GOOD-BYE!

Star (Christchurch), Issue 7433, 20 June 1902, Page 2

GOOD-BYE!

. ♦ — — t WATERLOO STATION-SAT UR^ \ DAY MORNING. (By HARCfLD BEGBIE, in the "Daily i Mail,") s I It is all very like a play. c As you stand there, the huge station, 8 with its roof of grimy glass and its high walls, brilliant with multi-coloured placards, gradually encloses you like' a theatre. Ine platform stretches itself out before your eyes as a stage. The American Line express drawn up there, with' its doors swinging open, looms slowly Out as a part of the scenery ; and all this congregation of human beings, rushing hither and • thither, standing' in littl© groups, laugh- f ing and weeping, joking and sobbing, kiss- a ing and hand-shaking-I-men, women, and < children— the rich and the poor, the brute i and the saint, English, American, German, and Norwegian, Jew and Gentile — t these suddenly present themselves before 1 you, not as real people, but as the actors i in a comedy of life— the players in this little drama of Last Good-Byes, played for * your spectacle. i Even in the multitude of the company, « you are not long in picking out the chief * actors. Look at this group. I AN INTERESTING GROUP. ] A tall man, with iron-grey moustache, standing beside a carriage-door, watching _ the movement of the crowd with feigned t interest. At his side, watching hhn, a ( slight woman with flaxen hair, large hazel ( eyes, wearing an astraohan coat, a light • veil over her face, twisting a newspaper in her gloved hands. " Near them a tall youth —evidently ihe woman's brother by his , flaxen hair and light complexion— with a j billycock hat over his eyes, a cane in his hand, and a gay handkerchief dangling from his coat-pocket. The woman twists the newspaper till it is no bigger than a Roman -candle; the youth draws his cane i through his gloved hands' and fidgets at his -i tie ; the man stares at the crowd. It is*a wife bidding good-bye tb her husband, and the young brother has come to sco her home when the play is over. For some reason they stand out from the rest. You feel you would like the man, you •know you could love the woman. So you watch them. The husband is struck by something I amusing in the crowd ; he smiles and says i a word to the wife ; she smiles too, and , the youth grins, whacking his legs with the dandy cane. Then they fall back into the oid silence, the old dull stare. It is 3 difficult to remember the right words in i this play. V {■ t And While they stand there, porters go j to and firo pus-dug" great loads of luggage, j Smart American girls in short skirts, with felt baits over tiheir oyes and little hand- * bags chained from their waists, stand cheer- I fully chatting at their- eaaicjawe doori; _t brrazedi men in wide-brimmed' Panama, (hats y light cigars end stroll the length of tlieir, j carriage; newsboys with laden baskets " strapped from their _hou_der_ pass --lowly up and down, crying their wares aud study- * ing the people ; the flower-.seller, withi his & tray 'of roses, lilies, violets a_td primroses, j presents has blooms at every window ; while tho guard, with green flag Hinder Ihis arm a and papers in his 'hand, rushes here and „ there, making ready to ring down the cur- r tain on our play. ' ■■ ' f THE CAPE MAIL. • t As you standi there, the Cape mail run® into the statioa at the next platform, bring- c ing up a crowd of city toilers from tihe c suburbs. I In a. minute the platform swianns with a smart young 1 clerks, volunteers (armed with n rifles for Saturday's march), merchants, .'* shopkeepers and typists. They tear over '' the pla*foTms--giving never n lock to our v enugrants — and mi a minute they are _»nic, v leaving the echo of their tr«_vpiling' feet ■&■ dying away'behind them. • I'hen porters go <" round, and " Waterloo "is taken down, fromi 1 abovo the doors and "S.S. __i_doi_u_ * Castle" put iv its place. In the carriage l^esb to that at which our 1 1] principal actors statfid is seated tt. very mat- * ter-of-foct o»Id gentleman, to whom pathos n or joy makes but _m_ll appeal. He is already comfortably installed! in. his c oorner, a foot-warmer under his gaitered & boots-,, a rug on his knees, muffler round J his neck, spectacles on his nose, und paper fc before his eyes. His destination is Ameri- s ca, .and he has begun to. settle down air r ready. Why should he look up fromi his ? paper? No one has come tobidihim good- a hye. •* Beyondi him there is a group of Jews s round a third-class carriage. The men. wear E silk lints with high mourning bands, black v ties, bkck woollen, gloves, ahd long dbrk c blue overcoats. They are all smoking cigairs f and chuckling, with the greatest good huni- * our. . But witb tbem. are many teair-stainedi * Jewesses, the old ladies in solemn black, r the young ladies in various shades of c mauve. And through the carriage window . two faces are thrust — the swollen, flushed i&ce oi a young Jewess, and the' fatter, c calmer face of a cloth-capped- cigar-smok- * ing Jew. i * Very eady in tlie doff the kissing begins ; I one by one the group on tbe platform set * footfc upon the step, lay a hand upon» tlhe * ledge of the door, _ndl present their faces * to the occupants of the carriage. At every * kiss tbe young Jewess grows redder, her s eyes more swollen, her lips unsteadier. And .* the men stand grinning and chuckling, * while the old ladies turn away, mopping "* their eyes amd sobbing aloud. MINUTES OF AGONY. [ We turn back to our first group. He is < in the carriage now, and she is standing t at the door, one foot on the step, her fingers fidgeting at the veil near her mouth. A -, hectic flush dyes iher cheeks. The youth; j with Ins cane behind his back* taps his _ heels with the ferrule and smiles nervously a towards the Jews. They are still silent, j Presently the guard blows his whistle. She j goes deadly white, and turns a swift face of despair to the carriage window. He j rises— but it is a false alarm. There is t a minute mose of the agony, and they j emile and exchange an empty word. Her fingers still fret at the veil over her lips. - You look away. - On the other side the Cape mail Is fast i filling up with its passengers. t Here in one carriage — no one to see them T off— are a father, mother, and family of young children. They are evidently set- g ting out to begin life over again. They sit there in a half-dazed condition, staring out of the windows and saying not a word. Further along is a girl alone with a baby in arms, making her way to a carriage; \ she finds a pla_e, enters the compartment, ' and in a miniate the other women, there 1 are bending over the baby, lifting its veil t and cooing to it. You are glad that s lonely girl has made friends. t Next door you see a carriage full of \ fierde-eyed, weather-beaten men, and you f thank Heaven you are not going out to the c Cape under the label of "Steerage." But i Jhe baby will be there. * And now hands' are being gripped at every carriage, the people on the platforms f awerve towards the two trains, faces look , out from the windows, faces look up to _[ them, and— a whistle blows. ' \ " Good-bye— "good-bye— good-bye !" The J train jerks forward; you hear the strain t of the couplings, and now it is moving j away. • i OFF AT LAST. { The man leans forward from his seat, j raises his hat, and smiles. Her hand drops from her veil, she smiles, nods to him, gjithers up her skirt, and turns away. You 1 will never forget that white face. The 1 youth takes oif his hat, smiles a good-bye, ] and follows his sister. « The train slides slowly away. « Every one on the platform- appears to f be waving handkerchiefs and newspapers, J j and through the midst of these people the (

rife passes with bowed head, her lips rembling, the skirt gathered up, and her >rother grinning nervously behind her as ie pulls down his cuffs and sets his tie •ight. " Good-bye ! good-bye!" shout the vavers of handkerchiefs. Another minute and the Cape mail steams >ufc of the station — the baby sucking at ts bottle, the fierce-eyed men next door, preading a newspaper for a game of cards. ' Good-bye — good-bye — good-bye V The )lay is over, and the scene-shifters, setting lown their trolleys, mop dank brows and iouch wearily away.