"STAR" TALES.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 10234, 17 August 1911, Page 4

"STAR" TALES.

(By MARGARET M. RAWLINS'.) Author of " That Disgraceful Transaction," " The Knave of Hearts, * eto.

THE OTHER ROBERT j WARREN.

[Ait Rights Reserved.] It all began at the bank, and, to trace its beginnings further back still, it was the fault of young Kinley, the second clerk, and he thrust the blame on to the bad figures and shaky handwriting of an old lady of considerable wealth and uncertain temper, who banked at Fenmore and Robinson s. For there had been a miscalculation somewhere, and the quarter's accounts were a little out. But, „of course, this clear perception of cause and effect only came to Bobbie some time after. The mischief was done when they were all working 'extra time, without a thought for anything but the account books. That Saturday Bobbie did not get off till five o'clock, and he had promised to meet Patricia at the tennis club at three. As he stepped through the swing doors -into tire High Street he felt fagged out. However, the accounts •were straight now, thank goodness! Moreover, Kinley had had the grace to be thoroughly ashamed of his carelessness, and bore himself with an air of humility, beautiful to see, when the mistake was found to be his. And, as a rule, Kinley was only too prone to the self-satisfaction that frequently accompanies the fresh age of two-and-twenty. Bobbie glanced at the clock over the jeweller's: it said ten after five. He crossed slowly to the shady side of the street, considering as he went, and was rung out of the way by a cyclist, who hailed hiia boisterously. It was Digby —bound for the tennis club, to judge by the racquet and bag of balls in his hand. Bobbie scowled after his retreating figure till it was hidden by a cart, for he and Digby had not been-the best of friends since the latter had blossomed forth as a man of letters.

For Kingsdown boasted a monthly magazine. It contained matters of local- interest, as well as short stories, etc.,' and in the June number appeared a humorous article by Digby, who was highly elated at his achievement for the editor was known to refuse inferior work.

Now, Digby had always been inclined to be patronising, and success did not lessen the tendency. One afternoon at the tennis club he became ll unbearable. 'After several shafts of sarcasm had •pent themselves in yain against his thick skin, Bobbie, had remarked byway of conversation that he'd he ■hanged before he'd have bis name advertised on the pages of a fourpennyhalfpenny magazine, to which Digby had replied encouragingly that if Bobbie had written anything worth printing. perhaps he wouldn't, be ashamed to put his name to it. The ladies being present, the affair had ended there, but the two still looked at each other as dogs do who have been separated in. the middle of a fight and long to finish. So the sight of Digby on his way to the club was the last straw that weighed down the scales of indecision. Bobbie turned on his heel and went tome. " Pat's sure to have found plenty of partners," he reflected. " She won't expect me so late as this. I'll go round after dinner and explain." For Bobbie and Patricia were engaged, be it known. jThe Amhersts had a large, oldfashioned garden. It was divided into three, tennis lawn, flower and kitchen garden respectively, by trellises of climbing roses, and it was in one of the archways of the second of these screens that Bobbie found Patricia when he presented himself at Inglecourt that Evening.

"Patricia," he called softly, "Pat." But there was no reply. As he neared

the arch he saw that there was a barrow blocking the way, and Patricia was sitting on one corner of it. She had her back towards him, and every now and then she pulled the petals from the clusters of white roses that hung njar her. As he squeezed yiast tho barrow he saw her face in profile, and in the tilt of her pretty little nose he read trouble.

He slid an arm round her waist as he seated himself and bent over to kiss her, but Patricia stiffened and slipped out of his hold. " You must be very tired,she remarked in an even tone, taking the rose leaves from, her dress one by one. " Have you only just left the bank?" Bobbie made no reply, but be came md stood by her on the path. Patricia was a brunette, and it certainly suited her to be angry, but in tliQ light a woman would have said that she had been crying. "You had a good time at the club this afternoon, didn't you. Pat? Eh?" "Splendid, she said, heartily, still flicking the petals from her skirt. "That's all right," said Bobbie with something of relief in his tone, for he had begun to fear that Patricia had refused other partners because she was expecting him. " I guessed you would. I didn't think it worth while to "

" Oh, please don't trouble to go through all that a second time," she cried, straightening herself, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright with anger. " I've heard it all from Mr Digby." Remembering that Digby had passed him in the town, imagination supplied the details of the picture her words suggested. Bobbie lost his temper completely.

" Hang that fool!" he cried, digging his heel into the gravel. "I should have expected something else from you, Patricia, than to listen to him." "Doubtless. I might have looked for other treatment from you."

"And how much do you wish me to put up with? I'll teach this fellowonce and for all to mind his own business " you will not," shi» cried. " You will oblige me by leaving tho matter alone and making public those of your private affairs that do not concern me, since you seem to have developed a taste for publicity." •" Then, perhaps, you will be good enough to inform me what excuses Mr Digby was so kind as to make for me."

" Certainly not," she said obstinately.

"Will you tell me, Patricia?" he said, with an accent of command in his voice which she had never heard before. She tried to brush by him, but he laid a hand on her arm. "Patricia," he said quietly. " I don't change my mind in two minutes," she said. "Allow me to pass, if you please." " When you have changed it, you can send for me," he returned, andlet her go.

The wheelbarrow filled the one arch; she crossed the garden to the other, and disappeared towards the house. Bobbin lingered, half hoping she might return; but when she did not he began to consider his next move. There was a door in the wall which opened on to a side road. It was locked as a rule, but the key hung from a nail near. After a moment's reflection, he quietly undid the door and pulled it to after him, fervently hoping that Mr Amherst's garden, would not be robbed in the night as a result.

However, it is the last who locks up and puts out tho lights, and he was not the last. Some long time after he had gone Patricia retraced her steps and halted at tho door. She carried a big, flat envelope in her hand. "Must have gone out this way," she muttered, as the key turned unobstructed in tho lock. She drew it out and put it in her pocket, and peered up and down the road. It was unfrequented at most times, and scantily lighted, for no houses faced on to it; but Patricia was not nervous. She closed the door and hurried off.

Ten minutes later she was * back again, having despatched her missive, and, making all fast, she replaced the kev and returned to the house.

The following Thursday was the first of July, and during the interval Bobbie had kept his word, and seen nothing of Patricia: but he had', likewise not received the penitent note he had expected. When he came in on Thursday evening—for Bobbie lived with his aunt, Mrs Ridley—he saw the .July number of the local magazine on the study sofa. It was unopened, but the very sight of it, recalling Digby, annoyed linn. He flung it the other side of the room, aiming for a bookstand, but it fell short, and, rolling under the frill of a big armchair, ceased to offend his gaze. He was wondering rather anxiously when Patricia was going to give in. If he kept away long, the Amhersts would begin. to suspect something. Altogether the situation was growing awkward, but he was determined not to make the first advances.

"Pat's a. perfect darling, but if she thought she could ride over me like this now, it 'would only lead to rows later. All the same, I wish she'd come round."

The next morning brought Bohbio an. to him, inexplicable postcard. "Congratulations," it ran. "Jolly good. Don't n.ind your name in print now.—Yours, Digby."

Bobbie tore it up savagely. " The fellow's gone dotty, it seems to me." At the bank another surprise awaited him. It was the manager's day to go to a branch a few miles down the line, and as Bobbie came in'he was just going;.

"I'm off as usual. Warren," he said, " but I'm glad I've run against you. Your thing in the magazine is quite a treat. I d no idea you wrote. Good-bye. 1 shall lose my train soon," and he snatched a bag and went, leaving his clerk lost in amazement. A moment later Kinley came in. " Have you seen the mag. for July?" asked Bobbie. Kinley nodded. " Is there—-er — " " Your thing, yo"u mean? Yes." "So there is a thing!" ■ "Of course. 'Tennis Clubs I Have Known: A Sketch by Robert Warren.'" Bobbie vented a swear word or two. "Didn't you write it, then? Isn't it yours?" asked Kinley, his'voice rising to a higher tone of surprise with each question. "No," roared.Bobbie. "Oh! by jove, how funny," cried Kinley, choking with amusement. "Do shut up and don't play the fool like that." cried Bobbie vrathfully.

The other drew a long breath and sat up. "I'm beastly sorry, really, old chap. But. I say, who did write it?" " I don't know."

_ "You > J -on't?" Kinley smiled broadly, but restrained himself. " I betsomeone's done it to have you oil toast. You remember how you rubbed it into Digby over his article." " ff he has —I'll —I'll have the law on hfm."' • ■ ■ " Oh, I don't think it's Digby, because there's-a neat hit at.him. in it. It's jolly clever, anyhow; and' it must be someone in the place here. No outsider could have written it." " They'll answer to me for the use of my name all the same. But swear you'll keep counsel. For the present I shall lie low and wait till I find out." "Right you are."

Bobbie endured a miserable morning. Nervous dread seized him whenever the doors opened. He feared each time to behold the benign smile of congratulation on the face of some acquaintance.

However, his fears were not realised ; none of his friends came into the bank that morning, and the roads were for the most part deserted as hq htyried home for lunch. 'i

He was scarcely in the house before

Mrs Ridley called him from the study. She was seated in an armchair farming herself, and her voice sounded querulous.

" What has been done with this | month's magazine? Eve searched fo r it everywhere, and Ellen assures me it came yesterday. She had it on the sofa in her?, she says, but T can't find it. What are you doing now. Bobbie?' she went on, as he dropped on his knees and began to peer about behind tho bookstand and round her chair. "Here it is-," he said, getting up, as he drew the book from under the frill of the armchair and turned to the list of contents. "Dear, dear! how did it get there? Tt must have rolled off the sofa," continued Mrs Ridley j placidly fanning, and heedless of the fact that she was not being listened to. " Mrs Stephenson told me this morning—close the door, please; 1 must have air. hilt T cannot stand a draught. Mrs Stephenson was _ telliug mo that there is a most amusing sketch in the magazine by Robert Warren, and she supposed it was you. 1 m;\d« haste back to read it, but couldn't find the magazine. T real!}' think you might have informed me of your proceedings, Robert," she concluded, bridling.at the thought. " But for my ready wit I must have appeared foolish in the eyes of my friends. Not to know what my own neohew is doing!' " What's that, Aunt Agnes?" he said, for he had found the page he wanted and had road the first paragraph. " I'm afraid I wasn't listening. This thing X am supnosed to have written ! I've done nothing of the sort.' "Not yours?'' cried the old lady, sitting bolt, upright. "Not yours?" " No," he answered, staring at her consternation. _ «It's most provoking." she said, " most. T—er —T told Mrs Stephenson it was. You see. I couldn't seem not t® be aware of what takes place in my own household, and she said it was by you, so I imagined it must he. Dear me! How unfortunate." Privately Bobbie determined to call on the editor that evening on the chance of discovering from, him the personality of the mysterious contributor, but Patricia intervened. When he came in in the afternoon, there was the letter he had been expecting on the dining-room mantelpiece. She had come round at last.

He had scarcely thought about their quarrel all day, his mind had been occupied with the doings of his other self, but he was not the less pleased as lie tore open the envelope. He glanced quickly at the length. It was short, which promised well. "Darling Bobbie," he read, "please forgive Patricia for being a cross girl last Saturday, and come and make it up with her, because she's very sorry and won't do it again." Then he discovered a lengthy postscript.

" P.S.—l've heard all about this tiresome business of the magazine. The will be here to-morrow to tennis ; if you come I will give you a quiet opportunity to speak your mind and demand an apology—which T am sure will be forthcoming—only you must promise me to make friends after.— Tours always, Patricia." " Dear little Pat! I thought she'd see reason in time. But how does she como to know I didn't write it. I suppose the beggar's gone to her and asked her to play peacemaker. Of course. And I'm not to make a row ! Well, he'll have to apologise pretty humbly for his cheek."

He tucked the letter into his breastpocket and felt his spirits rising considerably. " I must say Pat keeps the affair well in her own hands; she might have given me an inkling who it is." Saturday afternoon came, and Bobbie donned bis smartest suit of flannels with a feeling of unwonted excitement. He had meant to be early at the Amherst's to get a word alone with Patricia, but though he was in good time, most of the guests had arrived. He caught sight of her talking to some friends, when he was seized on to play. He was reluctantly discarding his coat, when he saw Patricia coming towards him. She was flushed and a little excited, but quite mistress of the situation. Her dress was something white —Bobbie had no clear idea what—with touches of pink here and there, but he thought she had never looked sweeter or more charming. His partner was calling him, but Patricia saw the question in his eyes. " Here?" he asked eagerly. " Yes. But, Bobbie, you promise me to make friends," she pleaded, with rather more earnestness than was necessary, he 'thought. "■Of course, if he apologises," he said, throwing out his chest and feeling heroic. " Oh, he will, I'm sure. There, they're ready; you must go. I'll point him out to you after this set."

"Yes." " Good. Have some lemonade?" " No, thanks. Which is he?" " Patience. Have you had any criticisms offered you?"

" A few, which I shall have much pleasure in transferring to their rightful owner very soon. May serve to sweeten what 1 have to say on the subject," he added grimly. "But tell mo, which is he?"

"How did you reply? Are you pretending till you know, or did you give the position away?" "Rather not. Not till 1 hold the best cards in my own hand." "Wise man," she said with a little smile. " Yes" but tell me, Pat." " Wait a minute." An old friend, a Mr Mordaunt, was approaching, evidently to claim Patricia as his partner. "Find my racquet, will you please?" she asked as he came up. "It was by that seat where mother is sitting." .As he went she seemed to scan the courts for a moment. Then she turned to Bobbie.

"In whites and pink," she said. " and going to play now." As the Amhersts had two courts, Bobbie had four people to choose from. He decided to observe tho players on the near court first, though Patricia, was playing on the one by the flower garden. Kinley was one side with Bobbie's former partner, but his tie was uark blue, and the other fellow had on grey. Clearly tlie culprit must be m the other set, which was only natural, he reflected; if Patricia wanted to give them a chance to speak together she must have both parties to hand. She seemed so concerned, too. Did that mean that the fictitious Robert Warren was nervous? Bobbie rather inclined to this view. He thrust his hands into his coat pockets and sauntered towards the other court. Certainly it wasn't Mordaunt because lie sported a rod belt and a tie; therefore it must lie the other, who pioved a lecent conmr in Kingsdown Bobbie felt his wrath rise at the notion. If it had been .an old resident the impertinence would Imve been iniinitelv less.

" How go the games, Pat ?" he asked, as she prepared to serve. "Five—three," she answered gaily. " I hope this well be sot."