THE NEWCOMERS IN LIBERTY STREET.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 11217, 24 October 1914, Page 4

THE NEWCOMERS IN LIBERTY STREET.

(By ANN MILTON, in " Everylndy's Journal.")

"Yes, it's a beautiful street," tho caller said enthusiastically; "but, then, I've always lived in Liberty Street. Maybe I'm not a fair judge. 1 was born here, in tho only house there was then! All tho rest orchard and farm, my dear!" The plump face creased int-o humorous lines.

Mary Tuck gazed out of hor now doorway, pa«t her departing caller, up and down tho beautuul street. " On, I like it!" she cried softly, "I like every single tree and paving-stone I'' " There, what did I tell the Women's Guild yesterday 1 1 said you'd like our street—every newcomer does. You will join the Guild, Mrs TuckP And our Literary Club, too —we'll want you in that. Everybody has to be 1 literary ' 011 Liberty Street 1 Wo read Shakespeare and Browning, and everything worth while, and have little plays 'round at each other's houses. Your drawing-room would work in splendidly, with the sliding doors. Gil, you've come to a busy street! We'll put you on a committee of tho Friendly Society, too.' Everybody has to be 011 a committee 1 I really must go. See me keeping you hero at the door 1 Good afternoon, Mrs Tuck."

She was gone. Mary Tuck turned back into her room that would work in splendidly with its sliding doors. She sank a little faintlv into the nearest chair. The mention of clubs and guilds, and societies had taken away her breath. For a little, she sat there seeing-visions of herself and her girls living' the busy, friendly life of this Liberty Street. She tried to visualise a little play being played here in this room, a room in her home.

"I can't," she sighed. "I'll give up and £0 and get Walker's supper." She could visualise Walker coming home hungry and all-absorbing. His big personality filled the whole foreground and background of her mind, as it would presently fill tho whole new house. Mary Tuck, herself, had long since merged her own personality, into her husband's, or allowed' it to become merged. And there was great danger that her girls, as each in turn attained individuality-age, would follow in her path. "Mums, where are you?" a fresh voice carolled, and Georgia Tuck came breezing into the hot kitchen, where her-mother had already set about making the nightly tea-cakes, which had rarely failed' Walker Tuck for twenty years. This child, Georgia, presented the paradox of being a separate little entity in a Tuck family. Georgia was the youngest Tuck daughter, and but fifteen.

"Oh, Mums, you're making . teacakes again!"

"Of course. What do you think your, father would.say if I didn't?" " But I did hope you'd turn over a new leaf in this house. You'll turn into a tea-cake machine, Mums! Every single night—l can't remember when you didh't make tea-cakes for supper. And I passed such 'liciouslooking ones ,in a bakery, coming homo."

" Your father does not like baker's tea-cakes, Georgia Turn 'round, dear. "What have you done to vour hair behind?"

~^ B< £ b ? d , i^ 1 " the girl. Don t I look scrumptious?" She looked very vivacious and sweet. "I've decid'ed to begin to grow up, and this is my first stop. I've got to have a luscious big black ribbon bow." "But, Georgia, your father—"My father can't keep mo from growing up. Mums, I just can' wait as as the girls did to grow up; Father made them go 'round' in pigtails and short dresses till they were laughing-stocks. It doesn't matter so much if you're laughing-stocks 311 the country; but here " Georgia s voice choked m her throat, •" an aiK ' aren 't g°i"g to bear it ; Mums! Jan says they're calling him ' Pet' .at school, already. Mums, you've got to let Jan down, anyway! I suppose I can wait, if it's a choice of twins, but Jan's too good material to use that way. It grinds a boy to bo laughed at like he is now I I—l won't have it; he's my twin!" Quite suddenly, Mary Tuck was aware that her gay little daughter was crying. Georgia! her own impotence to comfort swept like a hot blast over her heart. How could she " let Georgia down," or tall boy Jan, until Walker decided it was time ? Until that psychological moment, short trousers and dresses and despised p : gtails must go on doing their humiliating worst. She remembered very distinctly that early occasion or two when she had almost attained the deciding herself. but only almost.

Walker was dear—oh, Walker was dear! She held on to that with both hands. It _ was just his way. His mother and sisters had spoiled him before he came.to her. And he loved the children so. Walker just meant to briftg them up the way he thought was best. " Ana me," the wife's thought added, with whimsical tenderness; he's been trying to bring me up right, too. It's just that he's got into the habit of doing the bringing-up and the deciding all himself. And he's dear!" She dropped lier rolling-pin and crossed the room to Georgia, whose tears by now had given place to a curious sullenness. Georgia sullen !

"Don't look that way at me, dear!" pleaded the mother.

" I'm not looking that way at you. I'm looking at Father!" exploded Georgia. " We're, every single one of us, afraid of him : that's the whole trouble. Everybody but me—and lam I I don't dare go down to his office this minute and say ' Please let Mother let me down; or, anyway, let Jan down!' So I've got to go on wearing short dresses and Jan .short pants another year because Father thinks sixteen is the age limit. And me this tall 1" Georgia stood up rigidly straight. " And .Tan— Mother, do you ever look at/an?" Mary Tuck was looking, at her tall boy She saw how big and broad he was, in addition to his splend'd young height. She saw his dear brown faco when they called him "Pot." Mary Tu'ck loved her three girls, but this one son of hers—the heart of her was flooded with its ea-eer son-love. And Jan was so much like his father. They were both so dear. "Mums, darling Georgia's wheedling young voice broke in upon her thoughts, and Georgia was so dear!— " c.r>me on down-town with m" V Jan —Jan 'll' me," she corrected herself diplomatically, " and let's get Jan some long trousers.. Oh, come on. come on. Mumsie, the shops are open Saturday nights, and Father won't mrs us. Then we'll come back home and surprise him!" ft would certainly surprise Father. Mary Tuck hid other inward visions.

" Jan will be the happiest bov I We'll leavo the dishes and go right after supper. I'll wash every dish when I pet hick. You'ro coins to, aren't you. Mums? Jan's so long in short trousers!" A little flush had deepened in Mary Tuck's ;--oft cheeks. Georgia had unwittingly pressed hor little button of mortification. had no money to follow out tho child's scheme, oven if some sudden spurt of independence should promot her to do so. She would have to ask for money, and for twenty years Mnfy Tuck had shrunk f'om doing that. It was not because she did not

feel sure of getting it; it was becauso it touched always tt sore spot in her soul.

"Set tho table, will you, Georgia?" sho said, quietly. "That's more imnortant than Jan's trousers, just now. When your father thinks best to ' let ihim down,' as you call it, it will be time enough to do it. "I did think that after wo moved into Liberty Street we'd have a grain of ' liberty ' to our names! Oh, : I don't dare set tho table; I'm afraid I'll smash something!" It was in the middle of tho night that Mary Tuck took in the full import of Georgia's impetuous littlo peroration. They had moved, sho had movv-d, in, to Liberty Street. Sho would not miss the significance of it —there was significance! " If we'd taken that house on Gore Street it would have been exactly as it's always been; but Liberty Street ——". In spite of herself she smiled in the darkness; but it was not funny. Sho told herself sho saw now that Walker had selected this house on this street by some decree of Providence. Poor Walker, if ho had known! Ho was so set on thin place. The kitchen on Gore Street was more convenient every way. But what' were kitchens to decrees of fate!

On Liberty Street 6ho might put her tall boy into long trousers, to save his poor pride; might let down Georgia; might even join the Women's Guild and Literary Club. Could it ue she could climb still higher to tho blessed Place of Independence, whero she might feel as free as other women did, to spend money without " asking"? The moonlight flooded the dark room suddenly, and sho saw Walker's sleeping face on the pillow. It was sucli a dear face!

" What am I thinking 1" she exclaimed to herself in a kind of horror; but, to her still greater horror, she found that she kept on thinking. It was too late to stop. 'Wav into the night to the edge of day she lay in the resistless grip of this new thought. During the next Monday morning, one of the new neighbours rang her doorbell, and Mary Tuck found herself confronted with her first test of moral strength. " Don't let me in till I tell you— I've come begging, .Mrs Tuck! You have a perfect right to shut the door in my face. You see, we Liberty women are sick and tired of everlast-; ing. dusting our front rooms—half a dozen times a day in the dry season, actually. I've done it myself. So we decided to see to the sprinkling of Liberty Street ourselves, and we've found a man that will do it for us, if every housewife on the street will just sign this paper to agree to pay 10s at the end of the summer. Ten shillings' worth of nice damp com-' fort! In a week or two, when the motors go by and raise perfect clouds, of dust, you'll thank me for coming begging, see. if you don't! It isn't really begging, either—shall I put your name down? You're the only one left now to sign, and we've .really got to have you!" Tho face of the slender woman in the doorway presented a curious study of decision and indecision; the balance wavered delicately. "My husband—Mr Tuck," began the uncertain voice; but the certain voice broke in gaily. There was no wavering in the mind of the begging neighbour. " Husbands haven't anything to do with this proposition. We've waited, for them long enough; now we're going to sprinkle ourselves—l mean sprinkle the street ourselves I. .We're willing to go without 10s worth of clothes, if necessary. Mrs Walter Tuck—it's Mrs Walter, isn't it? I might as well be writing your name down, while you're deciding!" laughed tho gay voice. "Mrs W-a-l-k-e-r Tuck," corrected Mary Tuck, briskly. The balance had tipped permanently to decision. . The 10s need not be paid for long months;' and in long months—her midnight communings with herself were fresh in mind, and she clung to those valiant little resolves. The 10s decision was but one among many more cour-age-wrenching ones that must follow. " Come home as fast as you can from school to-day," she said at noon; "you twins, I mean." It was at dinner, and she had her four around her. Walker Tuck lunched down-town now. "Never mind about the rest of you! But Georgia and I have an important engagement with Jan down street." "Mums! ' You blesed—l believe 'you're going to do it!" She was going to do it. She was going to do many things. She felt like some guilty creature on the edge of some premeditated crime, but she no longer wavered. Early in the afternoon Walker Tuck sent anoto to her by'a messenger boy: "Dear Mary—l'm off to Merino without an hour's warning. Did you ever! Can't come up and kiss you good-bye worse luck I But I'm sending you one by this boy! Please hustle some shirts and collars into my bag and send them down by him. Can't tell when I'll be baolt. Will write. Havo groceries and thing 3 charged.—Walker." Her first thought was one of utter dismay at a Walker-less existence ahead. They had rarely been separated in all their twenty together years. Then, closely followed the thought that here was the way to her Hill of Resolve made easier; she oould climb undeterred. Not yet would she have to make the explanations she dreaded and shrank from making to Walkerhow could she make them svhen he was in Merino? He had told her to have " groceries and things charged," and Jan's new trousers came under " groceries and things."

They were dark blue, of soft, firm cloth, and very becoming to Jan. Sho had always said she should cry wht'. her "short" boy turned long, but one. glance at his dear relieved and radiant face took away all regrets. Georgia was joyously ecstatic.

"Look at him—look at him, Mums I Isn't he a darling? And now you'll have to let me down, too, or I won't match. It wouldn't bo any good t-o be a matchless twin!"

"We're going to look at misses' skirts to-morrow," Mary Tuck said quietly. " Blue serge ones—your blue serge would show a faded streak if I let clown the hem."

"Oh, Mumsie. has the world como to an ond—Father not even here!" Mumsie's world had como to an end indeed; and in this new and independent world she felt a little dizzy. It seemed a gigantic undertaking to bo letting down th« twins without Walker. She had still the sense of guilt, but now, with it, this dizziness of soul.

Walker Tuck's absence was prolonged from one week to two—from two to two and a half. Then, without warning, he came home. He turned into Liberty Street with a long breath of relief; the few blocks he had yet before him he took with impatient, eager strides. This getting home was the thing 1 A man did hate dawdling around hotel offices, and eating out of dinky little nappies in a circle round his plate. . But getting home again! He strode on faster, forgetting that he was travel-worn and tired. Hungry? Well, just let him get his eye for a single moment on a plateful of Mary's tea-cakes! The house bore a curiously occupied appearance, though there was nothing really to account for it at first glimpse. But even before he caught the soft chatter of women's voices, as he hung up his hat, he realised something unusual was going on. Queer —there seemed to bo many women's voices. Mary never had company—hadn't had in a dog's age. She came out to the hall suddenly, and the soft chatter came with her in a little gust of sound. "Walker I"

Her face slowly whitened. It was as if Mary were scared. He could not understand.

" I —wasn't expecting you to-day. Not till—the end of the week." Actually the words seemed to force themselves with difficulty through her lips.

When he kissed her, the lips were oold.

"Why—why, Mary!" "Tho Guild is here—tho Women's Guild. I—they wanted to meet here. They'ro'most ready to go homo now. Would you—will you go in and we thom, and have—l'm giving them tea and sandwiches." The long explanation camo stiffly, as though it hurt. "And cake," added Mary Tuck, with conscientious honesty. "Goodness, no, I won't go in! I'm nil over cinders, and I never was a lady's man, even in my best togs. Hun along back to 'em, dear, and I'll wait for you in tho bedroom upstairs." " Their wraps aro in the bedroom. " Good gracious—l mean, that's nil right. Kitchen empty ? There, Mary, don't look at mo as if I wero a ghost. Just run along to your womenfolk and let mc tako care of myself. Seo you later!" He was determinedly gay, but this was not really—er—getting home. By cautious roundabouts ho got to the tiny room he called his study. _ It fortunately opened from the diningroom as well as the parlour. The par-lour-door ho noiselessly looked against an intruding Guild. When, after three-quarters of an hour, ho heard the rustle and higher-keyed note of departure, he know that delivery was near. His wife, Mary, found lum waiting for her with a Bmile. Walker was smiling! But, of course, he had not found the little sheaf of bills that she had carefully arranged for him in a neat pile on his desk. There had been a curious salve to her conscience in sorting them over, pinning those from tho grocer together, and those from the butcher in another little bunch, and then, on top of the whole pile, laying tho half a dozen or more bills that represented the children's new clothes, and the call®,-and all tho flagrant acts of independence which had come from living on Liberty Street. The little sheaf of bills was in his hand! Had he been running it over while he Waited? All the things she had done that she had never before dreamed of doing on her own initiative lay revealed there in those merciless little black figures. Had Walker already found her out? On the threshold of that little room Mary Tuck stood, a self-convicted little sinner. She felt a sudden desire to turn about and flee from the grieved look she knew must come to Walker's dear face. lie could not keep on smiling. What would he say? " Good gracious, I'm thankful they're gone! Now I can get my proper allowance of kisses —it's about time! Mary, little old lady, aren't you glad to see me?" He had her in his arms, his big voice booming tenderly in her ears. "I'm so glad to see you, I could eat you! If those Guilded women had stayed much longer—but I'm glad you had 'em here, now it's over. You must mix with folks more, dear. That's one of tho things I thought _ of, off there alone. . And another thing was that you must have a cheque-book of your own for convenience. Goodness knows why .1 never thought of it be-fore!-Nice little blue cheques, Mary, to sign nice little ' Mary Tucks' to! I stopped on the way up—l guess it's good for a man to go away once in a lifetime and lie awake nights missing his wife. . Wakes him up other ways. Mary 1" . For she was sobbing in his arms. " The—the bills I ran up," she cried, brokenly. "Jan's clothes and Georgia's, and I got a rug for the hall —; —" "Mighty pretty one, too. I noticed first thing. And I say,_ Mary, you must have. got a>. bargain in the boy's suit, if the cloth's good. He looks fine in it. I've been watching the young scamp out of the window. And Georgia, too—grown up while her old dad was away! They're mighty goocllooking youngsters, the span of 'em." She never clearly remembered just the order of things that then in that little room—whether Walker kissed her or she kissed ■; Walker next ; who laughed first or which it was that claimed to have been homesickest. It was not until she got away alone that she came quite to herself. And then, only the one thought repeated itself over and over in her brain at. first. Walker was so dear—Walker was so dear!

~ " Mary Tuck!" Ghe cried aloud after that'moment, "it was not Walker at all—it was you ! All this time —from the'beginning.' You, Mary Tuck! You made your own bed and tucked yourself into it and didn't know enough to get out, till you thought you wero bedridden ! And all the time you kept blaming Walker." She laughed aloud. Well, she was out of bed now! A sudden access of energy seized her as sho heard tho clock in ■ the next room striking five. Walker must be so hungry—— "Jan! Georgia!" where were those children. She wanted a fire built at onco.

"Oh, here you are! Jan, a fire in the kitchen stove* dear; and, Georgia, you get out the kneading-board, and flour things. I'm going to make father's tea-cakes early." She could not wait to make teacakes for father after he came home to-night.