"The Lucky Speculator,”

Wairarapa Daily Times, 19 December 1927, Page 7

"The Lucky Speculator,”

A POWERFUL LOVE STORY OF A MODERN GIRL.

BY MARY DREWE TEMPEST, Author of: “His Last Shot,” “The Second Mrs Fairfax,” etc., etc.

CHAPTER IX.—Continued. For the first few days they rarely met, for Gyp was not a good sailor, and they ran into some roughish weather. But as soon as she got her sealegs the sea air began to act like magic in restoring her to health and sanity; yet sfie remained too apathetic or too proud to ask wither they were bound, and Brent vouchsafed her no information. Once they met a tornado, and the gallant little vessel had much ado to weather it. Things began to look so serious that lifebelts were served out, and its two boats cleared for lower-

ing. “Why bother about me.”' Gvp asked with a crooked smile as Brent bade her stand in readiness to get into the first boat. His eyes lost some of their grimness as he looked down into her pale, defiant face, and the first smile he had given her for many days stirred the muscles about his mouth. “There's such a thing as tradition,” he said. “ 'Women first’ is still the rule at sea.” But the “Seagull” won through all right, and presently they slipped into calmer waters. Gyp was standing by the rail watching some llying-fish when they sighted land. She was so glad to see it that she called to a passing sailor: “What place is that?” “Guadeloupe, ma'am, but we don't touch there.” They jiassed it, passed St. Thomas’s: once that last resting-place for broken ships, and seemed to be heading for the open sea again. Though now eaten up with curiosity —also with longing to explore some of those beauty-spots they passed so ruthlessly, Gyp would ask no question of her tactiturn husband. They had been out fifty days from (England, when a dark spect on the great wastes of waters developed into a pretty, wooded islet—right in the vessel’s track. Then to Gyp’s astonishment, Brent c-amo to her side and asked if she would like to go ashore. “I’m going to land there,” he said in answer to her look of inquiry. Gyp considered: “If I go, he may relent and forgive me, let me explain, and believe me?” She answered, as she had answered his ultimatum: “I’ll come.'” “The boat’s ready,” he told her, •making no comment on her decision. It must be a delightful sensation — like an Alice-in-Wonderland adventure —landing on an enchanted island that has no namc,Gyp's fingers, clasping her knees, began to play a jazzy tune to keep time with her dancing spirits, as their little barque ploughed its way through the surf, towards a lovely bay. iShe jumped out unaided, and ran up the shingle like a care-free child, calling to Brent'to '“Hurry, or you’ll lose him!” as a turtle sidled out of her way. She climbed on, up a wooded slope, lost in ecstasy over the strange, brilliant flowers that blazed around her. Then Brent, a gun on his .shoulder, caught her up. She flickered a glance at him as lie negotiated a bluff in front of her, and held out a hand to help. To her secret delight, she felt she had never seen him to better advantage, the fine lines of his figure silhouetted, against the sky, while the rich tan on face and neck looked just right for him. “He ought always to carry a gun,” she thought, absurdly enough. They topped the crest, and stood for a breather. On one slope were signs of cultivation; a potato-patch, apple-trees; on the other, what looked like a shack. “How wonderful!” Gyp cried; “it looks inhabited. Do lot’s investigate!” Her impression was right; civilised people had lived on the island, there was a cow, some chickens! The girl ran on, excitedly calling back her finds. Presently she disappeared. Then her voice floated up to him: — “Como and look;■ here’s a furnished house! ’’ He came slowly down the stony path, and found her standing inside a small hut. She beckoned him in, speaking in hushed tones: “It must have been the home of a poor, ship-wrecked sailor, for see, there’s his bed, and lots of useful things that lie must have found "washed up afterwards! A peasant woman s frock and things, cooking-utensils, flour, tins of groceries, candles!” He had to stoop to pass under the lintel. “Quite snug,” he admitted. “I saw some fruit trees coming along. Did himself uncommonly well.” “ ‘Did’?” in an awed voice; “then you think he’s drowned?” Brent shrugged. “Qui sait? He’s not here, anyway; that’s the main thing. Look over your head; there’s a ham and two flitches of bacon.” Gyp’s face flashed into rose-red, making her look adorably pretty. “Wouldn’t it be fun to have a pic(nic here?” He answered grimly: “Ho fun for me.” Her gaiety died. “I suppose not,” she said drearily, “since—since you loathe me so.” She came out listlessly enough. “I’ve had enough of sight-seeing: two mortal hours of it,” glancing at her watch. “I want to go back.” Without a word they climbed that hill again, Gyp, as usual, running on ahead. At the crest she stopped to get her breath, and stood looking around her.

The horizon, stooping to meet an empty sea, shut them in on every side. •Suddenly she gave a squeal of terror —like a rabbit will do when the stoat springs on it: “O-o-oh—” she cried, “our ship’s gone! ” CHAPTER X. At her sharp spoil, Brent, coming up behind, stopped dead and, facing about, stood like a granite statue, looking seaward. Gyp, her eyes wide with fright, came staggering down the rugged path, her descent heralded by a rush of stones. In her agitation she shook his arm. “Didn’t you hear me call?'” she screamed, “our ship’s gone! While we’ve been mooning about here, they’ve run away with the yacht. D’you hear? . . . Why don’t you say something?” She stood before him like an accusing angel. He turned then, and looked down upon her furious face with detached, disillusion eyes—or so it seemed to her —making her seem a million miles away. “Yes ... I heard you call,” he said, in quiet, unhurrying tones. “The yacht’s gone all right.” A flame of anger scorched her check at this nonchalant admission, and she began to fret up and down like a homeless spirit. “Then why waste a second? Can’t you suggest something?” wildly; “Fire a signal of distress, run up a flag, light a bonfire? I didn’t know it was possible for people to steal ships nowadays; nor would one guess that those nice .English sailors were pirates! Why*don’t you hurry to do something?” stamping her foot. “If you don’t mind casting me away on a desert island, don’t you care at all what the owner of the yacht will say?” Silence. “I know you’re a savage at heart,” pursued Gyp tcmpostuously, “and all this is your right environment; but nothing excuses your criminal negligence in placing a helpless girl in this desperate plight!” Then, without in the least believing what she said, she raced on: “I’m inclined to think you’ve done this on purpose —just to frighten me —just to punish me more than I’ve been punished already. What a crazy little fool I was to trust myjself to you!” .Still silence. Then the flood of Gyp’s passion broke. “I suppose you think I’m wholly in your power now—your savage power? You never made a greater mistake! Because you badgered me into going through a ceremony of marriage—” “Stop!” thundered Brent, the veins in his temples standing out like whipcords, “before you drive me into saying something on that subject • might be sorry for.” As only happened in times of stress, all the framework of his face showed up quccrly, while little knots of muscles came into prominence about his mouth. Gyp had seen those signs before. She steadied.down, but stuck to her guns: “What’s the use of our jabbering and doing nothing?” she urged. “They can’t have got very far. If you were clever enough to get into touch with' a passing vessel, they might wireless a nian-o’-war and capture them.” “Xo ships pass this island.” Her eyes hardened, grew introspective and suspicious. “How do you happen to know that?” “I have sjiont a number of j’ears in these latitudes,” he answered, coolly, “and I can assure you we’re off the track. ’ ’ “Then what’s to be done; I can’t stay the night here?” she said, her voice husky with terror. “Nothing —as far as getting away goes, to your first question. ’Fraid you’ve got to —to the second. Meanwhile, there’s plenty to do if you and I are going to make the best of it.”

“You mean,” with wavering scorn, “that I’m to wait, like Mr Mieawbcr, for ‘something to turn up’? While you’re preaching patience, and ‘off the map,’ there may be big ships passing close in on the other side of the island.’’ Her voice rose to a wail: “It’ll be dark soon —too late for anything! ” “Better come to the top and judge for yourself.” (To b» Continued).