SHORT STORY.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 16939, 13 January 1923, Page 3

SHORT STORY.

LONG MAC. HIS FIRST LOVE LETTER. As Long Mao jogged along the ten miles to Walla he thought of Myra -Miller. the girl with sunny brown hair, and grey-blue eyes, the locum tenens for the teacher at the Walla Public School. Long Mac was a. discriminating judge of girls, and knew that Myra was one in a thousand. He was afraid that lie did not appear to advantage before her. Ho envied men who could go up to girls and talk to them by the yard, for lie himself was tongue-tied when he most wished to shine. All the same he meant to ask her to marry him he was very much in love, had a good situation at Walla, and had the great advantage over all the other young men at that place because he stayed at the same boarding-house as Miss Miller. She was going back to Perth soon, he knew, and there was not much time to be lost in shyness, if he meant to succeed in his wooing. Twice every month his duty took him to Hundred Mile. Ho must ask her to marry him before his next trip was due. he told himself as he rode along towards the town and happiness. The sight of Old Grant standing in front of the boardinghouse diverted the current of his thoughts. Even in the distance he could see that something was amiss. Old Grant was rhe proprietor the house, and it was not a usual thing to see him bare-headed in the open air. “I have bad news,” he said to Mac. “ I am sorry, Mr Grant. What news?” asked the other. “Mr .Nisbet--your friend. We found him lying beneath a sheet of iron that had slipped from the roof of the stable. The .mail had just arrived, and he was standing outside the door with his letters in his hand. His head is injured. and he has lost a lot of blood But he is not dead. They have carried him in. and Myra Miller, who holds a first aid certificate, is doing all that can be done until the doctor comes—he is attending a case the other side of Hundred Mile. He got several letters this time, too.*' “Poor Nisbet,’* 6aid Long Mae, as he absently gave his pony to a stable hand, and walked into the house. Everyone knew about Nisbet’s letters, bow he Waited week after week for that seldom came. Even the “ navvies ” at the boarding-house knew about it. Long Mac knew that it was Nisbet’s young wife whose letters were watched for with silent suspense week after week. . • . Myra Miller's voice was the first thing Nesbit heard when he recovered consciousness. “ You’ve had a nasty blow on the head.” she said. “You must keop absolutely quiet until the doctor comes. ’ Nesbit’s eyes roved round the room in a strange, puzzled way. “ Yes, T remember now. It’s so good of you. Miss Miller. Bait is it part of the cure to be in darkness?” Myra turned round to Mac, and her eyes fought him. He understood and nodded. The horror of it overcame her. *• T am afraid, Mr Nesbit,” she said gently, “ that your sight has been affected. temporarily. I hope. You must remember I have no scientific knowledge at all. but Dr Rawson has been sent for. I can’t tell you how sorry I BUn She broke off. conscious of the futility of speech. There was a dreadful silence, broken only by the loud, aggressive ticking of a clock. The optic nerve, I suppose,” said Nesbit quietly. “ You mnsn’t he distressed about it. The only thing is, I haven’t read my letter. I wonder if you .” Myra steadied herself. She could hardly believe that his keen eyes, now fixed about six inches above her head. >.aw nothing. She read the letter aloud. Except that it began “Mv dearest Jack." and ended “ Your loving wile, -Meg.” it might have been a letter of courtesy addressed to a casual acquaintance. She had joined ane v musical society, and was having her voice trained. Johnny had another nurse, to whom he was devoted. He sent, his love to Daddy. How long would it be before he was home again 1 He must not ask her to go to that awful place ; so cheerless it must be fo? himself as well. Anyhow, he wouldn’have to remain there always, only for a year or so until the weir was finished. Of course—he was so tremendously clever, etc. But she loved society and •• Thank you,” said Nesbit simply. * May 1 have it? Perhaps you will answer it for me quite soon?” “Of course,” replied Myra, “ any time. Anything i can do—l mea i, anything you tell me to write. The key of my memory will belong to you.” The doctor, who came a few hourlater. said frankly that tin* matter was off his beat, it was .1 job for a specialist, not a G.P.. that they must get a nurse, and that Nesbit must not he moved. The specialists came, two ol them, and having done all the su;gory could do. they went away again, leaving the other doctor, who looked graver every day. The only land marks in Nesbit’s painful existence were the visits of Long Mae and M\ »a Miller, and this continual dependenr - on others g.illed Nesbit intolerably. • n his blindness his mind groped a bon* , an alien from the world of realities, exiled among the shadowy ghosts . I memories of the past. The only realities were his wife and his hoy. and even with these there was now only one means of communication and that means a girl whom he scare *-• ly knew. He felt the desire, latent even in the strongest and most self reliant, for oral reassurances of com fort in some loved voice, for the phys* cal presence of one to whose svmpathv he had an inalienable right Hi thoughts were alwav« the same, always about his wife. He had never seen her ns she was He saw only he* henuty. her charming manner, and h>was one of those simple-hearted men who think that beautv in a woman is the sacrament of a lovely soul within He loved a figment of his imagination : the real Margaret, hard, selfish, indilferent. ho had never apprehended. Ail so he lav longing for the moment when she woftld come to him. For she was coming. He had sent her a telegram, a long wire, nearly a week before, ask ing her to come. Mvra Miller had written to her. He had enough n live on carefully, independent, of hijarofcssion. It would be hard to gir<

that up. to build no more bridges but there was nothing else to be done Besides, it was just a toss up whether he pulled through or not, Dr Rawson had told him. But he would see her first. She was coming. He had ha i a wire from her, in answer to his, saying she was writing fully. Thougn the telegram did not say she was coming. Nesbit never doubted it. But Long Mac and Myra Miller were not so sure. “Think she’ll come?” said Mac. “ The poor old chap’ll break his heart if she doesn’t.” Myra was casting on stitches for a sock, and paused to count them. “No. T don’t,” she said at length. Long Mac, visibly disturbed by her answer, searched his pockets for matches. “ Wliat are you going to do, then?” he said, when ho had lit his pipe. “ Well, Mac, wliat can I do?” Long Mac smoked for a few minutes in silence. Then he took a desperate step in defence of his friend, which made him a hero in a story, afad won. for him the love of the one woman in the world he wanted, or ever would want. (But this is anticipation.) He thought only of Nesbit, as he said, “ When she writes and says she isn’t coming, you’ll have to read it to him that she is.” There was a pause, then Myra objected: “1 can’t Mac! Don’t ask me. It’s not right. Do you think it’s right to let the poor chap die thinking his wife’s gone back on him? Perhaps she hasn’t really. Perhaps she didn’t understand, and when she does know—lf that’s the case she’d he Hie first one to be grateful to you.” There was a long silence. “You forget how difficult it is, a letter like that,” remarked Myra. “It would be full of allusions and references.” “ Look here,” said Long Mac. “Suppose she says she’s coming. Then it’s all right. But if she writes and puts him off for some perfectly silly reason —well, you know how any man would feel. T’ll have one ready for you to read to him.” he added. “ But what—” “ I’ll make it seem as if she’s got in fluenza or a nervous breakdown, or a motor-car accident. You could say she’s coming later.” “Perhaps she’s one of those athletic women who are never ill.” “ No. she isn’t,” said Long Mac. searching his memory. “He once told me that she had a highly-strung, nervous temperament.” “It isn’t right.” said Myra, “hut I’ll do it all the same.” Next day a letter came. Night and the two candles seemed to intensify the shadows in the long low room. Nesbit took the envelope and touched it reverently. “ 1 say, Mac.’ he said, “would you mind? I should like to hear what she says—alone.” Long Mac affixed a. sheet of paper to the wall near the bed, so that the flickering light from one of the candles fell upon it- “Of course, old man,” said he. “ I was just going.” As the door closed, Nesbit reluctantly surrendered the letter. The nurse had also left the room. “ There it is ” said he. Myra tore open the envelope. Jm mediately the faint perfume of Parma violets was in the hot air. “Give it to me.” said Nesbit rather roughly. “ I understand” said Myra. *‘T will come back in a minute.” Mac was standing outside the door. “I can’t do it, Mac,” she whispered. “Ho is kissing it. It’s all scented with violets, and I believe lie’s crying over it.” “You must, dear,” said Mac. “I won’t have him die wretched. Go in. He’s calling for you.” “ Sit down quite near, and read it slowly,” directed Nes bit. Myra looked down the page, reading swiftly to herself: “Dearest Jack,—l am so sor.y to hear of your accident, but you always were a pessimist. . . Surely if your eyes have not been injured there is no need to despair about your sight? Y’ou are fortunate in finding so capable a. nurse and a secretary. I had imagined it the sort of place where . . . . ” “ Well. well, what does she say?” Myra fixed her eyes on the paper on the wall and read : “ My darling Jack, My deaold hoy ! There are a thousand thingI want to say which I can only say to you alone. 1 want so much to be near you, to comfort you. If we were together. it would not be so bad. I wonder how X have lived all these months without you. I don’t know. My heart lias a great hunger in it and a great emptiness which only you can fill. . . ’ “ Read that again, slowly.” said Nesbit. his face alight. Myra repeated the words from memory. Her mind and heart went out to the man who was behind the door; Long -Mac cou’d never have written that sentence so well without experience, she knew, and through her heart went a hot gush of love and sympathy for her ungainly lover, who was so shy of declaring ins own love, but could still come to the aid of his dying friend in such a masterly way. “ He’s a clear,” she told herself. and I’m the proudest girl on earth !” “ Go on.” urged Nesbit. impatiently. “Why are you so long?” “Mrs Nesbit’s writing is rather di 5 lieult to read,” said Myra, referring to the paper on the wall. The di.n candle-light flickered up and down, and several flies moved about on its surface. Which only you can fill 1 am afraid you will be disappointed, mv dearest, that 1 have not come with tliis letter, ns I full.- intended doing. I am having a touch of influenza, with rather a high temperature, hut 1 am over the worst of it. and 1 hope to be able to leave Melbourne in a fortnight Then 1 shall sec you. Does not trouble make things plain to us? Oh, my dear, mv dear, forgive me all that lias 1 eon amiss in the oast : and there na'been so much ! You have given tne your all. and 1 have given you so little. . “ Please read that again.” said Nesbit in a sort of reverent ecstasy. Mvra read it over from the wall, an-! felt glarl at least to finish with “from vour loving and a rrdous wife. Meg.” “T suppose he will be sure to live now he’s so happv.’’ she whispered 1 o Mac on the verandah after she had led' Nesbit with bis lettci nnd a look of rapture on his sunken, gaunt face. “Please God.” said Long Mac. “Please God he will.” “Well, von will have to explain n lot if he does.” “Of course. I—l won’t mind that.” he added. But Nesbit’s was not a case which happiness could cure He was happv when the great call came three days afterwards, and his friend. Long Mac. lifted up a grateful heart because tho-e dead lips were pressed tightly against a letter, the content? of which poor Nesbit never knew. And in the bottom of a treasure box lies the letter which Myra took from ii is the first love-letter she ever got from her husband, * Long Mac.”