“WILD GRAPES”

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 83, Issue 1, 3 January 1939, Page 11

“WILD GRAPES”

New Serial Story

By

Theodora Wilson-Wilson

The general public never dreams ot entering such a shop, but it gathers trade through its exclusiveness, its skill in dressing the plain, the middleaged and the would-be-youngs, its attractiveness to youth, and its long credit-system. Women, bent upon making a splash, came to Madame Jasmine and talked and ordered and lived upon the few honest customers who paid in cash down. Doris Smith, otherwise Madame Jasmine, was in no position to command the espionage of the big establishments, and had so far depended upon judging her customers, with the result that she had made some very awkward mistakes. Lady (Hammond could be very delightful and confiding, and she had ordered recklessly, now and again ■warding off criticism by paying a handsome sum on account. But .Doris was feeling the stifling breath of ruin advancing upon her, and on this evening she had been spending uneasy hours in adding up assets and liabilities. When her brother Stephen came in, she turned towards him under a sickening sense of coming disappointment. Stephen was her young brother, now at Cambridge, for whom she was making this great business effort, and it was he who had volunteered to try to collect the big Hammond debt. “Well, I suppose it’s the old story I’’ she said quickly. “No cash and another order.” “I saw the husband!” he answered, "Oh, Stephen! I never meant you to do that. What will Lady Hammond think?" "Sho can think what she likes! I've got the money! Half to-day and the balance on Monday!" “You haven't!" she faltered. "(Here’s a cheque for two hundred pounds! Three cheers for Sir John Hammond and the Medical Profassion I" And then, to her brother's consternation, the dignified Madame Jasmine began to cry. “I say, now don’t do that, Doris 1 I say—don’t! You make me feel an. absolute brute to let you work for me like this.” "It's the one thing I care about!" and she smiled through her tears, “to put you forward as father would have done, had he lived.” “It’s funny," said Stephen, “there’s an awfully nice chap at Clare —Hammond—no end of a spender, and a voice like an archangel. I fancy lie must be Sir John Hammond’s son. But now, you’re worn out! Go to bed, and tuck that cheque under your pillow !" CHAPTER X. When the Dawn Came. Robert rose stiffly and stretched himself, and it struck him that be ought to do his best to get rid of, the fellow in Hie garden house before any gardeners were about. Hot coffee might help to bring the man to his senses. But Paula, restlessly awake over the letter she had received from Lloyd Manners, had also been thankful for the dawn, and for the sharp notes of a blackbird. She rose, and as she stood at the window, she was surprised to see Robert tip-toeing down the garden with a Jug in his hand.

Robert was usually such a dead sleeper, as she knew to her cost, when she wished to wake him for their morning swim. Iler curiosity was aroused. Any morning adventure was better than thinking out the “to be or not to be" involved in that letter. Robert pushed open the garden house door, and found the “visitor" ! standing before a mirror, smoothing I down his hair with a pocket comb. I “Good morning," said Robert sharp- I iy. The man turned, and Robert saw that he must be about forty years old. "Oil, good morning," he answered suspiciously. “I’ve brought you some hot coffee," i said Robert. “You’re a gentleman!" he exclaimed. “I don’t know about that," and Robert, laughed. “But I saved you from the police last night." “How?” he asked sharply, as he put his comb into his pocket. “The police saw your boat, and I told them that you were a friend of mine I” He was taking out some garden house crockery. He poured out the coffee, and it smelled fragrantly. “A friend of your’s! I’m your uncle —your mother’s brother. I was at your christening, until your father hoofed me out.” "I see,” said Robert coolly. This was or was not a lie. “Your father doesn't like me, not s little bit, and that’s why I had to sleep here, instead of in your best spare room, under the silk eider-down quilt!” an'' he laughed. The coffee was cheering. “Well, have another cup of coffee, and then kindly go I" said Robert sternly. ■Gordon Tate locked at the fineframed speaker, and decided that for this time, ft might be well to clear himself out. “If the police had taken me to the cells, what a charming piece of gossip for the evening papers!” he sneered. “Sir John Hammond's brother-in-law arrested —demands compensation!” Robert’s temper was rising. This fellow was an obvious rotter, or worse, as was clear, or his mother would not be meeting him in secret. He tried to help himself by silence. “You’re the sulky sort," said the man, as he set down his cup. “But an uncle is an uncle—after all.” “And a nephew is a nephew,” said Robert hotly. “Now, suppose we loosen that boat!” Gordon Tate was tempted to boast that this young man’s mother was playing the artist's model to him, but commonsense prevailed. That revelation must wait. It could do no good at the moment. It was after Robert had pushed off the boat and got rid of his visitor, that he turned to meet Paula’s enquiring eyes.

"And since when, brother Bob, have you taken to such early morning excitement?” she demanded. “Oh, you, Paula —only you!" "Why, are we in the middle of a thriller?" “I don't know!” and Robert laughed ruefully. “But that fellow rocking that boat down the river is our long lost uncle—so he says!” “Had we one?" “Haven’t a notion. He poses as mother's brother. I suspect a case of blackmail or sponging. I discovered him here last night, drunk, or at least silly.” Then Robert told Paula all he knew, and for a little while they broke the “ Parents Discussion Not Permitted " rule, and spoke of their father and mother very critically Indeed. "Poor Daddy, he's been weak,” said Paula. “But Mum is a born torturer." “I can’t let this rest, of course," said Robert, "but for the present, we must walk warily. That fellow looks as though he might go all lengths—and after all, mother is mother." "I’m with you-—all the time!" said Paula. "But I say, Bob, this all makes me feel thoroughly stuffy. What about a good swim?” “■Good!” he agreed with eagerness and relief. CHAPTER XI. Miss Hammond Gives Her Opinion. On Sunday afternoon, Paula was seized with what she called an inspiration. "Bob, let’s go to tea with Aunt Claudia I" she suggested. "And let's make father come,” said Robert. “It will rest him and cheer him up." So the twins made the attack, and to their great satisfaction, their father agreed. So they stuck their father In the back of their most comfortable car, and left him in peace until they reached Firlands. Here they surprised their aunt, clothed in an unsabbatical overall, clipping oft deadheads in her wilderness of a garden. “Twins!" she exclaimed. “Why, John!" and a look of solicitude passed Into Her eyes. "We are a shock, Aunt Claudia,” said Robert, "but you must struggle io bear it!” “You’ll have to toast the buns yourselves,” she answered. "The maid is out." Nothing pleased the twins better than to “collect the tea,” as the'y described it, for they :»Ww Firlands by heart, and commanded tneir ciders to rest in peace under the pines. The meal was laid in the open, and Hie pines looked down gravely as the four joked and chatted over everything that did not matter. “And bow is that voice of your’s wearing, Robert?” asked his aunt presently. “I’ve been thinking of wandering the world calling ‘Sweet Lavender’!” and he laughed. “I must hear it," she said. “One can’t demonstrate a voice after buns and walnut cake!" and he drew out a cigarette. “No, you don't!" she domineeringly. . "Go both of you Indoors, and let me hear how far you have ruined yourselves!" “Come, Robert,’’ said Paula. “Don’t you recognise the familiar hint of the elders to pct rid of the younger generation?” and she drew the unlighted cigarette from between his lingers. Sir John and Miss Hammond sat on silently, listening, and perhaps hesllating to say out what was in their inmost thoughts. Robert sang well this afternoon, and presently they heard him singing: ‘And who may abide, the day of His coming? And who shall stand when He appeareth? For He is. like a refiner's fire." “Would you object, John," said Miss Hammond, as there’ came a pause in the music, "to John following in his old Aunt's track?" "It all depends upon whether he Is flrst-class.” “Perhaps you wish him to be a doctor?” "No, one must be keen—hot keen on that job. Robert is polite towards medicine, but certainly not keen." “How are things?” she asked with a bold plunge. "Oh, as usual.” he answered lightly. “Except that now and then one gets warnings." “Warnings at forty-nine?" ■ "I had my third yesterday—quite slight—soon over, but no one but a fool neglects a warning.” "Angina?” she asked sharply. “Don’t let us be technical!” and he smiled. "You ought to get right away, John, for a complete holiday." “The children have gratified me extremely by wanting me on their Scandinavian holiday.” "Then why don’t you go?" "I can’t leave the practice." “Money?" “Money is—convenient!” "I know.” Miss Hammond was ict going to make her brother admit nore than he chose, yet her heart sank. “Claudia,' suppose—anything happened—l should like to feel that the children are yours.” This stern-faced woman's lips quivered, and it was as though she were suddenly blinded. "Bo sure of this, John, Robert and Paula shall be mine—as they are mine now.” And from the inner room there rang out the message: I “The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light, and they that ; dwell in the land of the shadow of i death, upon them hath the light shined.” And as the last notes died away, Miss Hammond became conscious that a young girl had been listening, as she leaned against a sun dial. “Olive, my dear child I" and she beckoned her to come ihto the circle. Olive Maitland came forward, motioned for silence, as she shook hands with Miss Hammond and Sir John. Then she squatted down on a stool. .(To be continued.);