“The PAINTED LILY”

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 80, Issue 249, 20 October 1937, Page 3

“The PAINTED LILY”

Romantic Serial Story - - by

Olive Wadsley

CHAPTER lll..—Continued. “What’ll you think of me if I do, I wonder?” Vai whispered back. “But —after all—l’m—l'm your wife, aren’t I?” It was the first time that cither of them had spoken of lheir marriage: the first time honestly that Bonnie had realised the fact he was married: he, had only seen Vai for moments during the last days; they had never been this evening. He repeated after her, marvelling a little at the words. “You're my wife, kiddie”—and almost unconsciously his grasp tightened. “1 tnld Dad Io tell you.” Vai went on. but I guess ho didn't, and he never fold me anything you said—you come In too quick—and then we never hail ft word alone. Dad and me. after that —Ron ” she paused and then she lifted her face: it was very near Ronnie’s, so near that he had only to stoop his own very little, and his lips would touch hers. It was nearly dark now, the lilac shadows had changed to dark purple, the last spear of gold had slid from the sky, and it was very still. The only sound in the little room was Vai’s soft, breathing, Ronnie’s more hurried one. Bonnin slnnpcd his head—and someone banged nn the door, burst it. open, burst, Into guffaw, backed away, and spluttered out. “Pardon.” and then stuck nut a long arm and ejaculated, “Cable—for you. Leastways, it ses Donald Menzies Sands on it, an’ this camp ’’ Vat had risen, clicked on the, light. Ronnie tore open the wire. “I didn’t, know anyone knew.” he muttered, and read. “Am In New York Baltimore Hotel until 7lh. Ever greeting. Iris.” He knew he had gone scarlet. He felt a fool for no reason, and dashed uncomfortable, for no reason cither.-as he stuffed the cablegram away in his pocket. “News?” Vai asked. “No, nothing much,” Ronnie told her. “only from someone 1 once, knew who’s In New York—someone English.” “And didn't you know —they—were there —before?” Vai asked. Ronnie looked at her. laughed, drew out his case, lit a cigarette. He lounged to the door and, opening it, said, “Supper soon?” and lounged out. He hated being questioned. Anyway, there was nothing to be questioned about, and that blithering fooi, Jim, ought to have his head banged, barking in like that. Gosh, how keen women were. . . . Vai had been after that wfre like a hare. . . . He gave an immense yawn; he was fed up with everything. “Half a million cool,” as poor old Bully had called it, hadn’t brought him freedom yet—anything but! Vai’s -voice called from the hut, “Supper 1” He went In to a table covered with oilcloth, pewter forks ami spoons, and the inevitable fried meat and canned vegetables. Suddenly Vai asked: “Did Jim say it right—your real name?”

“Not quite—little too much slress on the ‘Z,’ which isn’t sounded as a mailer of fact—that was all.” “Guess you find accents here pretty comic, don’t you?” Vat asked evenly, but a little burning rose had appeared on either white check.

“You’ll Jolly soon drop into other ways of saying things,” Ronnie sail carelessly. He left a good deal of his supper: he was too excited these days to feel really hungry, and Vai ate hardly anything. Outside, In the men’s quarters. someone had started the gramophone, Hie music of a two-step coming into the silent room seemed to accentuate the silence. Quite suddenly Vai got up. Standing beside the stove, a cigarette between her lips, her eyes fixed on Ronnie: “Well, I- got it all Ifxed,” she said. “Y’ou’ve wanted to leave for New York, so you leave, to-morrow —and I’ll follow on. when I feel like it.” “I shouldn’t think of going without you,” Ronnie told her deliberately, "of leaving you here alone.” “You needn't strain your mind to that, extent,” Vai retorted crisply. “I’ve

sent Jim in for Lil Baker, ami she 11 be right along to-night. She’ll stay with me till I feel 1 can fancy leavin’ So that’s that.” Ronnie rose, walked across to her. and stood before her. "Why have you arranged this plan so suddenly?” he asked quietly. “1 s'pose I can still fix my own life as I like, even if I am married to you can’t I?” Vai Hashed at him. All the gentleness went out of his face; he gave a short, unaniused laugh. “I am entirely at a loss 1o understand Ihis sudden change, this vers complete change in you.” he said evenly. "Possibly you simply feel you wish to be alone with your friends? I'll clear off to-morrow, ns you suggest, ami wait for you in New York.” He hesitated a moment, then, as Vai did not speak, added, “J- think I'll go for a walk, and then turn in. Good night.” At the door he hesitated for a second: he left an old sense of hurtness, but Vai made no sign, so he went out. closing the door. Vai still stood motionless. She could hear Ronnie's steps growing fainter—those even, light stops—she could sec him with the eyes of her mind, walking as he always walked, with a very little swing, his shoulders well back, one hand in his pocket. The light died out of her eyes as the last, echo of those steps died away, and she crossed the floor and flung herself into the big chair again. Her cigarette blazed as she drew al it. Let him go to New York since he was so crazy Io —crazy, like as nd, nn this Iris, whoever she was. The burning roses flamed again in Vai's checks as she remembered the note in Jim's voice when he had been talking to the other men. ami had said, careless of the fact, or unaware, that the cabin door was open, and Vai could hear every word: “Our Ronnie’s got someone very keen to see him In the village—how d’you like the name o’ Tris, boys—very Ritz-y an’ Fifth Avenue sound, ain't it.” .

CHAPTER IV. Vai d’d not appear to say goodbye, but Lil Baker, cheery and peroxide as •ver. waved Ronnie off exuberantly. L'.i was “big Bill” Baker's wife, an 1 rad run oil fields, ranches, mining ramps, and saloons In her day. She was tiny, indomitable, straight as a siring—and as made-up as one woman can be, and yet bear some faint lesemhlancc to her real self. She had looked after Vai ever since her own mother's death years before. Whenever Vai had been ill, or Bully obliged to be absent for any time, Lil had either come to Vai or had stayed with her. She had ridden over In a Ford the night before: Ronnie was driving In it to the nearest station. Lil watched him out of sight with a very speculative gaze. "Trust a man.” she had said to herself when she had heard of the marriage. “Trust a man to fix a tom-fool arrangement of this sort, believin’ ho was doin’ somethin’ wonderful'. 1 wish 1 could have seen old Bully Dixon before he died—before he fixed this anyway. I can’t believe one of them lightning sort of marriages won't end in misery, and I’m an optimist!’ After which slie went back to A al. who. in riding breeches and shirt, had just come into the living room. "Goin’ rldin’, dearie?” Lil enquired. "Yep. -May as well. Somethin' to do.” \ minulc later Vai was gone al a tearing gallop. She came back three hours later, her horse and herself galloped out. Lil heated water, and then cooked dinner. She and Vai were Just, finishing when the Ford drove, up, and the man who had driven it came in with some things Lil had ordered from the station store. He smiled frankly at Vai as he said, unloaded, his things:

“Ten pounds sugar. Mis’ Raker — Cve currants—you sure treat us tn It, I Miss Dixon, and that’s a fac'. Ten tins apricots, two barrels sardinesnever was so serprised in my life, I guess, ns when 1 saw the roan lep three fences ahead—guess the riding way’s a good seven miles shorter than the buggy track? Yep, apples, ! soda—starch—Ronnie wondered you | didn't catch up again. Vai—there’s tho ’ bar u’ soap—Mis’ Baker—that’s the Jot. i LU said nothing to VaL but she , stole one. glance at her, and it showed her a Vai with brilliant eyes and a divinely Hushed face. | “My lawd,” Lil breathed to herself, washing up alone, later. ‘So that’s it, is it? He doesn’t—she does —wonder i if he knows? Anyway 1 guess I can let the old man know I'll not, be here . for a long visit. I’ll give her a week —that the limit—before she wants to travel to New York!”

It Is fairly safe to say that by the lime he had reached the first big stopping place Ronnie had ceased to be bothered about his marriage; by the time he arrived in New York he had practically forgotten if. So many little things pleased him so much: Hie possibility of a bath whenever he wanted one, limitless hot water, limitless cleanliness In all matters, and food

which wasn't, a slab of fried meat and wasn’t canned. He drove straight tn the Rilz-Garl-ton. and had very nearly said “a small room” when he remembered “half-a-mlllion, cool!” "Give me a room -with a bathroom attached and a sitting-room,” he ordered. "A decently small suite.” He wandered about New York that, evening like r schoolboy home for the holidays. He had had five years of the hardest living and as little thinking as possible, one year when he had nearly starved, and all four when he had worked like a black, and now’ he was here in civilised life again, in one of the finest cities in the world. He thought of London as he walked down Broadway, of Piccadilly and Bond Street, of the jolly wide roads which lead into London from Surrey, and then he remembered VaL He bad thought, “I’ll leave on the ‘Mauretania.’ ” Then some dim odd memory had tugged at his mind, and he had realised he couldn't leave until Vai eame ....

Why the dickens had she been so shirty—all of a sudden! They’d been getting along so splendidly. Poor little kid. she was all on edge. He felt a little impulse of tenderness towards her; it, must be pretty rotten for a kid to be up against things—he'd look after her all he knew, try to give her a good time, make her happy. . . Married—he—Ronnie—was actually married. “Not so you’d notice it,” he murmured, with a boyish grin. But he would do the straight thing by Vai. It'ud need a bit, of patience —she’d want teaching rather a lot. But. after all, she was so awfully pretty, and it was Ronnie’s experience that pretty girls learnt things quite quickly enough. Funny, dashed funny. Iris wiring to him like that at such a time. Well, she might be at the Baltimore for all time; she could stay there; that was finished utterly He walked back to his hotel and went to bed fairly early, to a real bed. As lie felt the coolness of the sheets he thought of the harsh, mud-coloured blankets of Hie men’s quarters, and these sometimes were their sole possession. He had never thought much about things in Texas, for the simple reason that, all the thinking in the world couldn’t have altered them, but now he told himself with a queer sort of amazement that all the hard side of life was finished for him—thanks to Dixon—thanks to—Vai. He lay awake thinking of her: of her “littleness,” by which he meant her youth, her funny little innocence about everything, hep loveliness, and then of that moment when Jim had banged In. His last thought, was: Perhaps some pal of his would help Vai r bit in London. . . . * ♦. ♦ * H was a divine day, blue and golden, with a tiny breeze, "when Ronnie was summoned up to town to interview Dixon’s solicitors again. (To be Continued).