THE MONEY SENSE.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 18958, 2 January 1930, Page 16

THE MONEY SENSE.

“ STAR'S " NEW SERIAL STORY.

CHAPTER I. “Don't you think you had better let me hold this money for you?” the solicitor suggested to Anthony Langford, whose hand was outstretched to take the cheque for a thousand pounds, which had just been signed. “I’ve been your guardian and trustee since your father's death, and you have caused me some anxiety.” “I’m afraid I've been a nuisance,” Anthony answered, with an ingratiating frankness. “I should hardly term it a nuisance,” Mr Thornton said -with a smile. “You have qualities that demand one’s affection, but you possess a vice that causes me the deepest concern. Your father was -wise to defer your coming of age until your twenty-fifth birthday.” “Vice—isn’t the word a trifle harsh?” Anthony asked with an effort, and his cheeks had become flushed. “Not in your case. Your total lack of the sense of the value of money is abnormal. Your monthly allowance was spent within a week of your receiving my cheque, and times without number you have come to me for help. I reasoned with you, and you promised amendment, but I have seen no sign of your having made the slightest effort to keep your promise.” There was severity in the solicitor's voice, but there was a kindly expression in his eyes. “I admit that I'm an awful fool where money is concerned. It seems to melt away, and yet I have tried to be careful.” “Then your attempts have been in vain. When this thousand pounds has gone you will have to depend on your art for a living.” “I sold a picture last week. I must have this money, for I’ve taken a topping studio in Chelsea. The furniture has been ordered, and they are delivering it to-day. Do you mind writing on the cheque, so that I can draw cash? I don’t suppose they wmild leave the stuff, if I offered them a cheque. The fact of being an artist does not seem to inspire credit,” Anthony said with a laugh. Mr Thornton hesitated for a few moments, but a long experience told him that any further advice would be thrown away on his late ward. “There you are, my boy. Sign this receipt, and my business with you is completed. Anthony, I’m a lonely old man, and your father was my dearest friend. For his sake I intend to give you a final warning. Live within your means, and you will be happy. Continue your insane recklessness where money is concerned, and you’ll very quickly go to the devil. Our business relations have ended, but I hope you will always look upon me as a friend. Talking of friends, why don’t you learn wisdom from young Clyde Preston ? I’ve just sent him an important brief. That youth will go very far, for he has the qualities you lack.” “Clyde is one of the best. You’re a brick to shove him along. Mr Thornton, I’ll honestly try to bear in mind what you’ve said. You’ve always been so decent to me, and I’m truly grateful. However, I don’t believe you’ve any real cause for worry. They tell me I really can paint, and I intend to earn pots of money. I never was a slacker, you know,” he said with the smile that had made him so many friends. The gods had been very good to Anthony Langford, for he had been given a sunny nature and the power to compel affection. Moreover, his appearance was greatly in his favour, for he was uncommonly good-looking, with a virile air that was very attractive. There was a constant twinkle in his blue-grey eyes, that told of a light heart, that had never met with worry; while he breathed cleanliness both of the mind and body, and it would be only natural to make excuses for any short comings that might force themselves on one's notice. “Your intentions have always been of the very best,” the solicitor remarked. with a rueful smile. “Come along to-night to the studio warming. There's going to be lots of fun,” Anthony said eagerly. “I’m much too old for that sort of thing. Good-bye, and good luck. Don’t forget to look me up.” They exchanged a hearty grip of the hand, and Anthony hastened away. In Lincoln’s Inn Fields he hailed a passing taxi-driver and told him to go to Mr Thornton’s bank. There he changed the cheque for a thousand pounds, choosing twenty five and nine hundred pound Bank of England notes. Then he drove to his own bank in Chelsea and deposited the nine hundred-pound notes to his credit. ‘ I feci like a blessed millionaire,” he remarked gaily to the cashier. “Ihat feeling won’t last verv Tong,” the official remarked dryly, for he had knowledge of his customer’s failing. “Anyhow, it’ll be good,While it lasts,” Anthony answered, with a laugh. It was characteristic of him that he had nof paid off the taxi-driver, although his studio was within a stone’s throw of the bank, and he drove on, with a cheerful smile on his face. In the road was a furniture van, and Anthony gave a cry of satisfaction, as he alighted and greeted the man in charge.

| “ I want to get straight as quickly as possible. There will be lashings of beer for you chaps, and a good tip, if you are slippy,” he remarked cheerfully. The studio was on the ground floor, and was a large and lofty room, with a gallery at the end. The walls -were already decorated with pictures and a couple of tapestries, and there was little to do but to place the rugs and furniture in position. There was a huge Chesterfield, and the chairs had been chosen for comfort, yet they were artistic and in keeping with the general scheme of the place. The dining-tabic was placed on the gallery, where there were two doors, one leading to the kitchen and the other to the bedroom, with a bathroom leading from it. Anthony directed the men’s work with energy and skill, and it was not very long before his new home was placed in order. An unnecessarily generous tip was handed over to the men, and he gazed around with satisfaction. “Hell! Tony!” came the cry from the open door, and a young girl, tall, lithe and attractive, came towards him. “ Quite a decent little place. You’ve shown excellent taste,” she said, with supreme condescension. “None of your impudence, Jill; but it isn’t half bad, is it?” he added complacently. Jill Mather continued her inspection, climbing the narrow stairs to the gallery, and commenting frankly on all she saw. It was apparent that the two were on the friendliest terms, and it might have been a couple of young men who were talking to one another. “Ton}', what does it feel like to be a plutocrat?” she demanded abruptly. “ That reminds me. I haven’t done the shopping for to-night. Come along, young ’un,” he cried, and, seizing her arm, dragged her across the polished floor of the studio. A riotous hour followed. First the wine merchant, where a case of champagne, wines, whisky and beer were ordered and paid for. Jill gazed with awe at the bundle of notes produced by Tony. “Ye Gods ! ” she whispered breathlessly. “Want any of it?” he asked casually. “ Of course I do, but I’m not going to take any of it. You may buy me a modest little frock, if you like. I’m all rags and tatters. Tony, old dear, put that into the bank,” she said persuasively. “ Not on your life. Now for the best gramophone that money will buy—and dozens of records. But we’ll lunch first,” he stated, and shouted to a taxidriver, telling him to go to the Cafe Royal. “ A bus will take us to Piccadilly,” she protested. “ Bus me no buses—for to-day, I’m a millionaire.” “ And to-morrow you'll be broke,” she said drily. However, she knew that it would be useless to protest any further, and she sat by his side in the cab. She was really fond of this reckless youth—they had been friends since her arrival in Chelsea, some twelve months ago—and yet she felt years older than he, although she was barely twenty. Jill was at the Slade School, and took her work very seriously, with the determination to succeed. Her home was in Devonshire, and she had great difficultv in persuading her mother to allow her to leave home and to take up her residence in London. Tony was well known to the waiters at the Cafe Royal, although it was not his habit to dine or lunch there very often, but he often went there in the e"\ ening for an aperitif. An extravagant meal was ordered, with a bottle of champagne, and they proceeded to enjoy themselves thoroughly. Many envious eyes were turned on them as their gay laughter rang through the restaurant, but they were both unconscious of attracting any attention. After smoking a cigarette, Tony said that they must finish their shopping. The frock was chosen; next, the gramophone; an expensive instrument, and piles of records. Then th*sy went back to the studio to make the final preparations for the evening’s rag. Till took charge of the sandwiches, while Tony washed and polished the new glasses. A knock at the door, and a man entered, receiving a boisterous greeting. Clyde Preston looked round with quiet interest, and for a while made no comment. “ What do you think of it?” Tony asked anxiously. Palatial—and costly,” was the terse reply. Clyde had the typical face of the barrister, with clean-cut features and keen eyes. His mouth expressed determination, and yet he gave the impression of kindliness, and there was a suggestion of reserve and strength. “May I bring a girl along to-night?” he asked quietly. “I don’t know what she’s like. She's a protegee of mother —going in for singing, and mother thinks she needs young society.” | (To be continued.)