HER DAY OF ADVERSITY

Star (Christchurch), Issue 18188, 22 June 1927, Page 11

HER DAY OF ADVERSITY

‘ STAR’S ” NEW SERIAL

(By

MRS PATRICK MacGILL.)

If thou faint in the day of adversity thy strength is smalL”—Proverbs.

CHAPTER Xll.—(Continued.) “ Look here, doctor, you’ve got to forgive me for speaking plainly, but there just isn't time to beat about the bush. My clothes will just about fit you, I reckon, so get Stringer to fit you up with a suit, an overcoat, and—er — other things. You’ve got to look presentable when this girl, Lpttie, comes along, or she won’t do a blessed thing you tell her, and of course she wouldn't believe that you were a doctor at all, Understand me, old chap? There’s no offence meant,” and, to soften of charity, David Murray put our his hand, and the poor, shunned wastrel grasped it and kindled into life that sacred flame which he, in common with those who judged and condemned, had thought to be long since dead. Half an hour later David was knocking at the door of Lottie’s lodgings in Baynham Street, the poorest and most populous part of Camden Town. LOTTIE TO THE RESCUE. The- door of No. 26, Baynham Street was opened by a diminutive, white--faced Child, holding in her little arms a fat baby of perhaps six months old. ‘‘Hullo, where’s your mother? T want to see ” David paused, not knowing the name by which Lottie would call herself in this humble lodging. Being a true Cockney, she would have an equally true sense of humour, which would probably decide against the use of ‘‘Estelle Montague” as the name by which she would be known to her intimates. So he compromised with “The young lady who is on the music-hall stage. Which is her room?” The small child sighed, shifted the heavy baby from one arm to the other, and then proceeded to deal with David’s questions as he had asked them. “Ain’t got no muvver—she's dead more’n a year. I live with my auntie; this is ’er baby. Shut tip, Evangeline,” she admonished the whimpering infant, stopping its mouth with a horrible black rubber teat. “She’s gom out, Lottie ’as,” she continued, after a pause, and in answer to David’s question, “Where?” she volunteered the information that it was to do an extra turn at the Norburn music-hall, second house. Pressing a shilling into her delighted palm, David sprinted up the street into the main road, and there learned that a tram was the quickest means of reaching the Norburn Music Hall. He was fortunate in finding the manager in the vestibule, snatching a breath of fresh air and a smoke between the “houses.” “Somebody’s been pulling your leg, laddie. There's no extra turn here tonight. What did you say the lady’s name David repeated Lottie's professional name with a sinking feeling at his heart. Time was of the utmost importance : he wanted to get back to Carol's side. At the back of his mind was the fear, unacknowledged, even to himself, that some harm might threaten if he were not by to look after her. The manager of the Norburn shook his head. “Don’t know the name. But, of course, if she's a beginner, I wouldn’t. Awfully sorry.” Then, as David still stood there, uncertain, he asked, curiously, “Who told you that she was to perform here?” “They told me at her lodgings, J ’ replied David, miserably. lie was about to turn away when an idea occurred to him. “I suppose that she wouldn't be at one of Mr Halkin’s other halls, would she?” he asked. At the mention of Gus Ilalkin’s name, spoken so casually, the manager removed his cigar from his mouth and became attentive. “Do you know Mr Halkinr then?” he asked deferentially, almost mouthing the great magnate’s name. “Oh, yes, fairly well,” replied David, indifferently. lie set no great store on his acquaintanceship with the Halkins. But the manager was by no means ndifferent. ! “Would you like to see if Mr Ilalkin jan give you any information? It's ibout his dinner hour, and you can elephone from here,” he suggested miably. His amiability increased vhen he heard David ring up the great nan, and actual]}' confirm his claim to lis friendship. Gus Ilalkin was sitting with a couple cronies over a glass of excellent jort, and when he was at that stage of good dinner he hated to be disturbed. Certainly nob-ody ever expected to get him on the telephone, and not all David's plea of urgency could move Gus Halkin’s secretary, who was quite med to “urgent” calls of this description, though usually they were made by ladies, each of whom thought that most, if not all, of his employer’s time was at their complete disposal. “If it is so pressing that it cannot wait until to-morrow morning, I am afraid that I can suggest nothing further,” said the suave, soft voice of the well-trained machine on duty in Gus Halkin's study. lie was about to replace the receiver, as there was no immediate reply from the other end, when David had the unfortunate inspiration that was to cause him such endless trouble and pain. “Is Miss Ilalkin there, then?” he asked, pressing the receiver so tightly to his ear in his eagerness that he lost the man’s answer. To disturb Gus Ilalkin was a crime, but it was equally a crime not to acquaint his sister when she was wanted on the telephone. It happened that she was passing through the study as David asked for her. “Somebody for you, Miss Nadia,” said the secretary, quietly, and then, like a cat walking on velvet, he glided out of the room, leaving his employer’s sister to enjoy her telephone conversation in privacy. Nadia Ilalkin looked her best in evening dress. Her splendidly moulded arms and bust gleamed whitely against the warm crimson velvet of her evening gown—a hundred-guinea creation of Worth’s. Ilcr dark eyes glowed with feeling as' she exclaimed delightedly, directly she recognised David’s voice, “Why, how perfectly charming of you to ring me up, David! What made you think of it? I was feeling so lonely and miserable.” Her words came in a soft little rush, and she smiled sweetly at the ugly black object which conveyed her message to the man whom she loved more passionately with every hour that passed. “I'm sorry if anything’s happened to upset you, but —er-~do you think that you could do me a favour and ask your brother something very urgent?” “You know that I will, David.” The words were a caress as well as a reply. x want co know if a girl called 3steile Montague—she does lightning impressions of people—is appearing at any of his music-halls c. s an extra turn to-night.”

Some of the soft warmth died out of Nadia’s dark face, and her tone grew distinctly colder as she said, “Of course, I’ll ask Gus for you, but I do not suppose for a moment that he will know. He leaves all that sort of thing to his general manager. But wait a minute, David,” she called down the telephone, “the manager is with him now. Don’t ring off. I’ll be back in a minute.” She departed, a rather thoughtful look on her face, and she broke in quite unceremoniously upon the three men who were now deep in music-hall finance. “Gus, do you know anything about a girl called Estelle Montague ? She does lightning impressions of people or something. David Murray is on the telephone wanting to know where she is appearing to-night. Says that it’s very urgent.” Gus Ilalkin shook his head and looked blank. “Never heard of her—have 3 r ou?” He turned to the other two men, both employees. His general manager, who was reputed to have the most wonderful memory in London, at once gave Nadia the information she wanted. “She’s on at the Wood End hall tonight—lo.4s—last turn. Y'ou told me to let her get her stage legs before I put her on properly,” he explained to Gus Halkin, who only then seemed to remember poor, humble, but ambitious little Lottie. “Oh, Lord, yes! Funny little cuss with a tip-tilted nose and a laugh in her every time that she opens her mouth,” said the man who had, up till then, completely wiped “Estelle Montague” from his memory. “Is she a lady?” was Nadia’s next question. She knew quite well that there were clever girls of good birth and breeding who earned a happy livelihood on the music-hall stage, and she was too well used to men to bother to ask: “Is she pretty'?” for nobody knew better than she that, beside charm allied to cleverness* mere prettiness did not count. But the spontaneous roar of laughter; from the man who remembered Lottie completely reassured the already faintly jealous, antagonistic girl. “We picked her up from a pub, and she hasn't a ‘h’ in her vocabulary', but she is as smart as paint, mind you,” he explained. Nadia went and told David what he wanted to know. He was about to snap up the receiver after a grateful “Thank you,” but Nadia’s voice, honey sweet, detained him. “David, you don’t mind my asking, do you?” she purred, “but is Miss Montague a friend of yours?” she asked interestingly. Her figure straightened up at David's replv. RESOLVE. “Rather! I should say she is,” was the enthusiastic answer, to be followed by an annoyed, “What the dickens does it matter to her?” muttered deep down in .his throat as David replaced the receiver on the rest. But what he, unused to dallying in the pleasant groves of love, had yet to learn was that there, are two way's of loving—one is joyous, active, sane, which makes life sweet and is its recompense, but the other is cowardly, cruel, seeing in every innocent action of the beloved some intention to evade and deny the love, socalled, which is offered but more often than not rejected by very reason of its unioveliness. Of this latter order was Nadia Ilalkin’s love, and, though in her reasoned moments, she would have laughed at the bare idea of an ignorant little maidservant as a possible rival to herself, yet, in her impassioned, abnormal state, she thought that she detected more than ordinary warmth in David’s tone in speaking of this Lottie, who called herself Estelle Something-or-other. Nadia bit her lips as she hung up the receiver, and tears of self-pity blinded her fine dark eyes as she went upstairs to her own bedroom, feeling snubbed and repulsed, thrown back upon herself for the first time in her pampered life. She stared critically at her own reflection in the gorgeous Venetian mirror for several seconds, but she could find no flaw in her own loveliness—a splendid conceit of herself was Nadia Halkin’s foremost characteristic, and she was being perfectly honest with herself when, peering closer and yet closer at her mirrored image, she said passionately', “He doesn’t know a more beautiful woman than I, nor one wht is more alluring to men. I can do as I like with men. I have always made men my slaves. I will make David Murray love me best of all!” Then obtruded the thought of Lottie and with it consideration of her pos sible standing with David. Lying there on the couch in her luxurious bed room, the desire to see Lottie at length crystallised into the intention of doing SO. ■The change into outdoor clothes wa. u made with such feverish haste that it only occupied a few minutes and at half-past nine Nadia Halkin was seated at the wheel of the little two-seater which she kept for her use when the fancy took her for driving. (To be Continued.)