THE Money – Tree

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume LXXXIII, Issue 19840, 14 May 1927, Page 16 (Supplement)

THE Money - Tree

SHORT STORY

By

JOAN KENNEDY

When Ted Greenwood told his wife, • Rosalie, that his money-tree had borne ; fruit and that, in future, she could i have anything in reason. Rosalie was | not. in the least surprised. “I always knew' you’d be rich some day, ’ she. said. Ted laughed as a successful man can afford to laugh. Rosalie had al way.had ambitions for himself and herself. Well, now he could realize those ambitions. There would be no skimping in the future. The money-tree had blossomed and fruited, and, anyhow', Rosalie had been (a good wife. Ho looked round the jerry-built' home. It was w’here he had brought: her seVen years ago. Rosalie had always been a smart girl, and she had made the best of everything, and, after all, the years of struggle had held some compensations. They had worked together—forced Fate. And in the little house they called “Green Shutters’' their dreams had been dreamed. “It’s queer how I hate giving up this place, Rosalie,’’ said Ted. “Heavens!” Rosalie answered. “It won’t give me one regret to turn the key in Green Shutters for the last time. A pokey-hole—you can’t deny it, Ted.” “Maybe,” said the man. “But its been home, and the children have come to us here. We haven't been unhappy, anyhow.’ ’ Rosalie laughed—the low. glad laugh of a woman who secs life opening un before her. After all, Rosalie was only in her early thirties, and had an infinite capacity for enjoyment. It w r as good to look towards the. fleshpots of life and to know thnt one could dip into aforetime forbidden joys. In those days Rosalie believed that money could unlock every door, open up the w'hole world. Life in Green Shutters had been very limited, and her dreams were of the future rather than of the past. They let “the pokey-hole’’ just, as it stood, taking none of its homely, halfworn treasures to the line house Ted took for their new home. The latter was spacious and imposing, and Rosalie settled in as mistress as to the manner born. She had know r n this was going to happen some. day. Her faith in Ted and his moneymaking powers had been justified. “Good-bye, economy,” said Rosalie, and heaved a sigh of sheer joy. The bread and scrape side of life faded into the past, and Mrs. Greenwood, her frocks, her car. her parties, her beau-tifully-kept children, became the talk of a new circle. For a time ambitious Rosalie thrilled to the wonder of it all. She had always hold her head up, even in Green Shutters, but now she was a woman of importance Ted’s gold had brought her many new friends. She entertained them lavishly. She acquired an ambition to be the bestdressed woman of their set. She etil tivated the art of spending. She seemed to have everything the heart of woman could desire. How, then, did discontent creep in? She had imagined that money, when one had enough, would mean everything. She found that it did not. Actually she was not so happy as she had been in the' days of making-do. That was queer. Analysing, she came to the conclusion that she and Ted saw very little of each other nowadays. He ought to accompany her to the functions she' attended. She told him so. But Ted, rather harassed-looking nnd strained, said he had other things to do. Tt seemed that a money-tree. onc»: you picked its fruit, needed constant attention. Because he had made money, Tod had to go on. Ho had little time for frivolities when finance shackled him. And he had not much time for Roshlie. Homelife was no more. Deep down in their hearts, both ho and Rosalie missed the' old homelife of their early married days. Without knowing it, the woman resented tbe fact that she had so little of her husband. And when a woman grows resentful she usually turns somewhere for consolation. RoSalie turned to Gerald Loe—on-‘> of those men who are always lying in wait for the psychological moment where some woman is concerned. They get a fillip out of that sort of thing. Poaching appeals, stimulates, and Rosalie was a handsome woman to be seen Übout with. As is usual, Lee knew the whole art of pleasing a woman, the fascination of compliments, the danger of sympathy and understanding. He insinuated into the mind of Rosalie the thought that she was a wife who was not understood, a woman starving for love and devotion. Somebody told Ted that his wife and Lee were getting talked about, and Ted was angry. “Just see a little less of That fellow,” he said to Rosalie. “He’s hero too much. People are talking. A married woman can’t allow >a man to monopolise her company, you know.” Rosalie made a sneering remark. Ted flushed. “You know jolly well I must keep my nose to the grindstone if we are to go on as we are doing.” he told her. “Goiny to parties won’t pay for those you give.” As a wife, Rosalie was growing rather blind. She did not see that Ted looked worn (and ill. Riches seemed to be changing her from a good aiwl careful loving wife to a vain and selfish woman. Only in her secret moments did she acknowledge that the fleshpots of life were disappointing, and after that secret acknowledgment would come another whirl of gaiety. Rosalie imd a conscience, but she did not want to listen to its dictates.

Instead, she listened to Lee —listened when he told her she was life itself to him and that she must come with him to love and devotion. He needed her to complete life. And, without knowing it, Rosalie wanted to be needed. That was the trouble of this new life—she was not necessary to anybody’s existence. Ted was too busy for her, her children were supplied with capable persons to touch and clare for them, her home was run by well-trained servants. So the day came when Rosalie decided to leave her home aixl find al-

ventures with that other—the snake in the grass, if she had but realized it. But Lee had said ho needed her so, and being needed opened up something in the heart of Rosalie that made a glow she had not felt for months. Shut in her room, she began to pack some of the clothes she intended to take with her, and as she packed sh ' did not know whether it were happiness or misery that sat at her heart. There was a photograph of Ted in a silver frame. She was packing it when she realized she must not do so. The thoughts that followed were rather frightening. They took her back to those days in the house she had called ‘ ‘ the pokey-hole.’ ’ She remembered she' would be leaving others besides Ted. But they did not need her—now. In Ted’s study was- a framed snapshot—just a cheap little thing, ahnosc the only scrap of the old home they had brought away, but Ted had insisted on it, for it held them all —herself and Budge, the small Ted and big Ted. Sentiment caught her. She would take it with her. It had been taken in the garden at Green Shutters. Rosalie slipped down the stairs. There were no watching eyes, and Ted was never home at this time of day. A sense of freedom came to her. She opened the door of the study softly.

And then she stood still, stared, closed the door, herself on the inn-'U side. Ted was home. But this nmn was not the Ted sk« knew —her self-assertive, dominating man, who could force a money tree to fruit, who had no time to take his wife anywhere because he was> swamped with big schemes. Thin broken thing was not her clever Ted—this man with grey faro and staring eyes, with twitching hands that fingered a litter of papers—and something cbe. Something welled up in the heart of i Rosalie and she ran towards him with I a little cry. “Ted, what is it? What has happened ? ’ ’ Those haggard ryes looked into hers, and she read the misery they held. She saw that thing which lay nmong the papers—saw, and was suddenly coil and assertive. She picked it up and pushed it out of sight in a drawer, turning the key and putting it in her own dress. “You didn’t know I was a coward, did you?” said Ted. For answer she placed her arms about him. She was not flustered. That something which had welled up in her heart had made it beat with great human beats of happiness. Yes, it was happiness—she knew it by the warm glow it brought. So she heard the story of Ted’s financial collapse—heard, and did not lose that welling happiness which had come. He needed her, and that was enough. “But all this will have to go,” lv ! said, when ho had made it plain. “You | don’t realise' just, how far I’m in the soup, Rosalie. Wo shall have to scrape and screw ngain—for a bit. at any ' rate. I shall pull through if we can I economize for a year or so. I’ll make the money-tree fruit again. But we—we can’t live like we’ve been doing. Rosaline tightened her arms again. Ted went on: “I’ve heard from the people who took our first little place. They’re not staying on after the fourteenth—but wo—we couldn’t very well go back there.” “Of course we could,” declared Rosalie. “It’s the very thing. How lucky they want to clear out! We can get rid of this house easily enough. It i! let for a decent sum, and we’ll econ<»inizo at Green Shutters. What luck for 1 us, Ted! ” The man was very still for a moment. I Then he stood up. All the greyne«j i had gone from his face, and his eyes : held the fighting spirit. “I don’t deI servo a wife like you!” he said. “Oh, ! Rosalie, you always do come up trumps. ” ! Roslalie laughed happily. Rhe visioned the gas-stove at Green Shutter.-, herself bending with flushed cheeks preparing her husband’s meal; heai<i the laughter of Budge and small Ted. just like it had been in the dear old days, and her eyes held a glow of wt»n“Oh, Ted, let’s go back,’’ she said. “We were happy there—just the four of us together. At any rate, we shall be together again, and that’s sonic- | thing.’ ’ “But it’s such a pokey hole —aftoj this,’’ said Ted. “That's what you called it that day—Rosalie.” “It’ll be home—a real home,’’ sb’ whispered. “I haven’t felt that th - is home—not rctally, Ted. I don’t seem to have you or the children here. Th • house is too big. I want to get back to the pokey-hole.” And Rosalie meant it. She had suddenly found what matters most to everr true woman—to be needed by her loved ones, to love .and be loved. Misfortun i had reunited them, and the pokey-hob-I promised a heaven below —a heaven and a haven, for love would be there. | Equal to the Occasion. The dealer in (antiques was showing an old violin to a probable buyer. “Yes,” he said, “this is of great historical interest, being the identical fiddle Nero played while Rome was , burning.’’ “What! That is a myth,” gasped the customer. “Yes, it is,” caine*the ready reply , “and Myth's niaino was on it, but it ■ has got worn off.”