaming affectionately at Dickie tho while. "You're not going to despise me until you've heard my story, Miss Grey," he said, mischievously. "Dickie and myself always do the same things. That accounts foil

i hyrza, smiled in spite of herself. i?TT^ 01 - r being hurried downstairs P" , Hurried is a good word. That beast of a Dickie hss the grip of a Samson; and the worst of it is. I taught him. Didn't J, old man?" Dickie, in spite of his doubts, felt his heart swell at the affection in Jim'a voice "I thought you had forgotten all-about me," he said, happily. ''But you hadn't, Jim? You did mean to hunt me up?" "Of course I meant to hunt you.up."Jim stretched his hand across the table. • I camo back to bring you your blessed money, Dickie. Here it is—fiftv thousand pounds." And ho" handed him a. bulky pocket-book. ( Dickie stared at him in astonishment. 'I lent you five hundred, Jim, and you were welcome to it. What on earth d you mean?"

"They found diamonds on the littla place I bought with the money, and I sold out." "But wh.v?"

Why? Do you think, Dickie, I'd leave you to starve in London? It's your money. I've kept back a few hundreds to start myself in something. aow you can marry Miss Grey, a,nd 111 take your place at the tea rboms. The manager will never know the difference."

'Oh!". Thyrza's eyes shone. "How I have misjudged you!" "Well, you can repay me in a second." Jim glanced at Dickie. "How?" •

This way. Jim came to Thyrza and kissed her. "Now, dear old Dickia can go ahead with his Hatolet, and as soon as your aunt comes back we'll all put on our best things, have dinner somewhere, and do a theatre afterwards, just to see what Dickie thinks of it."

"As if Dickie would ever consent t« your robbing yourself in this way!" said Thyrza. "I'd never speak to him again if he were so base."

"I'd like to stand in thfit doorway as,_ a, penance," Jiirijconfessed. "To think of. Dickie, brimfuT'of talent, having to do that! I presume that this lady just coming into the room is your aunt?" "It was.

Thyrza's aunt paused enquiringly at the door. "I hare not the pleasure of knowing this other gentleman, Thyrza,"

"I am Miss Grey's future brother-in-law, madam." Jim took her hand. "I rather think that these young peopla have a good > deal to say to each other. With your kind permission I will return in an hour for you all." He was about to go away without the pocket-book, when Dickie and Thyrza stopped him. "Halves, old man,"_ said Dickie, "or I'll pitch th® thing into the fire.". Jim shook his h'ead. "I've had a bully time, and you haven't. Besides, I can easily, make a lot more money now I know the ropes."

But as they would not listen to this, jhe compromised matters by providing , that he was to be allowed to get • a special licence for them oil the morrow. Even the aunt would not hear of hi> wearing Dickie's yokel costume for th« occasiop. , (The End.) MONEY Sa v iiv.j COUGH REMEDY. "Hean's Essence is a valu« able remedy for coughs and colds. I My husband, baby and myself have proven its goodness." Mrs. M. C. , Booth, Birkdale, Auckland. "I have found the cough andV: I cold remedv I make from Hean's Essence thoroughly efficacious. It ;• is eood." Jas. Robertson, Senr., 1 Marton. J " I have found Hean's Essence * excellent for croup, influenza, fever ;• in measles, and sore throats. It soothes, is healing, and wonderfully economical." Mrs. H.GindLER, Riccaiton, Christchurch. " T am delighted with Hean'* Essence. It has a soothing effect, and quickly eases troublesome coughing and sore throats. Ail my family have been benefitted by Hean's." Mrs. Butcher, Roseneath, Wellington. Evidence as to the medicinal value, and wonderful cheapness of Hean s Essence is ever* growing. One bottle of Hean's added to sweetening and water '>/■ makes a pint of the finest _ cou»?h, cold, - and sore throat remedy it is possible to obtain. It also saves 10'- for your pocket:'' " Try Hean's Essence. Dilute easy directions on label. Sip each u'6sflj v slowly so as to lubricate throat as much as possible. Notice how quickly it eases throat tickling, how promptly phlegm is ' removed, how it soothes and comforts. ' For croup, whooping cough, asthma, bronchitis, tickling, night or day coughs, with sore, inflamed, aria swollen throats ■ Hean's Essence proves a worthy friend. Keep a bottle always by you. £ Hean's Essence sold by cherriists and stores, or post free promptly, on receirjt of price, 2/-, from Hean, Chemist, - Wanganui. Be sure you get H-E-A-N-'S >7 and read the circular. 14 S