“GOOD-BYE, GOOD-BYE.”

Star (Christchurch), Issue 17246, 12 January 1924, Page 13

“ GOOD-BYE, GOOD-BYE.”

A STORY OF REMEMBRANCE (■Written for the ‘ 1 Star. ’) “ A chain as light as thistledown to bind t’bee! ’ The station was full of dull yellow lights that, shone through the darkness like friendly faces; the sound of eager, waiting feet, faint snatches of laugh ter, and hidden tears 1 Talk ran like a tide, holding strange depths beneath its iightness. While at the furthest platform end a newsboy, young and freckled, the heart of the world pulsing beneath his fingers, shouted shrilly, his voice high pitched. It was all very common and very wonderful and very strange—this station. The highway of the world! Blake watched it -with eyes that had seen it all a thousand times. Eyes that saw greatly and imagined much. Keen eves, with lines a little tightly drawn about them —cold eves! With imperious ‘‘ clangs ’’ the trams drew up outside, the rain wet upon them. Through the wide doors and past the iron gates the people hurried. Shivering. The asphalt was marked with drippings from umbrellas and the impress of muddy feet. A raw night, surely, and yet the station crowded. With steady hands Blake struck a match, holding the tinv flame between his strong fingers. A gust of wind blew swiftly from the blackness, quenching the light in his hands with sudden coldness. Involuntarily be shivered. “Curse!” be muttered softly, frowning blackly, and started moodily along the ‘‘.highway. ’’ Out beyond the huddled carriages, beaten upon by the gusty rain, the sky was a. void, yet full of f> very real darkness. But on the platform, where the dull lights lit warmly, there were still the eager feet, the laughter, the tears. And Blake smiled crookedly. A porter pushed past- him roughly, wheeling the luggage through the straggling crowd. As he passed he jogged Blake’s “Curse!” muttered Blake again, frowning more blackly, his eyes bad tempered. Then, the ground shaking beneath its coming. the express, a shrill blast from its whistle cutting the air. rushed into the station, panting like some heavy monster. Blake felfe mechanically for the ticket in his pocket and moved stiffly. Window af ter window rushed past him. faces blurred behind the small panes. Tltcs eager crowd, jostling and shouting, surged down the platform, searching for room. Blnke walked slowly down, his blood half-tingling as at some secret adventure. He seated himself within a. first-class carriage, only sparsely fill ed. and pulled from his pocket a maga zine. His seat was in the far corner and. leaning luxuriously against it, he j opened the pages’-. Almost the first thing he saw was the picture of a boy and girl, the hoy’s eyes imploring, the girl's small hands half fluttering to wards Turn. “ Bah !” muttered Blake, looking contemptuously into the blackness, the snatches of laughter faint in his ears. The ringing notes of a bell ; “All aboard, the hurrying of steps, shrill voices! “ We’re off.” cried Blake beneath his breath, and took up the magazine again. A fumbling at the carriage door, a ! breathless entry. luggage dropped j limply, and a rush to the open window. “Confound tbs woman!” thought Blake. his eyes cold. “ What n draught!” “ Yes. . . . yes. two weeks .... ; Good-bye. dear . . . my dear !” Strange how those words tugged at one’s heart. “ Good-bye. dear . - . . ruy clear !” That little possessive j bye!”) 1 “ Confound !” thought Blake, i (Strange how one thought of a time i short years ago, when someone had ! whispered those very words from another carriage window!) “Good-bye. good-bye!” “ .Damn 1” thought Blake, his eyes I blacker. (Strange how those two ! w-ords dragged one back. Arms had I been very soft and warm then, and ! lips very tender. “ Good-bve. good- • bye!”j “ Good-bye !’’ thought Blake, eyes dark with pain and memory. “ Goodj bye! —my dear!” 'Strange how one I thought of another night, short years | ago. and a wet face lifted in the I blurring rain! A long, close kiss, a f clasp, a look—“ Good-bye. good-bye!” ! The carriage door slammed as the i train started, whistles flaring into the darkness. A magazine lay staring from the empty seat in the corner. Striding through the rain, Blake smiled, his hands deep in his pockets, collar thrust about his neck. He walked with shoulders squared, and head held high. “My dear. my dear!” thought Blake, eyes strangely radiant. “A chain as light as thistledown to hind thee!” UNA CURRIE.