“We Were Chums to the Last.”
By C, B, M.
We were room mates for three years. We knew each other as only men who go shares in one dress suit can know each other. My things were at Jeffry’s disposal, his were at mine. He was a big, well-made fellow, and as his clothes fitted me I suppose I must have been the same. After the first week in lodgings I dropped the “mister ” before his namn, and at the end of a fortnight called him Jeff.
We were always changing our lodgings; if 1 disliked a place I had only to tell Jeff, and he agreed to leave —if he disliked a place, a landlady or a lodger, he took the matter into his own hands, and gave notice without consulting me at all. He had a long, mysterious-looking black box, which held all our possessions, and often when I went home I would be confronted by “the coffin,” as we called it, ready for travelling. Jeff was peculiar in his objections to our different lodgings. One he left because the landlady did not brush her dress. He said that he had made a vow that if the same streaks were on her black dress at mid-day, he would leave. He had gone home to lunch, noticed her dress, packed “the coffin,” and left that night. Another time, when he sat on some grease, he said he would not live in a place where butter was kept on the chairs. I told him that the rousers he had soiled were mine, and that I id not mind. He'replied—“That is why I complain ; to-morrow you may sit down and spoil a pair of mine ; I shall always be in agony if I see you going to take a chair. We must leave.”
He refused to remain at the next place because the landlady gave a party. He said that we helped to support the house, and that a party should not have been given without our permission. He added that the landlady’s instincts were not “ lady-like.” He packed “ the coffin,” and we moved to a splendid place, quite a palatial mansion, standing in its own grounds. He was enchanted with everything. He wrote “ Paradise ”on a label to put on the gate. He had a scheme by which life could be made delightful. Each lodger was to take certain duties; he would be gardener, I could take charge of a cow, which would be bought by subscription. We only stayed there a fortnight, owing to the base ingratitude of the landlady. Jeff had invented a patent garden waterer on the Jupiter system. He left three of these at work all night. In the morning the garden and front verandah were flooded. The lodgers had to go out on their heels. The landlady abused Jeff, who wrote a larger label worded “Lost,” put it on the gate after Paradise ; then he packed the coffin, and told me to leave. I have said that we shared everything with each other. I was wrong; one suit we did not change—our rowing toga. When we first met, we had belonged to different clubs, and' had both refused to change. We were each firm over that one matter: my blue jersey and cap lay in “ the coffin ’’with Jeff’s pink ones. We were as good friends over our rival clubs as we were over everything else.
We both went into training after we left Paradise Lost. 1 bought a book on Physical Exertion; Jeff bought dumb-bells. We shared these things, and dieted ourselves in the same house to row against each other. We left that lodging owing to our training. The steak which the guide-book ordered was like leather. I took the matter into my own hands, and advertised for a lodging for two single gentlemen. The answers went to the office, where I read them to Jeff. I had some fun over them, but he was very solemn. “It is a serious matter,” he said. “Young men run such risk in going to strange houses; there is such temptation.” I was surprised at this from jolly Jeffry, and handed him a letter in which “ a single lady, of middle age, would do her best to make two gentlemen happy; she was not beautiful, but a member of the Salvation Army.” The next one was from a widow, who offered ns every comfort of a gentleman’s home; bath, piano, gas, and two pretty accomplished daughters. And the next made my blood curdle ; it bore the address of the house iu which we lodged. It promised every comfort, breakfast a special feature, cooked by a man from a famous London Chop and Steak house. This maddened me.
“Just fancy her daring to say such a thing to lead young men to their doom ! I’ll tell her my opinion of her ! Little does she think that the initials in that advertisement stand for the names of two long-suffering men whom she has nearly driven to despair with her ‘ special feature breakfasts.’ ” I abused her all the way home, but Jeff was very solemn until we reached the gate, when he roared with laughter. " Don’t say any thing scathing ! don’t seek her scalp or mine,” he cried. “But the fact is I wrote all those letters ; they’re pure inventions. The genuine answers I have in my pocket unopened.” I was indignant, but soon recovered. I couldn’t be angry with Jeff for long. We were perfect friends late that night when we chose our new abode from among the real answers to my advertisement. That was the last place that Jeff and I ever lived together at. It was there that we met Frankie, or, more properly speaking, Miss Frances Gay, and there that the “ tangled webb ” caught our lives. It was only to be expected, we had been such friends because our tastes were the same ; and what more natural that that we should fall in love with the same girl. She was young, only seventeen, which was perhaps abiessing, for in the years of the youth still left to her she may find fresh happiness and forget that past. When we had been a week in that lodging, and watched Frankie’s devotion to her invalid mother, I saw how it would end, and, making a desperate struggle for freedom, packed “the coffin.” But Jeff calmly refused to leave. I knew the truth ; we were no longer staunch friends; a woman had come between ua, and we were rivals. When I thought to give an extra style to my appearance by a masher collar, I found that Jeff had the best one on. When I hunted for a silk handkerchief to lend Frankie, I found that J eff had given one to Mrs. Gay, and was wearing the other. The partnership in clothes became a nuisance.
At last a climax was reached. One night Mrs. Gay was well enough to go to a concert. Jeff and I each meant to escort the ladies. When we saw Frankie come down stairs looking like a fairy under a fleecy cloud of white, an awful thought came to us both. We dashed into our room, and hurried our one dress-suit out of “the coffin.” At first we laughed—- “ You wear one half, I’ll wear the other,” Jeff said, but it had been settled, and we tossed up. I won, and proudly went down stairs. Frankie said—“lsn’t Mr. Jeffry coming ?” and I saw the light fade from her eyes when I answered “ No.” I did not enjoy that concert, I felt as if I had wronged Jeff, which, of course, was nonsense. When we got home Jeff was reading. In spite of the lonely evening he must have spent he looked happy, and when we got into our room he told me the reason. “ I found a book of the landlady’s. It is ‘Geoffrey Hamlyn.’ It settles our trouble,” he said, ' “About the dress-suit?” I asked.
“ No, about Frankie. Don’t pretend you don’t understand. We are both in love with her; she will choose whichever she likes, but we will act fairly to each other. The fellows in Geoffrey Hamlyn left it to luck ; we will have that style, only a better plan. We are to row against each other next Saturday. Let the winner of the race speak first to her; if she likes him it is all right;
if not, the loser can win her. Anyway, it is fair: we shall know what to expect; we shan’t be afraid of each other, and it will be a contest for a good prize.” “Jeffrey, let us go away ; let us keep together," I said. He frowned. “And give her up? Never ! We have to part now. Whichever she chooses will lose the other; unless she refuses us both we will never be the same old wanderers together again. Come, agree to it.”
I agreed. I promised not to propose to Frankie until after the boat race, The winner was to have first say. We trained together, but the sculling match would be a different matter now. I looked at our caps in “ the coffin ” and thought, “ We will row like friends, but which will be first, my blue or Jeff’s pink. I worked to win that race. The Saturday came, How well I remember that sunny cloudless day. Jeffrey and I went to the river together. As we stood, before going into the sheds to dress, he said in a low tone, “After this race our lives may take a different course, yet each will remember the old friendship.” I only answered, “Yes, Jeff." What else could I say ? I could not honestly wish him success. We went into our different sheds, and came out members of rival clubs. To the spectators on the banks we were merely two men who had trained well for a race there was a little to choose between. In our hearts we were rivals fighting with bitter pain, because of the long friendship, for the chance to speak first to the girl we both loved. As we put our boats into the water our eyes met. I was startled by Jeffry’s face ; it was deadly pale, while I felt mine burning with excitement. I feared he had trained too high. Yet why need I have feared ? His loss would be my gain. We were off I No time to look anywhere but at the course ; nothing to remember but to round the buoys and keep clear of fouling. The crowd tore along the banks, vehicles and horsemen dashed by outside the fence. The cries were even. Pink ! Blue ! Blue! Pink! My heart seemed beating to deaden them.
How Jeffry pulled ! He was rowing like mad. The excitement was intense ; my strength was failing, my backers on the banks calling to me, and I was tearing my life out to defeat Jeff. We were even nearly to the finish. I thought of Frankie by the staging under the willows. I pulled wildly, shot a glance at Jeffrey—and lost the race ! Yes, he won by half a length. The cheering was deafening. The pistol went off, I took off my cap to cool my burning head, and rested on my oars. What were the crowd saying ? ‘ 1 Best race of the season'! Pink’s pretty well pumped out; look at him ! Give him a hand some one. I looked at Jeff,- my victor. He had managed to pull near to the little staging, where he knew Frankie would be. He was leaning forward, his light boat shaken by his hurried breathing. Exhausted as I was, I pulled nearer, and pushed his boat against the staging, where a little crowd had gathered. On the path above the staging stood Frankie in a white dress. I think I still see her under the drooping willows, her face quivering with anxiety, her love for Jeff written in her anxious eyes. I knew that he had won her, knew that I should never tell my love. I backed into the staging and got out, as Finlayson, the longest man on the river, ran up. He had an overcoat over his rowing togs; he tore this coat off and filing it to me, “ I’ll row your boat back ; you walk, Jeffry, slowly down,” Jeff lifted his eyes which met mine. I pulled his boat near and helped him to rise. As I put my arm round him the crowd gave a mighty cheer at seeing the loser help his victor, Jeff was gasping for breath; his face under the bright pink cap was grey. I put Finlayson’s coat over him, but its weight was too much ; he pushed it off. As I helped him up the three steps to the path he clung tightly to me, and, with the ghost of the old tender friendship in his eyes, said—- “ Old lad, you will win yet.” We moved nearer to Frankie, the eager crowd all round us. We were even to the last, Jeff and I; we both stood before the girl we loved ; we both uttered one word, her name, “ Frankie.” Then I was kneeling by her side and helping her to hold Jeff up. A man pressed through the crowd, saying he was a doctor. He felt Jeff’s pulse, then laid his hand on the bright pink jersey. “ It was the heart,” he said; “ the excitement and exertion were too much ; the heart’s action hqs stopped.” There was a terrible panic among rowing men and the spectators, but it all passed me as in a dream of the sunlit river, the waving willows, and Jeffs dead face. Frankie knows that Jeffry loved her, for I have told her so, but she will never know the truth about that race. She looks at mo and says—- “ I like you near me ; you were his friend. You knew him so well : you were so good to him.” Yes, I am still her friend, because of her loving memory of my room-mate Jetf.
Permanent link to this item
https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/WOODEX18860903.2.16.18
Bibliographic details
Woodville Examiner, Volume 3, Issue 281, 3 September 1886, Page 2 (Supplement)
Word Count
2,349“We Were Chums to the Last.” Woodville Examiner, Volume 3, Issue 281, 3 September 1886, Page 2 (Supplement)
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