The Awakening of Theodore Wrenn,

Wairarapa Daily Times, 25 February 1935, Page 7

The Awakening of Theodore Wrenn,

(COPYRIGHT.) PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

BY JAMES RONALD, (Author of “The Secret of Hunter’s Keep,” “The White Card,” “The Monoeled Man,” etc.) • i ,

CHAPTER VII— Continued. Her handwriting was characteristic of her, sprawling, and erratic. Marley-on-Thames, Thursday.

“Dear Theodore, I fled from Clielsea two days ago and came to rest here in a quiet little houseboat. It belongs to a friend, who has lent it to me for as long as I like. Moored on a backwater, three miles from the village, and far from the favourite haunts of trippers. The water is calm and still and serene, and some of its serenity has found its way to my troubled soul. I am at peace with myself at last. Do come and spend the afternoon with me on Saturday! Yoix will love the solitude and quiet. “Como in flannels; I’m sure they will suit you; and a, soft shirt. Do you realise that I have never seen you in anything but that horrible black jacket and striped trousers, with that beastly high collar, and your dinner clothes which smell disagreeably of camphor.’ “Don’t disappoint me, I really want you. —Affectionately, Naomi. There was a postscript, hurriedly screwled across the back of the sheet: “Oh and I’ll give you those wretched letters.” When he had finished reading the letter, he laid it upon his desk, and sat still for a long time thinking. Naomi Dean meant nothing to him, and lie could never be anything to her. Friendship was the most he could offer her, and she was not the sort of woman who is content with friendship. On the other hand, her letter contained a definite appeal to him to see her. probably for the last time, and he could not conscientiously fail her. Surely, in an afternoon upon the river lie would be able to show her plainly that their acquaintance was a fruitless thing, i In addition, he had promised his cousin to secure the letters, if it were humanly possible, and her postscript definitely promised them. He looked up a diary for trains on Saturday to Marley-on-Thames, and having found what he sought, wired Naomi that he would be with her at three o’clock in the afternoon. Having made his decision, he went out and bought a ready-made flannel suit, a grey silk shirt, a brown felt hat. and dark tan shoes. He did not dare contemplate appearing at the office on Saturday morning in these garments, so he left them at the shop, deciding to call for them half an hour or so before the time of his train, and change into them at a Turkish baths.

At a quarter to three on Saturday afternoon, he arrived at the sleepy riverside village of Marley-on-Thames, and was accosted at the entrance to the station by an elderly individual in blue trousers and jersey, who had “waterman” written all over him.

“If you’re Mister Wrenn, the young lady hengaged me, sir, to tike you up the river to ’er ’ouseboat,” this worthy explained. Theodore admitted his identity, and meekly followed the man to a rowingboat which lay at a small wooden jetty by the river’s edge. He took his place in the stern, and the waterman unshipped his oars, and began to row up-river. Theodore took off his hat, and enjoyed the cool breeze which played about his hair. It was a lovely afternoon, the sky was clear and blue, arid the sun was pleasantly warm. When they came in sight of the houseboat which was moored in a backwater about fifty yards from the river bank, Theodore saw Naomi in a dainty yellow dress, leaning over the stern, watching their approach. He realised suddenly and uneasily that they would be entirely alone in the houseboat all afternoon; a disturbing circumstance which, oddly enough, he had not considered before.

lie gave tlie waterman five shillings, and climbed up a precarious wooden ladder at the side of the ship to the deck. Naomi greeted him with hands outstretched, and eyes sparkling. A table was laid upon the deck, with a primrose-coloured cloth, and an amazing variety of edibles. “I knew that you’d have no time for luncheon, if you caught that train, ’ ’ she said cheerfully. “Of course, you’d work till the last possible minute. ’Fess up now, aren’t you starving?” Her gaiety was infectious. . “Ravenous,” ho admitted, with a laugh. “I’ve digested nothing but a railway ham sandwich since breakfast.”

There was a humorous gleam in the waterman’s eyes, but he made no comment.

She took his hat from him and put it in the cabin, then led him to the luncheon table. Two cane chairs were placed for' them, opposite each other. The luncheon consisted of cold salmon and salad, cold roast duck, olives, celery, lettuce, and a trifle, followed by coffee, -made in a percolator heated by a spirit stove, and biscuits and cheese. There was even a bottle of cider, flanked by a bottle of champagne. Naomi eyed him frankly as she filled her own glass with sparkling wine. “Won’t you try a little, to please me ? ’ ’

Theodore unlocked the door of the cabin. Naomi opened the door, and looked out. She had been crying, but she was in a quiet, subdued mood. “I’m a rotten little cheat!” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I—l —l didn’t lcnowyour sort existed.” She held out a packet tied with blue ribbon.

“Here are the letters.” CHAPTER VIII,

“I honestly prefer cider,” he pleaded. She laughed: “You’re much too good to live, Theo. Have your cider, then. ’ ’

After the meal she produced a Havana cigar for Theodore and some Turkish cigarettes for herself. She cleared away the luncheon things, and they sat side by side in the shade of the deck house and smoked in silence until there was a bare inch and a half of the cigar left. Naomi produced a portable gramophono and a pile of records, and squatted on the deck to play them. Theodore, watching the mobile beauty of her pale, oval face, wondered why it was that ho refrained from loving her. She was attractive and alluring, and yet she appealod to nothing in him except his compassion. Tho afternoon went quickly, talking and playing the gramophone. Naomi had a seemingly inexhaustible fund of small-talk which .was really amusing.

On Monday Theodore posted the letters Naomi Dean had given him, to his cousin, enclosing a formal note asking Sir Anthony to be so good as to let him know that the packet had arrived safely. Ho had Avritten on the previous Friday to Esther White, the third and last woman on his list, under her married name of Hargreaves, stating that he would call upon her on the Monday if it was convenient to her. At eleven o’clock he arrived in the quiet, working-class suburb where Mrs Hargreaves lived, and found the eminently respectable street where-her home was situated. Tho house was a modest structure of two storeys, and had a car-cd-for, tidy air. The tiny garden in front made a proud show, the result of many long evening of loving toil. The path to tho front door was free from weeds, the door step was spotlessly white, and the brass door knob and the bell were polished to a mirror-like brightness.

Ho rang the bell, and the door was opened in a few minutes by a tidy, cheerful-looking woman, who was wiping her hands on her apron. Theodore raised his hat and presented his card, which she took gingerly, and examined with care.

“Oh, Mr Wrenn,” she said, with a smile, and opened the door wider. “Won’t you please come in?”

At last Theodore looked at his watch: it was eight o’clock. He rose. “I’ll have to go,” he said.' “My train is in half an hour.”

Naomi put a hand on his arm. “Not yet,” she replied. “The man is bringing his boat back for you at a quarter to ten. There’s a train at half past ten.”

He followed her into a sparselyfurnished, but homely-looking room. Mrs Hargreaves drew forward the most comfortable chair in the room for him, waited until he sat down, and then seated herself on the edge' of a straight-backed armless chair. (To be Continued).

She went into the cabin, and Theodore heard the clattering of plates, then she returned with a tray loaded with sandwiches, cake and coffee. Theodore placed his watch upon tho table, where it would serve to remind him of the time. With a laugh, Naomi picked it up and examined it.

“How solid it is!” she exclaimed. “Like you, Theo., solid and —and —dependable. ’ ’ While his head was turned, she hastily put the hands back half an hour, then laid the watch on the table, face downwards. It was an hour before Theodore looked at his watch again and he was surprised to see how slowly the time had gone. It had grown dark, and Naomi had lit an acetylene deck-lamp, and was playing a dreamy sentimental record, when Theodore looked at his watch again and started up.

“Good lord!” he exclaimed. “It’s ten o’clock and that fellow hasn’t turned up yet.” She shrugged her shoulders. “What does it matter? He’ll be along directly.”

“If he doesn’t come soon I’ll miss my train.” He noticed a curious gleam in her eyes, and became uneasy. “You’re certain you told the man to come back for me?” he demanded. She was silent. “Did you?” he insisted. She shook her head.

He pursed his lips tightly. “I’ll have to take the punt, then,” he said quietly. “If I can push myself across to the bank, I may be able to find my way back to the village in time.”

“You can’t,” she said, “your train is gone.” She showed him her wristlet watch; the time was thirty-two minutes past ten. ‘‘ I put your watch back half an hour. There isn’t another train until morning.” “Why did you do that?” he demanded.

She faced him calmly. “Because I wanted you to stay.” He turned away abruptly. “I’ll take the punt, and get across to the bank. I’ll probably be able to get a bed for the night at the village.” Naomi was at the stern before him and cast off the punt. Helplessly, he watched it drifting away from the houseboat.

“You once told me that you couldn’t swim,” she said clearly. “And the river is eight feet deep just here. That’s why I chose this spot. The water is quite calm, but there’s twenty yards of it to the bank. You’ll have to stay.”

There was a tone of triumph in her voice.

“Do you realise what you’ve done?” he cried.

“I love you,” she answered simply. “I love you.” Theodore walked all round the boat, but could find no way of leaving it, except- by swimming, which was impossible. Naomi followed him.

He ignored her, bitter at the trick which had been played upon him. She went into the cabin.

“You’re behaving like a fool!” he said, harshly, and striding to the door, locked her in. Then, deaf to her cries, he walked up and down the deck.

The night darkened, and suddenly it began to rain. It poured as though it would never cease. The rain lasted for an hour, and when it was over, Theodore was soaked to the skin.

He spent the night walking up and down in his sopping garments trying to keep himself warm. An hour or two after dawn he heard a hail from the river, and looking over the rail, saw the waterman in his boat below, ’with the punt in tow. ' “I found the punt drifting a few miles down river,” the man shouted, “and I thought I’d best bring it back to you.” He eyed Theodore’s wet clothes and dishevelled appearance curiously. “I forgot to ask you to return for mo last night,” Theodore told him hoarsely. “And I’ve been punished for my carelessness. I’ve had to spend all night on deck.”