“ALMA.”

Wairarapa Standard, Volume XX, Issue 2032, 18 February 1887, Page 1 (Supplement)

“ALMA.”

Am Original Australian Sk'RY, bt HAROLD STEPHEN E,.-., M.P. OF new south waits, (All Rijhtt Htttntd. I CHAPTER XX oNTivurt'.l "And so I ara. Bat how did yea find it oat ? I never saw you before in my life.” " By means of this,” replied the Professor, extracting a phetozraph frem h!s pocketbook, and handing it t-> companion. “My photograph! How on earth did you yon get it? And why did you get it?” Mr. Johnson began to feel uncomf triable again. “ Did not my name recall anything to yonr mind?” “Why, no—yet—yet—by Jove, I remember now ' Y'on mu-t be the Bon of that old Tredegar, the friend of Sir Charles North.” “ 1 am.” “ I remember well enough. We prepared a deed for him. and I took it to him for execution. it waa a piece of secret service. I was with Freeman and Trnelove at the time.” “ Yonr memory is accurate, sir. I only wish that it had not been.’ "Wbat do yon mean?” pad Sumner — or Johnson, as we will continue to call him. “ I mean that your memory is likely to cost me a fortune,” replied the Professor. Then he added, significantly : It it had happened that that deed had not been executed. I should be a wealthy man—and be in a position t ■ befriend trio-e who befriended me—' this with marked emphasis. Johnson was no fool, be saw the position at once. " I see,” said be. " I wish I could help you. Unfortunately I cannot see my way at all.” “ If, for example, it should happen that yon were not able to recognise yonr signature—” "No use, sir!” interrupted Johnson. “I couldn’t do it.” " There is a good bit of money to be made that way,” continued the Professor, “ whereas in the other event, there's not a stiver to be got from anybody.” " Look here. Mr. Tredegar,” said Johnson with an assumption of dignity, ” I am a gentleman, I am , and I'm astonished at yonr venturing to make each a proposal to me. Damme, I'm rcg'lary sir!” The Profr 33 or bit his lips. What could be the meaning oi this extraordinary access of virtue? The man was certainly a r-gue. He winced when first accu-ei of bearing a false name—could it be that he had committed some crime and feared detection if he presenter himself as a witness? In pursuance cf this train of thought, the Protestor asked him whether he would object to give iv.dencc in London. •■N>t I!” was the unexpected answer. " I'm pretty full on Australia as it is. and I mean to go homo soon now. Just get put up to something good here, and, when I've realized oa that, I shall clear out at once.” •■ Yon have been fortunate then?” asked the Professor, who was beginning to despair of landing his fish after all. " So, so,” was the reply. " I’ve got encnch to satisfy me. anyhow ; and I'm bonnd lo make a good bit more out of the spect I told yon of.” " Tnen no money would tempt you—" " Sir,” again interrupted Mr. Johnson, with indignation; “if wc are to continue friends, 1 mast beg you to stop trying it on with mel A nod ought to be as good as a wink, and when a gentleman tells you he’s not on, you ought to take ‘no’ for an answer.” " Well, I bee your pirdon,” said the Professor, wearily. •• You will excuse me cow, my niece must be waiting. 1 All right, eay no more about it. I'll join yo iaa soon as I see you come out—there's no rea-on why we shouldn’t be friends if you stop trying it on, you know.” Stephen Tredegar was balded, but not beaten. He bad tvo strings to bis bow, either cf which mi.-ht help him to victory There was the certainty that some dGerac.'fnl secret existed in the man's life, which, if discovered, would place him at his f;he Professor’s mercy; and there waa the chance that fas might be snared through his evi lent ad miration for Alma. Tha secret could only be discovered after the expenditure of lime and labor-the other string was available at once. He determined that Alma should, if necessary, be forced to tolerate the man, and even encourage him. A pleasant prospect for our little heroine. CHAPTER XXII. AT HIS MERCt. For a time the Professor’s scheme worked admirably. Mr. Johnson was indefatigable in bis attentions to A!ma, and she, poor ehild, learnt to tolerate him. The man was vulgar,bet not atupd, and. as soon as be had definitely made up hie mind that ehe was •Orth winning, tie eet himself to work

i uvstematicaily. Ha saw that rhe had hem bred up as a lady, and he noticed that she winced rente than once at certain of his action*, lie thrroughiy despised the riditu lous Ltf.'cta'.ion which shuddered at, for example, the use of a knife in outing peas; but he was perfectly aware that such prqtdices existed, and that Alma shared them. St he taught himself, with infinite trouble and pains, to conform to the fashion. The prrfcssor wa*ched and applaud'd going !h: length of offering advice, when hifound tnat it might be offered without wounding the susceptibiline' of his new friend. “ My dear fellow,” he said one day, “ you and I, as men of ite world, know th»t nothing is mote abserd than the vagaries cf fas ion ; but women are different. To bs in the m ' v of their class is a necessity of their exi t‘nee, and the wise man, knowing this, will never offend them by opposition. I should like to sit with my feet on the table, but ( d.-.re not do it—even my own niece w nid leave the room if I were guilty of such an a* re-city. No, sir, it you wish to govern worn ?n, concede all the mnot points, they wiii have the rest to yot readily enough. Njw. Alms, though not a lady of fashion, l-a* been educated with a view of her taking a high place in society at seme future time, and sht has all the prejudices of her class. It you wish to stand well with her, you must pander to them, however despicable they may appear to your eyes.” “Ain’t I doing it, sir?” asked Mr. Johnson, sue ppiihly. “Oil ever enjoy a meal now, through watching and thinking whether I ain’t making a mistake ? Tel! you what it is, there’s many a time I'd sot n r be eating rice with chop-stick-like a bleated Chinaman.” “It is doubtless disagreeable, but most ncc’ssary. *U I said before, Alma has been brought up in the expectation of succeeding ton large f rune, and educated accordingly. You know if I am successful in my suit sgiinst Sir Charles North, I stall come into some ten thousand a year, and every penny of that will go to that child after my drain.” “But you may live longer than she,” was the graceful rej under. “ You’re as tough as leather, you are ; and I shouldn’t wonder if you hung on till you are ninety.” “ I shall give my niece twenty thousand pounds on the day of her marriage, it she marries to my liking,” said the Professor.

•' Would you really, now?” asked Mr. Johnson, eagerly. •■ Certainly. But what is the use of talking, I feat that wretched deed of transfer cannot be upset; although I have not the slightest doubt that my father was mad when he exeented it.”

“ And can’t yon prove that ?” “I am afraid not. You see, I claim under a will made some time after, and it would be hard to make a jury believe that his madness existed only lor a time. No, ray lawyer says that most certainly he was mad, but doubts the wisdom of attempting to prove it. That was the reason I asked you about your signature. You would be only acting justly, if illegally, in repudiating it.” •■ Why jes, it accrue eo,” said Mr. Johnson, thoughtfully, scratching his head with the point of fais knife. “ Well, look here, let a have no more beating about the bush—you give me your nice; and a bond for twenty thousand, and I’ll do it!” “ You will? ’ asked the Professor. ” I will 1”

«It’s a bargain, then. Of course I can’t force tho girl to marry you, but I will do my best, and you must fight your own battle as well as you can.” Brought up in the seclusion of a German village, Alma was used to loneliness, and to the companionship of those beneath her in station. But what a difference was there between Giabcntbal and Snob’s Gully. In the one, she was surrounded by magnificent scenery, and quaint memorials of the past, which recalled to her imagination the gallant days of chivalry, and spoke to her with a power which the native of a new country cannot realise. In the other, Nature's fair handiwork tad been blotched and scarred, till the very hills stood up, blank and bare, as monuments of all tue baser passions of mankind. , . .. ~ , In Grabentbal, she lived m a bright, happy home. with £Te ry comfort, and many luxuries, at her command in Snob's Gully, her home was a rude public-house, which boasted no comfort nor luxury of any description whatever. There she was respected and loved by every one with whom sbe came in contact; here ehe was galled by the familiarity of her own sex, and outraged’by the coarse admiration of euch men as Mr. Johnson, Her life was literally a burden to her, and even the callous Professor could not but notice the palot of her check, and the langour of her movements. The slight glimpse of the higher life amidst her equals, which had been offered her on their voyage from England, had created in her a yearning which daily increased as the hardship cf her fate became more unendurable. Of her brother ehe had received no news since her arrival in Australia, and her only friend, Grace Harvey, hao now also deserted her. She pined and fretted herself into a state of listless melancholy, which bade fair to render her a plastic tool in the hands of those who were plotting her ruin. It is necessary here to explain that shortly after her arrival in Snob’s Gully, Alma had written to Grace Harvey, and begged an early reply. This letter the Professor undertook to take to the post, and carefully refrained from doing so. He then purloined one of Grace’s letters, which bad been received by Alma whilst they were at Forest Creek, and proceeded to indite a reply, admirably imitating Grace’s handwriting. This reply he enclosed to an agent in Melbourne, requesting him to post it there. It was to the effect that the Harveys having, by the death of a relative, succeeded to some property, were about to sail for England. It arrived in Snob’s Gully on a day which had been more than usually trying to Alma, for it rained heavily, and Mr. Johnson had seen fit to bestow bis companionship upon her throughout the morning. She hurried to her room to enjoy the treat in solitude ; read the letter, and, with a low wail of anguish, sank down upon the floor.

CHAPTER XXIII,

SILVER CREEK. < I say, nil chap,” said Dirt Tredegar to Bertie Leracorte, “ suppose we do a little business on our own account?” They were lying on the grass, under the shade of a box tree, enjoying an after dinner smoke: whilst their eonatant companion, Seth, was tormenting a magnificent kangaroo dog, which Bertie ha 1 purchased from a wandering digger. They had now been at Forest Creek for over two months, but were as far off success in their search as ever, Grace Harvey had written twice to Sir Charles North, and Bertie bad answered her very fully, acting in the matter, BO ho said, as Sir Charles’ secretary. Df course, Grace had been unable to give hem any news of Alma; and, in her last letter, she had hinted that she suspected the Professor of purposely concealing her address. The search for the gold robbers had proved equally ineffectual; so that the whole party were depressed,and almost despairing success. Six Charles, however, still persisted in rambling about the diggings, accompanied by the detective, and asking questions of every new

arrival. Ho bad made sundry incursions into neighboring gold fields, and was absent, on some such errand, when Dart made the remark which opens this chapter. “What do you mean?” asked Bertie, in reply. “ I have just got wind of a new rush, some forty miles from here. Let’s go over, and take up some ground on our own account.” “Thet’s jest my notion !” exclaimed Seth, abandoning the dog, and throwing himself on the grass at their feet. “ Thur ain’t no sense in foolin’ around here no longer.” "We have no money of our own,” continned Dart, “ and I don’t like to be dependant upon another, even when that other is as good a fellow as that dear old Sir Charles. I say, lot’s try to make some for ourselves.” k,Hut the search ?” saii^pertie.

,f Will goon just as well without us. Sir Charles and Throws do not require ns in the least.”

“ It’ll go on a darned sight better,” said Seth. “ It’s jest nigger foolishness keepin' all tergether, when (bur’s twice the chance by dividin’ yet men.”

“ As far as Mr. and Miss Tredegar, and the man, Sumner, ore concerned, I admit.” said Bertie, “ that we can be of little use; but, you forget that I am on a quest of my own, which cannot be pursued in my absence.” “ Hain’t yer got jest ez good a show over yonder ez here?” a*ked Seth. “This yer location is about played out, ez fur cx wo are consarned—best up sticks, ’n’ prospect somewberes else.”

On the return of Sir Charles, this project was discussed in full conclave. The old gentleman, very naturally, opposed it vehemently ; but was eventually talked down by Seth.

That impudent young gentleman, was, in point ot fact, the master of them all. Ilia shrewdness and wonderful knowledge of life, combined with his quaint humor, and his apparent utter forgetfulness of his extreme youth and lowly birth, combined to form a whole which was utterly irresistible to Sir Charles North; while Dart and Bertie readily followed the lead of their generous patron. So it was agreed that tha three juniors should proceed to try their luck at the new rush, whilst Sir Charles and the detective continued their search through the diggings. The said rush could hardly be dignified by that name at tha time of their arrival, for there were not more than one hundred men on the ground. The scene was eminently picturesque. The auriferous laud lay in n gully, widening out into a flat. On the one side, the areant to the summit of tha moantam range was gradual, and vgetation abounded; on the other, an immense wall of granite frowned down upon the little valley, warning the presuraptous gel! seekers that, in that direction, at least, their quest would be futile.

A creek, still running, though its waters were yellow and turbid, wound throngn the gully, and on i's backs were yfilched toe tents of the miners, usuilly on the ground they had peeged out as their claim 3. Our friends I'st no time id camping next to the last previous comers, and, without waiting to set up their tent, at ones marked out as much laud as the law permitted ; being guided in their selrc'ion by an old digger, with whom Dart had struck up an r.:q tacitance at Forest Greek, and who, indeed, had •‘laid him on,” as the saying is in digger parlance. This gentleman was a “ Forty-ninerthat is to say, he bad been one of tha pioneers of the Californian gold fields in 181!), and he was held in great respect accordingly. •■ Got a prospect of throe pennyweights to the dish this arternoon, we did,” said he to our friends, after tea, and when they had settled down for a comfortable smoke and a yarn. "Ourn (tint noways considered a bstter claim that this yer ot yourn, so I don't think you’ll have much cause to regret follorin’ my advice, ignerunt as I am.” "What? Ignerunt I You ignerunt, uncle?” exclaimed that wily young rascal, Mr. Seth Perkins. " I shed like ter know, ef you're ignerunt, is thur anybody knows anythin’ at all 1 All the boys up to Forest Crik allowed yer lay over the hull bilen' of ’em in knowledge of gold mining, and now you let’s on yer ignerunt 1 That's what I calls style, uncle Peter, and so I don’t deceive you.” Uncle Peter—known by no other name or title—could not help the smile of satisfaction which stole over his face ; but he severely requested Seth to get out for a young whelp, and wondered what the world was a-ooming to when brats of boys lectured their elders as bold as brass, and gave as much lip ’as if they were MatKkses ot Grau’ooks. " Why was this place called Silver Creek 7” asked Bertie, when Seth had made his peace. » Well, ye see,” began the old man, “ tha chap as prospected here fust was a kinder poetickel cuss, an’ he give it the name cos ho S6Z the creek was for all tho world like a streak o’ silver runnin’ through the gully. The pipple at the station over yonder calls it the Devil's Dyke, by reason of that there wall of rock, which, I’m bound t’ admit, da look uncommon like as if the devil had pitched it there to stop trespassin’. Bat Johnny Carrol—that’s the chap's name—sez it’s a sin and a shame, an’ so it’s Silver Crik digggin’s—tha gold's more in the line o’ that Crik than silver, I guess. Ho 1 Ho 1” The old gentleman seemed so much pleased at this last remark, which he evidently regarded in the light of a first-class witticism, that our friends fait in duty bound to laugh also, and this incited him to further outbreaks; till, at last, he rolled, rather than walked, out ot the tent, declaring that if he stayed inside much longer he should “ bust.”

They were up with the sun in the morning, and, after a hurried breakfast, set to woik.

The first thing to be done was to clear the ground of timber, and this they found no easy task; for the undergrowth was thick, and huge creepers wound around every shrub or tree that was available for the purpose. Nevertheless, they went to work manfully, and, by nightfall, had made a respectable iim pression on the jungle; but their hands were blistered, and their backs and limbs ached to such an extent that they felt it would be entirely impossible to resumo their labor oa the following morning. Seth, who oflihated as cook, and lent a hand at tha clearirg when he was not busy with his pots and pans, was in his glory, and came out most uncommonly strong that evening, having the fi?ll all to himself; for Dart and Bertie were too utterly fagged to be able even to out up their tobacco, The hiitory ot the first day was the history of many days with our young friends, but at last tha time earns when they wore able to wash out their first dish of wash-dirt, and they were rewarded for their labor, for behold I at the bottom lay a tin.' shining heap, which Uncle Peter, who had the dish, averred to amount to five pennyweights at the least. CHAPTER XXIV. MAD AS A HATIHR. Mr. L&soellea senior, did not particularly enjoy himself on his voyage out from England. Harry was by turns moody, disconsolate, or irascible, and utterly declined to take any part in the amusements with which the other passengers sought to while away the time.

He had fully made up his mind that Alma was a deoaitiul, heartless little flirt, but none the less did the image of that youog lady present itself to him in such alluring colors that his love for her increased rather than diminished. At some times ho would gnash his teeth and curse his own folly until he became as great a nuisance to himself as ha was to anyone else on board. It was his most objectionable habit to wander all over Qie vessel at the most unreasonable hours of the night, when, it addressed, he would so snap and snarl in his replies that at last his madness was fully established, and even the sailors gave him a wide berth in passing. Thus, long ere they reached the line, Mr. Harry Lascelles was virtually sent to Coventry by every one, except the captain and his unfortunate father.

Mr. Standish Lascslles, a j oily, cheery old gentleman, was at first pained, and then seriously alarmed; for be, too, began to doubt his son’s sanity. Hairy had been hitherto such a merry, careless, good-hu-mored young fellow that it seemed impossible he could so suddenly develop into a moody misanthrope, unless through the action of disease on the brain. Long and earnest were ths consultations which the unhappy father held with the ship’s medico, but tue question remained as far from solution as ever.

The doctor, a young Irishman who had only very recently acquired the right to kill or cure, admitted bis want ol practical acquaintance with the subject, and declined to pronounce an opinion to Mr. Lrsoelles. In the captain’s cabin after hours, when he and one or two other choice spirits were assembled together for convivial purposes, he did not hesitate in the least, but openly stated that Mr. Harry Laser 11 ts was as mad SB a hatter, adding that be expected to have to put him in a straight-jacket before long, and shave off those curls of which he seemed so inordinately vain. As they neared Australia, JXr. Harry Lascelles’ mood took another turn, and be became as boisterously gay as ho had hitherto been moodily taciturn. He would laugh loudly, yet bitterly, without apparent reason, and indulged in buffooneries which appeared extravagant even on board ship, where very great licence is tbowed in that direction. Then he flirted indiscriminately with all the young ladies—or rather made clumsy efforts to flirt—which were usually repelled, almost with indignation, by the objects of his temporary adoration. If his conduct during the first part of the voyage had been so eccentric as to cause doubts a: to bis sanity, this latter phase sjiiicicd to remove them entirely, every soul on board believed, with the doctor, that he was as mad as a hatter.

During the day or two that the ship remained at Melbourne prior to going on to Sydney, Harry disappeared altogether, and did no! come on board until the anchor was weighed. Ha was popularly supposed to have been on a prolonged spree, but even his father did not venture to question him on the subject. The real truth of the case was that he had felt that peculiar need for a hard ga'lop which will be well understood by those who have been accustomed to pass a great part of their time in the saddle. He had hired a neatly thorough-bred horse and ridden madly sway—he neither knew nor cared whither. When he returned the horse to the stables, alter having had it away for two days, it was in such a state that nothing I sa thru a ten-pound note would satisfy its owner.

But Mr. Harry Ladles went on board cured. His mad tide had done for him what no medicine could have effected—it had calmed him, and he was now ab'e to fake a more rational view of his position with regard to Alma Tredegar, and decide upon a definite course cf action for the future.

By the time they had reached Sydney he had made up hia mind to wait, and endeavour in the meantime to find out what had become of the young lady. How gladly hia father had welcomed this change may well be imagined, and, when Harry proposed that they should not delay in town but proceed onward to the station at once, the old gentleman was in the seventh heaven of delight, and once more congratulated himself upon the possession of a son in every respect worthy of love and admiration. I\> hr rmlinirJ. Obaxnk-I’KUT., when thoroughly dried or linked, is u capital thing for lighting tires ; it burns fiercely and gives out an intense heat.

The Prodigal Son.

Prodigal son—" Really, father, I don’t mean to be extravagant. lam easily lead and impulsive ; so I throw a good deal of money away.” Father—“ Yes, you need some one to keep you in cheque.” —The Rambler.

The latest duel in Franco recalls the fact lhat Inst year Messieurs Clachet and Labaibe, two gallants of the boulevard, fell out over the merits of an actress. Seconds were consulted, and it was decided that the combatants should be locked in a dark room with loaded pistols, and take their chance, on the understanding that neither was to fire until five minutes after they were shut in. The dark room told on Clachet’a nerves, and after half an-hour of waiting for a sound and peering into the gloom, he exclaimed "Let us be friends; I fire in the air,” suiting the action to the word by biasing up the chimney. A shrill yell followed, for that thoroughfare had been already thought of by M. L.v barbo, who was some yard or two up what he thought was the road to safety. Luckily, the seconds, alive to a joke, had omitted the bullets.

They drink beer in a curious manner in Spain. A correspondent of the Jlanunr Cmtrirr relates bow his guide, a Frenchman, by name of Laboiese, proposed to visit a brewery, operated by a firm with a German name. 11 was notable for its cool accomodations, The weather was very warm, and a cool spot as well as a 000 l fatherland’s draught was not to be despised. As they entered they were confronted by some Andalusian peasants in their picturesque costume. They had evidently come in to the celebration of some patron saint’s festival, and wished to gratify their curiosity with regard to the new strange drink styled “csrveza.” Two bottles insecurely corked were brought, a large and a small one, also a soup dish, into which Laboisee poured the contents of the larger, which had a beer-like color. The contents of the smaller bottle followed, the fluid being of a pale, lemonade color. Laboisse stirred up the mixture before him with as much solicitude as though concocting a pineapple punch. This was the custom of the country. The beverage, which savored more of flat lemonade than of beer, was then drank out of small glasses. Flowers From Scotland-— The following verse was written on the Outside of an envelope containing a eolleetion of dried flowers from the grave of llobert Burns, that were sent from Scotland to John Boric O'Reilly: 3 This case has nothing contraband, Only pressed flowers from Burns' land; His gowans, bluebells, ferns, and hollies A poet’s and a lover’s follies, ’ Let case and seal arrive unbroken I Beoeive, oh, friend, a heartfelt token 1