THE PORTRAIT OF MR DU GETME.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 16662, 18 February 1922, Page 3

THE PORTRAIT OF MR DU GETME.

THE SUB-EDITOR’S ASSISTANT. (Written for the “Star” by H. C. D. Somerset.) The editor and owner of the “Muddleton Comet,” his sleeves rolled up and hi» shirt neck rolled down, was feverishly setting up the type for the next issue, when Larry O'Leary, his new reporter, strolled in. * Here y’are. Mister Adams,” he said. putting down some papers- “ Here's the obituary notice on the ould man Smith—American and Euro pean papers please copy—the article on the state of Oireland and the recipe lor marmalade for * Mother av Six. I v* oast me optics round the hivens and here's the weather forecast lot the week, and the advertisement for Blinker’* Pills ” “ Blinker’s Pills!” cried the editor. *• flow’ did you bag it ?” " Aiay. 1 met th’ agent and told him our circulation “ Which is?” “ Tin thousand.*' The editor doubled up with laughter. “ ' Pon mv w ord.” he said, “ I believe you’ll do.” “ Was there iver a joh this side o’ bangin’ that Lnrrv O’Leary couldn't do? The advertisement is a testimonial from Mr Du Getnie. 127. Sea View Hoad, Frederickshaab, Greenland. Th’ agent says vou have to make a drawing of Mr Du Get me and say, ‘ This picture tells a story.* ” “ The sub-editor’ll fix that up.” said Mr Adams. “ We’ll need a story far the issue after next. You'd better take the afternoon and get to work on it-’ “ Right v'are,” said Larry. “ And I'd be obliged if you’d define me exact position here.” “Certainly. You are assistant to the sub-editor.” ‘ ‘ And where's this murderin’ subiditor ?” “ Out at present.” Just as Larrv O'Leary left by the front door, the sub-editor appeared at the back of the little printing office. “ I've been peeping at mv new assistant,” said the pub with a laugh. “ Will he do?” “ Do? He'fl managed to get an ad for Blinker’s Pills that'll pay liis screw. Me doesn't look like the conventional hobo, doee heP” “He does not. Has he had any experience in journalism ?” “Never in his natural. There's a drawing for you to do. Do you uneferetand what they want?” “ I think so. I believe T'll get along very well with the new reporfer.” said the sub. Meanwhile Larry O’Leary had strolled down to the mouth of the little river that flowed through the old mining town of Muddleton. He settled himself comfortably in a little natural

bower among the toi-toi, the raupo and the flax. The sea was not far away He could bear It squelching among the rocks on the shore and could number each wave by the accompanying swell on the surface of the stream. Truly it was a good setting for his new profession. Down the whole length of the const Larry was known. Many a weary sundowner bad shared his bumble meal with Gentleman Larry, and at every farm and buck blocks* homestead he was always sure of a welcome. As a tramp, too. he had npvpr chopped wood nor dined in the kitchen. Tn the house his place was at the festive hoard of the great: on the long dusty trail it was in the automobiles of the wealthy Always well dressed, and possessing « rare sense of humour, he was n charming companion at all times, and doubly so when excitement overcame him. or w hen he was out in the great wild country, for then he would drop liis excellent English for the brogue of his native land For many years he had been in great demand as an assessor of income tax. boasting that he could save his 41 clients ’’ pounds as he filled it- the forms with a tremendous flourish of his pen : but with the decline of incomes he found his old customers “ too miserable or a gintleman to associate with.*’ and he sought employment elsewhere He had sole charge of a school when the wanderlust seized him ngam and brought him at length almost penniless to Muddleton, where he focmd refuge in the office of the distracted editor of the “ Comet.” who asked him for the love of Aljah to make his own terms, and “ for gorsake ” to start on the work for the next edition. Larry leaned comfortably against a yielding flax bush and took a pail and pencil from his pocket. “ Now Larry , me bhoy,” he mused. ** your ratioeina tore faculties to work onthe lineaments of your sthorv if you waut to kape your job as underdeputy assistant to a murderin' sub-

lditor. ' Just for an instnat he let his gaze dwell on the big house in the distance where a house party was being held He had seen a beautiful girl going in at the big gate earlier in the day. He wrote. “ It was autumn.” Larry looked at the three bald words for a long time. “ Now that will nicer do.” he thought. “ I very blinkin’ scribbler that iver lived has said that. 'lhe idea's right, but it wants to be dressed up a hit.” He tried again.. “ Nature was pulling on her best suit of red and gold pyjamas before going to sleep for the winter, and Nannette was pulling on . “ Now that's better, but what could Nanette dacently pull on without offending the tastes of the elite of Muddleton?” he mused. “ I’ll leave it for future consideration. Sow for the colleen herself. First of all she must have a pair of eyes.” he said aloud. “ Now there’s sky-blue and sea-blue and periwinkle and forget-me-not and dove grey and pearl grey and hazel; but dash nie if she'll have any "o thim. Damn her eyes!” The toi-toils rustled slightly and harry turned to find a tall girj with laughing brown eyes bending over him. He rose and swept off his hat with a gallant how. ” Madam.” he said. " I’ve heard tell that where harry O’Leary is. Dame Fortune is never far away. You must, be the Old Lady’s youngest daughter Did you bear ine condemning anybody’s optic appara- '* TTrfortunate! f did '* ■'l beg your pardon. It. was Nanette. I’ve had no end of trouble with her eyes. Tt’s no joke creating a ladvof the human species with niver ;.s much as a rib-bone to start on; but T’d like her to grow up with eyes like yon rs.” The girl was visibly puzzled. 11 Literature.” said Larrv oondeendingh “ Where people are made, not born.” -t -» N ....

“ Then you are an author? asked the* girl. Larry nodded. swelling with pride. “ How lovely!” “ Arc you one of the house party up yonder ?’ ’ “ I’ve just comp from the big house,” the girl answered. “ I thought yeni didn’t belong to these, par ts. ’ ’ “It’s a wonder a great author would come here,” said the girl. “And so t.is,” said Larry, relapsing into his brogue. “ There’s a bit of a wan-horse paper here, and the iditor comes to me and says, “Mr O’Leary. I wish you’d do me a bit of a sthory. I know F can’t pay your price, but if fifty pounds ” Larry waved bis hand impatiently. “ T was always a bit soft-hearted, Miss, so t said I'd do it as his murderin’ sub iditor lias left him to set up the type, poor divil.'' The girl sat down on a huge stone and laughted until the tears filled her eyes. Hence Nanette?’’ she asked. “I’d nearly forgotten the colleen. It was her eyes. 1 wonder if you’d mind lottin’ me adopt your cvob for Nanette ?” “ I'd love it.” “I’d call them pansy brown, but Elsie’s wore pansy brown. I promised the iditor of the 4 Dnilv Mail ’ I’d niver give another girl pansy eyes.” “Call them raupo brown.’’ suggested the girl. “ Hooray!” shouted Larry, “ Even ould Shakespeare himself niver thought of raupo eyes. 'Hie girl laughed merrily. “ Now that we’ve fixed her optic*/* said Larry, “ I’d be obliged if you’d sit where F can see the lineaments av you entirely. I’d like Nanette to be just like yourself. That sports coat you’re wealin’, -what colour Would you be after callin’ it?’’ “ That’s the latest colour- post-box red. ” “Post-box red? Then I’ll coll your hat railway ticket blue. That ought to be original enough for that murderin' sub-iditor. The poor ould man seems dead afraid av him. Shoes?”

“ Battleship grev.” laughed the girl. “ Oh ! And disarmament hose ami retrenchment skirt?” Larry dodged a stone that narrowly missed his head. “ 1 think you are insulting,” said the girl. “ All right. Those flowers?” “ Geraniums.” ‘Better call them railway stock*. Never mix your metaphors.” Larry wrote in silence for some time “ I Tow is Nanette?” the author’s model asked at last. “ Och, she's grown up au artist in the Latin Quarter in Paris. She’s the most beautiful colleen in all the countryside. and a millionaire han just gone to her to have his portrait painted He doesn’t want a portrait, ho just goes to look at. her. Now, I wonder if you’d take this bit o’ paper and pencil and pretend to be drawing me? It would help to make it life-like.” “ Excellent idea.” said the girl. While the girl pretended to draw. Larry gave a running edmmentary on the story. “The villain lives next- door,” said the great author. “He mixes raspberry jam with Nanette’s paint to make the portrait look seedv.” "Mv word, she’s like you,” said Larry a little later. “ She's got your eves and mouth and that smile o’ yours that keeps darting in and out like a red lizard in a lily But I’m disappointed with her.*' “ W by?” “ YOU wouldn’t come down to breakfast in a gown of soft clinging material, would you?” “Oh. no.” “And YOU wouldn’t be after standin’ in the square of sunlight by the window just to be admired.” “Of course F wouldn’t.” said the girl indignantly. “You have to in a story. And you wouldn’t be upstairs pretendin’ you had a headache when there was a millionaire downstairs breakin’ his neck to propose to you?” “ Is Nanette doing that?” “ At this minute. The Muddleton people wouldn’t read it if she didn’t, it’s the fashion.” The girl looked at a tiny watch. “ I must run," she said.

The paper she had been drawing on fluttered to the ground. Larry picked it up and opened his eyes with astonishment. “By the powers,” he said, “you’re a real artist- It’s me living image. And I thought you were only pretending.” The girl stretched out her hand to take the drawing. “ Now may 1 not kape it for a souvenir ?” begged Larry. “ I'm afraid not,” said the girl- “ I want it for a remembrance of the day I met a real living author.” “ Then perhaps you'll make me a copy of it?” 11l give you a thousand copies if you like." said the girl mischievously. AA ill you now? If I only knew your real name and address ” “My name is Pauline.” And the re§t ?’’ “I'll tell you to-morrow.” “ The world is wide, Air O’Leary. Perhaps you don't believe in presentiment, but I’ve a feeling that we'll see a great deal of each other.” Larry’s eyes began to sparkle. He wanted to say something appropriate, but Pauline had lightly jumped over an old log and was gone. In the printing office, the editor and owner of the “ Muddleton Comet” had finished setting up the type and was pulling off some proofs when the subeditor kuv**ied in. “Is th. you. Pauline?’’ called the editor. “ Yes. Dad,” answered the subeditor. “I've got the type set, Pauline.” “Good for you. Dad. Will this drawing do for that Blinker’s Pills ad.? I want to photograph it while the light lasts and we’ll get it in this edition.” The editor looked at the drawing. “ Stunning,” he said. “ Why ! it’s the living image of your new assistant, Pauline.” It is,” said Pauline, laughing. “ He very kindly posed for it. T must hurry. I promised him a thousand copies.”