AN ELUSIVE CHRISTMAS TREE

Star (Christchurch), Issue 19255, 17 December 1930, Page 3 (Supplement)

AN ELUSIVE CHRISTMAS TREE

trials and tribulations Overcome

-\TOT\jK: TALTER,” said young Mrs. Mortimer, “don’t take your boots off— WV/ I've forgotten to get a Christmas * * tree!” Walter Mortimer, who had only just shut the front door on one of the wettest nights of a wet year, and liad dropped with a sigh of relief into a chair by the sitting -room fire, looked up at the clock on the mantelshelf. It was 9.35. “Too late,” he said emphatically. “Shops all shut, Tess. And, anyway, I don’t see why we should have a Christmas tree when we haven’t any children!” “We shall have throe children to-morrow, silly boy,” cried his wife. “Surely you haven’t forgotten Nellie and Arthur are coming to dinner and bringing their youngsters with them ? I’ve got the candles, and the little glass things, and the tinsel, and the presents, and the fairy doll to go at the top, but I completely forgot the tree itself till five minutes ago. Do go and get one somewhere, dear.” Walter frowned heavily. “You couldn’t get one for love or money at this time of night on Christmas Eve,” he protested. Young Mrs. Mortinjer jumped up, flung her arms round her husband’s neck, and kissed him on the point of his clean-shaven jaw. “You would, Walter,” she told him wheedlingly. “You’d do anything you set out to do—you’re so resourceful! It was frightfully stupid of me to forget, and I hate to bother you, but we mustn’t disappoint the children, and I know you will manage it easily.” The frown faded. Mrs. Mortimer was not only young, but beautiful; and just now, with her flushed face and pleading violet-blue eyes, she looked posi-

tively bewitching. So Walter rose up, resumed liis wet mac. and bis sodden umbrella, and went forth once more into the streaming night. Naturally one doesn’t expect policemen to carry Christmas trees about with them; but at five minutes to ten Walter walked up to a man in blue l —not to mention a wet waterproof cape—who was standing in the rain contemplating with a wistful expression the lighted windows of the local inn. “A Christmas tree, eh?” repeated the policeman doubtfully. “Of course, Hawkins’ is shut,* but you might try the side door.” “I have tried it,” said Walter dismally. “They’d sold right out of trees before seven o’clock this evening.” “H’m!” pondered the policeman. “Bit awkward, ain’t it? Of course, there’s Mel fold’s, up tlie other end of the High Street; but they’d be shut, too, and I bet they’re sold out.” “They are,” lamented Walter. “I’ve just come from there!” At this moment a little wizened, bent-shouldered man, with a straggling beard emerged rather uncertainly from the inn, forerunner of a general exodus. He was wearing a battered bowler and a shabby overcoat, and in his right hand he was carrying an enormous dead goose by its neck. “There’s a chap that might help you,” 6aid the policeman. “Old Ben Harris, the jobbing gardener.” “He makes a rotten job of my garden,” said Walter doubtfully. “I don’t quite sec ” “Hallo, Ben!” greeted the policeman. “So you won the draw, eli? This gentleman wants a Christmas tree —what about it?” “Christmas tree?” echoed Ben. Then he looked at Walter. “Why, blow me if it ain’t Mr. Mortimer!” he exclaimed. “Quite,” said Walter. And holding a comparatively useless portion of his umbrella over the jobbing gardener, he proceeded to explain the situation. The policemen pocketed a shilling and passed away. “If only I’d knowed at three o’clock this afternoon,” said Ben. “But wait a minute. I gottern idea. I’ve done your garden for ten months, I have.” “I know,” said Walter impatiently. “But there aren’t any Christmas trees in iti” “You’re perfectly right,” agreed Ben. “But 1 bin doin’ another garden for best part o’ two years where there’s a lotter nice little firs. See?” “No,” said Walter. “I don’t.” “’Seasy! ‘Downlands,* the house is called. It’s in Kingclere Road—tidy-eized place; biggern yours —lots bigger! There’s some fir trees just inside the gates, aud one of ’era’s a nice little feller. You borrer it—and you’ve gotcher Christmas tree!” “B-but I can't possibly do that!” “Course you can,” declared Ben. “Easy! Ground’s soft, on account of all this rain. Jcs* pull it up by tlie roots, take it home —and there’s your Christmas tree. Come on, I’ll show you the place.” “But, man alive, I can’t steal the thing!” “No need! That’s my idea! Borrow it! When you get it home shove it in a good-sized boxful o’ mould, and I’ll put it back in its own garden morn in’ after Boxin* Day. See, now. “B-but- ” “’S’all right—quite all right! Name of the people’s Pope. That’s the name—Pope. An* they’ve gorn away for Christmas. Don’t ’old with it myself, but they won’t be back for five days. Won’t be none the wiser, nor the sorrier. Cost yer five bob for my labour, that’s all.” Walter shifted his umbrella from one hand U) the other aud cogitated. The expedient was not one that appealed to him, but it didn’t sound wholly impossible. “Look here,” Walter said, after a while, “you’re the gardener at this place, you say? Well, I’ll make it 10/ if you will come along and remove the tree as well as put it back.” But the jobbing gardener wouldn’t hoar of this course. He protested that lie was soaking wet and in imminent danger of rheumatics. He predicted trouble at home because he ought to have been there several hours before. He said that it wouldn’t do the goose lie had won any good to be out in the rain too long. And he pointed out that for a. jobbing gardener to plant a tree iu a garden at ten o’clock in the morning was one thing, whereas for a jobbing gardener tp remove a tree from a. garden after ten o’clock at night was another. “You might be the owner,” he argued. “Look Walter looked at him, and then, recalling his ife’s faith in his own infinite resourcefulness, he itted his teeth and said: “All right, show me the way then.” Old Ben showed him the way, lurching and ambling beside him through the pouring rain and . arious thoroughfares into the splendid quietude of tvingsclere Road, right up to the big green double gates of Downlands. And there, with a final “’S’quite all right, help yourself!” lie turned about, to pursue a zig-zag course in the general direction of bis own mode.st Ivnc, the feet of the goose caicosing the wet pavement as lie went.

A Night Of Adventure. Walter, from beneath his umbrella, contemplated the curving drive, the substantial double-fronted promises, and the distasteful task before him. Then he stole in at the gateway and, with the aid of matches, examined the little fir trees that stood in n row between the fence and the semi-circle of grass. He found a tree that seemed entirely suited to hi* wife's purposes, and, dropping his open umbrella on the grass, gave a final look round before laying iesperate hands upon it. He gasped. Ben had assured him that the owner* the Popes —-had gone away for Christmas; but ir. an upstairs window there had suddenly appeared u light. To be sure, it wasn't much of a light, and Jil! the rest of the house was shrouded in darkness. Still, it was a light. What should lie do? In some degree he really possessed the resourcefulness for which his wife had given him such immense credit. Ho picked up his umbrella, mad* straight for tho front door, .and rang the bell. An interval of silence followed; then he heard the faint sound of footsteps within, and presently; the door was opened slightly, revealing nothing more to his gaze than a strip of greater darkness. “Well2** questioned a feminine voice somewhat nervously. “What is it2’* Addressing himself to the darkness, Walter proceeded to narrate the events of tho night. “It's all rather quaint/’ said the voice, when h* liad finished. “Wait a minute.” An electric light was switched on in a hanging lantern of unique design, and Walter found that lie had been talking to quite a pretty girl in & rainbow mackintosh and a little blue hat that ‘matched her eyes. “So you want to borrow a Christmas tree, eh2” she said. “Well, yours is a harrowing story, and I've always had a tender heart. You’re sure tho uprooting and replanting won’t kill the thing?” “The gardener declares that it won’t hurt it in the least.” “All gardeners are liars,” aai<l she, “and some of them aren’t even gardeners! By the way, I saw you come in at the gale, and I saw you striking a lot of matches. Naturally, I wondered what you were doing there; you gave me rather a shock. However, take the tree by all means. I’ll risk its demise.” “If I may say so,” said Walter gallantly, “it’* tremendously sporting of you.” “Not at all,” said tho girl. And then tho door was shut. Walter experienced iittlo difficulty In uprooting the tree, but he found it rather a clumsy thing to carry—also a very conspicuous and embarrassing thing. He was congratulating himself upon tho fact that Kingsclero Hoad was completely deserted, when a burly figure leapt out at him from the next gateway, and tho light of an electric torch nearly blinded him. A heavy hand clutched him by tho arm that held the umbrella. 110 was more or lese in thti hands of a policeman. “I shw you pinch that tree!” cried the limb of the law. “Guess you knew the people were away and thought yourself safe. But you’ll have to come along with me.” “But the people aren’t away!” expostulated Walter. “And they gave me permission to borrow} it.” “Ho!” scoffed the policeman. “That’s a good *un, that is! Only, as it happens, the owner ha* a<sked us to keep an eye on the premises over Christmas—see2 So you can tell that yarn to th*f charge-sheet!” The umbrella wavered—and so did Walter’s voice* “B-but,” he said, “the—tho lady ” “Cady!” interrupted the policeman rudely, “Lady!” “I tell you ” began Walter. And without more ado, though not without misgivings, he proceeded to tell the officer of everything that happened. “If there’s any truth in vour yarn,” said th* policeman when he had done, “she must be a burglar! One o* them cat burglars, I dessay. You coins along o’ me!” “But I’ve done no wrong, anyway,” protested Walter. “I obtained permission.” “Permission from a burglar wouldn’t make it not stealing on your part,” quoth the policeman. “Look here!” cried Walter desperately. “Let** go and ask the lady herself.” Tho policeman shook a shower of water front his waterproof cape. “You and your lady,” he bleated. Then he produced an official whistle, upon which ho blew long and vigorously, shattering the decorous silence of Kingsclere Road. An interval of waiting followed, during which Walter complained to his captor that he was getting very wet. “Getting wet, are you?” scoffed the policeman. “That’s nothing to what you will get, mo lad. Stealing Christmas trees! I’m not so sure you ain’t really in league with the female— if there is one!” “Preposterous!” cried Walter indignantly. Another policeman, very wet but very eager, came dashing up to them. It was the policeman Walter had encountered outside the inn—the policeman who had, as it were, recommended old Ben Harris. Walter heaved a sigh of relief. Here, he decided, was a friend. But he was wrong! In spite of the shilling which reposed in the officer’s pocket, he proved to be only an added enemy. “I guess,” said the second policeman, “that t.hi* is a fresh job on the part o’ the female burglar what broke into the house in Chestnut Avenue last week and left a sort o’ love letter for the old bachelor who owns the place! I’ll go round to the back door while you go to the front, Alf.” “You don’t need me,” said Walter, “so I’ll ge home. “You'll do nothing so pleasant,” said the second policeman. “You’ve pinched a Christmas tree’” Walter was dumbfounded. lie was also very; wet. But he bowed to the inevitable and accompanied these two massive limbs of the law back ta the curving drive of “Downlands.” “Give us a whistle, Bill,” said Alf, “when you’v# got to the back.” Bill disappeared, and presently a long, low whistM was heard above the pelting of the rain. “You ring,” ordered Alf the policeman to Waite*} the dejected. And Walter rang the bell once more. He had to lay tho fir tree down in the porch to do it. A dramatic interval of silence followed. Then once more the door was opened slightly, revealing nothing more to the gaze of Walter and the policeman than a strip of greater darkness. “Well,” questioned a feminine voice somewhat nervously. “What is it?” “There are two policemen here.” said Waite** hurriedly, “who have accused me of stealing a fi* tree, and are convinced that you are a burglar.” The door was shut with a crash. “Now,” said Alf the policeman truculently, “you’ll be charged with collusion as well. Nice mess you’ve made of it—on purpose!” But at this moment the door was flung back again, the electric light was switched on in the hanging lantern of unique design, and Walter and the policeman found themselves confronted by * good-looking young man in a tweed suit. “What's the giddy game?” demanded the young man angrily. The jaw of Alfred the policeman sagged; hi* mouth fell open. “M-Mr. Pope!” he gasped. “I dou’t know what the deuce you’re up to,” cried the young man savagely, “but you’ve scared my wife nearly out of her wits!” “You—you told the station sergeant you was going away for Christmas,” stammered the policeman. “Y~es, you idiot!” was the irate retort, “and I‘re just come back from the police station, where I’ve been telling your sergeant that we just missed the last train to Bognor to-night. What’s this bally Christmas tree doing on the doorstep?*' “I told you so!” cried young Mrs. Mortimer gleefully when, some 40 minutes later, her wet but triumphant spouse appeared on the doorstep cumbered with tlie fir tree. “Come in and take off your wet things, you clever old darling. Did you have an awful trouble in getting the tree?” “X-nothing to speak of,” said Walter bravely, as In* stepped wearily across the threshold and kis&cd her ou the lips.