“SUN”

Wairarapa Daily Times, 21 October 1937, Page 9

“SUN”

BY L. A. G. STRONG. (Author of “The Brothers,” f £ Tlie Seven Arms,” etc).

“You can’t hate the end of a holiday.

more than I do,” said Nancy. “It must he rotten for you,” said Kathleen, without looking up. “You only get a fortnight, don’t you?” “I -wouldn’t mind so much,” said Nancy, “if I liked the job.” “Do you hate office work?” “Not the work so much as the people. The whole office. They are all on edge, all suspicious. It’s the manager’s fault. He’s a nasty bit of work, if ever there was one. If he’s in a bad temper, life isn’t worth living. If he’s nice to one, all the others suspect the worst. ’ ’

“Why don’t you leave?” “I daren’t. It is a good job, as jobs go. I live with my mother. Father ran away and left her, years ago. He left her badly off, and we need the money.” “How beastly for you.”

“Oh, it might be worse. But you can understand one doesn’t look forward to going back to it. Especially from a place like this. I’ve had a most marvellous time.”

“It’s not quite over yet.” “No.” She got up. “®an I help in the morning?” ‘ ‘ That’s awfully nice of you. If you would like to give us a hand with the sandwiches. ’ ’

“Of course. Just tell me what to do. Good-night. ’ ’ “Good-night.” She went cut, leaving silence behind her.

“You know,” said Kathleen, after as few moments, “that makes are feel rather a pig.”

“Poor thing. It is small wonder she plays a lone hand.” “It must be desperate, to be stuck like that. And there are hundreds of thousands of them.” Kathleen held her work up to the light, and critically examined it. “She’s nice-looking,” she said. “She ought to get off all right. I should have thought there would be any number of men who would like her sort of looks. ’ ’

“She probably gets the wrong ones.”

“I don’t want to sound cattier than I am,” said Diana, speaking for the first time. “But —doesn’t it strike you there’s something a little theatrical about the way she said it all? Mightn’t it be that things aren’t quite as bad as she says?” Kathleen considered.

“Of course, she is rather the type that comes in and tells you she’s been followed down the road.”

“The manager may not make passes at her at all.”

“Now, now, you two,” protested Eileen. “Leave the poor girl alone. She has a pretty thin time of it. And, anyhow, she hasr-been enjoying herself here. She doesn’t want to go.” “That’s one up to her, certainly.” “I always think this place is a pretty sound test. If ever there’s anyone who doesn’t like it, one can be sure there’s something wrong.” “How did Aunt Pat come across her?” “How does she come across any of her lame ducks? I don’t know. All I know is that she told mother the girl would simply love a holiday up here “And mother did the rest.” “It’s a bit risky, isn’t it?” said Diana. “I mean you never know who you may get wished on to you?? She coloured suddenly. “Like —” “Like you, for instance.” The two laughed at her. “Well, it was pretty hard; but you’re old history. We’ve got used to you.” “Things one would rather have left unsaid.” Diana joined in the laugh. “It’s your fault for making me feel one of the family.” “So you are. Shut up.” “Well.” Kathleen got up. “Let’s form a society for being Nice, with a capital N, to Nancy. President, Eileen. Vice-President, Diana. Secretary, myself.” “I don’t think Nancy will caie very much for this society. Aren’t there to be any men membei’s?” '.“Men can only be accepted as honorary members.” “Tim will join,” said Diana mischievously, eyeing Eileen. “Out of respect to the President, I mean, of course.” Eileen turned round. “Now look here,” she began. Kathleen got up from the bed and took Diana’s arm. ‘ ‘ All right, I ’ll take her away.” As they reached the door, a loud gust of male laughter came from the bathroom. Kathleen put her head on one side appraisingly. “Isn’t it funny,” she said. “You can always tell by the 30und of it what sort of a joke they are laughing at. ’ 5 * * * * “I tell you, it was all I could do not to wring his blasted neck.” John stumped up and down the room. He had just concluded a recital of his interview with Michael in the bathroom. Eileen made no answer. She was sitting at the dressing-table, leaning forward, and brushing her hair. It was long and dark. Her face was for the moment enveloped in it. John pulled out his pocket-book. “As a matter of fact,” he grumbled, “we haven’t any too much to get us home. ’ ’ Brushing her hair aside, Eileen looked up. “Oh, John,” she exclaimed reproachfully. “I asked j r ou only ‘the other day. Why didn’t you write to the bank ? ’ ’ John’s jaw set. He looked like an obstinate small boy. “I thought I had enough.”

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

(To be Continued.)

“It is so silly. We get stuck like this, every time. I warned you days ago. What is the objection to taking out plenty? Even if it’s more than you need, you can put it back in the bank when you get home.” John’s frown deepened. He had an inveterate dislike of carrying about large sums in cash.

“There’s no sense in getting more than we w'ant. We’ve got to hide it somewhere, if we do. Can’t carry it about. Don’t you remember that time when Harry—” Eileen checked him quickly. She was more than tired of this story. “Just because years ago someone was idiot enough to go climbing with a wallet full of money in his pocket, and take his coat off and drop it out, that’s no reason against drawing out as much as we shall want for our travelling expenses, and leaving it somewhere safe here in the house.”

“There isn’t anywhere particularly safe. ’ ’

“Darling. Has anything ever been taken? You know as well as Ido that they are all perfectly to be trusted.”

“What about the time when that envelope with the notes in was burned in the stove?”

“That’s nothing to do with it. It got among the waste paper. I don’t sugest that you should leave the money about in the sitting-room.” ‘ ‘ But— ’ ’

“Darling, it’s so uncomfortable, being short. You know we always want more than we think at the end, what with the tips and everything else. ’ ’ “I have allowed for the tips,” said John stiffly.

“And there’s to-morrow.” “I haven’t said that there is not enough. I think there is. It was Michael, calmly suggesting that I should hand him over—”

Old Hector trudged along the road towards the cottage which he shared with his nephews. The sun had just gone down over the island at his back, and the upthrust irregular peak seemed to be flinging up an enormous fan-shaped spray of light into the sky. At a great height up, soft clouds lay across the light like ribs, lit on their undersides, and faint and cold on top. On the old man’s left, past the sandhills, the gulls were flying out in low scattered flocks to their nesting place, a row of small rocky islandsa mile from the shore. Their cries, coming back across the -water, seemed to be thrown up by the sandhills, just as light was thrown up by the mountain, and to fill the height of the sky with a pleasant muted melancholy.

As he made his way along, Hector’s’ heart glowed with self-importance. All, his mind was fixed upon the morrow. His senses had already assured him that it would be fine: of that there was no question at all in his mind. A few hours of night, and he would put on his best clothes and his yachting cap, and sit at the tiller of the motor-boat, and guide her across the water; reviving the glories of the past, when, on the yacht of a wealthy man who once employed him, he had voyaged up and dowrn. the coasts, as far south as j Cowes, which lay right far round under the coast of England. It was long. since those days, but they lived vividly ( still in Hector’s mind, and any such! trip as that to the island recalled them, I and made them live again. J Arrived at the island, he would be a figure of importance, in the present as well as in the past. There would be long talks with people in the harbour, explanations as to who the visitors were, and of their great importance in j the world outside.

Such joy rose in his mind at the thought of it all that »liis eye kindled, the years fell from his back, and he strode out like a young man. He began to sing to himself in a voice thin and harsh as the cawing of a rook. He thought, too, of the money he would be putting in lan’s way. It was he always who was the intermediary between the House and lan or any other boat own-! er. There were no direct dealings. Ev-! erytliing was arranged through him,! Hector. 1

The old man turned these matters ‘ over in his mind, savouring them to the ‘ full, for nowadays he derived all his , importance from his position at the 1 House. This, and the patronage, it en- j abled him to dispense, made him, dur-! ing the summer months, a power in the village. Por the rest of the year, he ' lived upon the memory of the past sum- 1 mer and expectation of the next. He had no home of his own. For many years he had occupied a cottage consisting of a single room, high up over the banks of the estuary. This was now lost to him, for reasons the justice of which he could never be brought to appreciate. For the last five or six 3/ears of his occupation, he had steadfastly' refused to pay any rent. j “Oeh,” he would say, %vhen challenged on the point, “and why should I pay rent to the Laird? The rent is small. It is only two pounds in the year. The ' Laird is a rich man. What is two pounds to him? He will not miss it.. But to me two pounds is a lot of money and takes much earning. Besides, the cottage is not in good order. If he wants me to pay rent for it, let the Laird sort it and put it in order.