Our Serial Story

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume LXXXII, Issue 19444, 2 November 1925, Page 13

Our Serial Story

HER DAY OF ADVERSITY

By MRS PATRICK MACGILL (All Rights Reserved.;

FOR NEW READERS. J® the character* in this story are purely fictitious. Ctauml Oliver returned from a little excursion ! * to the West-end where she fcad been enjoying the life and music of a popular teashop for one short half-hour, to the poor home in Bermondsey, which she shared with her mother, to find, that dearly-loved mother—dead. When she recovered from her trance of stark and bitter misery, i Carol realised that she hadn’t sixpence in the world even to pay funeral expenses. I A long illness had swallowed up every- | thing left to the two friendless women. , the widow of a schoolmaster and the ' lovely girl, not yet twenty. desperation. Carol, taking the circular of : a moneylender. Jacob Stone, at its face value, and clinging to the phrase, "No Security Required,” went to the man's , house at Finsbury Park. The money- , lender, struck by Carol's unusual beauty. saw possibilities of exploiting the girl. I refrained from his impulse to make love to her. and lent her £lO, on the under- . Standing she worked fcr ten weeks in his • office to repay the money, leaving Carol convinced that no more generous man existed.

On th® first day, a young man, David Murray arrived at the office, knocked Stone senseless, and told Carol that her employer was in the habit of inveigling poor people into debt, by means of a tally business, and then taking their all. Carol, remembering Stone’s apparent kindness to her, refused to believe David Murray.

CHAPTER 111. (Continued) WHAT’S THE GAME? A little sob of relief escaped Carol as she saw signs of returning consciousness in her employer. Her sweet, mobile young face reflected the joy in her heart as she knelt onco more by the sorry-looking specimen of humanity lying on the fluor, making no attempt to move. Carol cast a look of utter contempt at the cool, unconcerned young man who was responsible for tho damage, and she made no attempt to lower her voice as she said cuttingly, 1 ‘The

telephone has been interfered with, Mr Stone so I cannot ring up thb police. What can I do —he‘ 11 run away, of course. ” Her tones were like a whip-lash. David Murray took a long look at the flushed, excited, angly little figure in the simple black frock, on her knees beside the gross, over-fed, recumbnt form of the moneylender. Very sweet and childish she looked with the sun making a golden nimbus above her red-brown head, and a look of almost maternal gentleness lent a radiance to her young face that caused her image to be graved on David Murray’s memory for the rest of his life. There was an earnest note in his reply to Carol’s attack on his physical courage. He suddenly became possessed of tremendous desire that she should think well of him. “If it will make you any happier to give me in charge. I’ll pledge my honour not to run away while you go downstairs to telephone from the porter’s box. But I don’t fancy that a showing-up in the newspapers will be quite to Mr Stone’s taste. He and his kind infinitely prefer to stick to the paid advertisement section —the news columns are most undesirable as an advertisement medium.” As the last contemptuous reference to Jacob Stone left David Murray’s lips tho moneylender struggled to his feet, and, to Carol’s utter amazement, said quite mildly: “Don’t go away for a moment. Mr Murray. And Mrs Naylor, you’ll stay a few minuts, won’t you?” turning to the old woman, who eyed her champion for her cue. Jacob Stone disappeared into his own room, leaving Carol wi’h a frankly puzzld look on her charming ingenuous little face.

She had a vague idea that she ought to wipe up the mess on the darpet, but

either Marks, the other clerk, who was out interviewing an important prospective client, or Tommy the oftiee boy, out on a message, might re-enter the office at lany moment, and Carol, inwardly shuddering, made up her mind to leave the matter until then. Jacob Stone, tenderly bathing his disfigured face, thought of nil the various forms, which, if he could, he would allow his vengeance to take. It was his instinct never to forgive nor forget, and in his seething brain he pigeon-holed the scene in which ho had just figured, confident that one day luck would favour him and help him to get even with the young savage who had just assaulted him. Carol went to tho window, which looked out upon the busy pavement, still hot with resentment that her employer should have been made to suffer. “Please don’t talk to me,” she said, icily, not even troubling to turn her head when David Murray, hair smoothed and collar righted, said, abruptly, “What are your people thinking about to lot yon work here?” “But I will talk to you, you silly, headstrong child. How old are you?” was the next straight-from-the-shoulder question. Silence. The young m'an gave a slight, impatient lift of his shoulders, and he was busy writing something on a card when the door leading to Jacob Stone’s private office opened, and the moneylender came out, his face still purple and swollen, but looking better for a wash. “Mr Murray, will you believe me when I say that I was absolutely ignt»rtant of the action of my agent in the matter of Mrs Naylor’s loan?” His voice was unctuous, entreating, and he emphasised his words with a

cringing, familiar gesture-hands outstretched, palms upwards. Like a shot came David Murray’s reply,, “No, I don’t believe you.” “Then, to convince you, and to show my regret that such la thing should < have happened, I’ll tell you what I propose doing.” Jacob Stone with his instinct for drama, paused, in order to give his words due effect. “Well?” asked David Murray dryly, when the silenco ate into his slender stock of patience. . An clement of expectation had crept into the situation. Old Mrs Naylor’s jaws fell apiart in sheer wonderment, as to what was about to happen, and Carol forgot the wave of nausea which had swept over her at the sight of the dark red stain, which was now being rapidly absorbed by the carpet. “I propose to restore to Mrs Naylor her furniture, give her a receipt in full for tho money that she borrowed, and a cheque for ten pounds to buy some comforts for her son.” The old woman and the young girl gave simultaneous gasps of astonishment. Mrs Naylor, embarrassed and distinctly uneasy, looked at David Murray. as if pleading for guidance. Carol gave her employer a warm, friendly glance, but when her grey eyes, previously aglow with appreciation of her employer’s generosity, were turned upon David Murray, her look plainly said, “Arn’t you ashamed of voursclf—now ? ’ ’

His answer deepened her resentment. Tt wtis curt and very much to the point. “What’s your game?” was David Murray’s first question. A deprecatory glance and a slight

smile, accompanied by a shrug, formed the reply. David Murray appeared to think deeply for a few moments. Then, almost as if he were speaking to himself, he said: “I don’t see why I shouldn’t hold you to the offer. 1 ou’ve made enough out of thousands of poor old women like Mrs Naylor.” Then, raising his voice slightly, ho shot a look, full of misbelief and distrust at the moneylender.

“I don’t pretend to see through your little game, whatever it is. I came here this morning prepared to pay off the loan after giving you U dressing down; but I think I’ll let you do as you say—re-deliver Mrs Naylor’s furniture and give her a receipt in full for the loan; but, of course, it’s up to her whether she likes to accept your offer of ten pounds to spend on her boy. What about it, Mrs Naylor?” turning and facing his char-woman, Vhich was the capacity in which he know the old woman. “Do you think Jim would like to be indebted to this scum for anythiny that his rotten money would buy ? ’ ’ A flash of indignation brightened the faded old eyes. “My Jim ’ud wipe the floor with ’im if ’e was able!” she declared contemptuously. “You hear?” David Murray’s tone of voice was the same that recalcitrant soldiers had quicklv learned to dread when he was an officer in France during the war. “Make out that receipt, and see that the furniture is back in Mrs Naylor’s house by two o’clock to-day,” he ordered peremptorily. With his heart belching hate as a volcano spouts fire, the moneylender sat down at Carol’s table and wrote Mrs Naylor’s receipt. “There you are. Tut it in your nocket and don’t on any account lose it,” ordered David, as he turned towards the door. Before ho went, ho handed Carol a

card, saying, in a low, earnest, and essentially kindly voice, “If ever you decide to leave this sordid, shady hole, write me at this address, and I’ve no doubt that I shall be able to get you a job worthy of a decent girl.” (To be continued.)

Your seven-year-old daughter can now be absolutely entrusted with the weekly washing—thanks to “NO-RUB-BING LAUNDRY HELP.”

Frantic nights of toothache stopped by using Barraclough’s Magic Nervine Is 6d.