A Comical Complication.

Woodville Examiner, Volume XXI, Issue 3570, 26 June 1903, Page 4 (Supplement)

A Comical Complication.

By Conrad Whipple

At the age of thirty, Herbert Ovey, by industry, judgment, tact, and economy, had acquired a fortune. Then ho became rather extravagant in his habits, determined to have a good time, and spent his money with a generous hand.

He soon came to be considered a desirable matrimonial catch, for reports of his wealth passed from mouth to mouth among the fair sex, and the princely liberality with which he entertained the eligible ladies of his acquaintance, one of them a gay young widow, escorting them to the opera, theatres, and various places of amusement, confirmed thg general belief that he was well qualified to make an excellent husband. It must be confessed, however, that Herbert was inclined to be a flirt, for the lady he seemed to be smitten with this week would certainly have to give place to a rival next week, and the later favourite was doomed to dethronement in turn, apparently outshone by the charms of some other beauty.

Thus it happened that the fickle Herbert had at least six young ladies, all attractive in their individual ways, constantly at his beck and call, and each of them apparently willing to jump at the chance to accept him as a husband. For over two years this complicated entanglement continued, when Herbert was laid low by a sudden illness, which the doctors said was fatally perilous, and he was induced to consent to a delicate operation, as the only possible way of saving his life. i Even then the chances of recovery would be" slight: but, having been that his only hope of life lay in this dangerous operation, he resignedly made his will, and, in a statement to his six favourites —the ladies whose matrimonial hopes he had inspired—he wrote to each a loving letter, of which more will be learned hereafter. p Having thus arranged his earthly affairs, and given the six letters to his valet, with strict instructions as to their disposal, he seemed almost cheerful when the day came for the operation. To the physicians it proved a gratifying success, althqugh for four weeks the invalid lay a helpless wreck, part of the time unconscious, attended by his valet, and a young, neat, and self-sacrificing trained nurse, who bore the name of Hetty Greenwood. The days slowly passed, and Herbert Ovey began to show signs of returning health and strength. It was not long before he again manifested an interest in earthly affairs, and one bright morning, after a light breakfast, as he sat propped up in an easy chair, he asked the nurse: “Are there any letters for me?” “Oh, a lot,” Hetty answered, “and all from ladies. Oh, you But the doctors said you were to see no letters till further notice.” “It doesn’t matter; they’re only polite inquiries, of no importance.” Miss Hetty smiled, then, with a little frown, she said; “Fruit and flowers in abundance have been sent to you every day. See, here arc some that have just arrived.” She handed him a splendid bunch of lilies. He glanced at the card attached to it by a white silk ribbon. On it was written: “With ardent hopes for a speedy recovery.—From Mary.” “Who is Mary?” he asked. “I don't know.” “I'm sure I don't,” replied the nurse, rather tartly. “.Look at the back of the card.” He turned the card, and recognised the full name. “Why, it’s Mrs Bower, the actress, a gay young widow.” “Then she’s called here three times, and wanted to come up and see you,” said Tlelty. “and said she had a right to."

“Oil, bother the woman,” said the invalid.

“Look at those violets and forget-me-nots. “With Kate’s kindest wishes.’ ” “That's Miss Hemmin. Has she-— ’’

“Oh, yes, she’s called; There has been a flock of them—Miss Campbell, Miss Coring, Miss Smythc, Miss Johnson, as well as your widow and trouble; and two of them ch&fcod to meet in the reception room, and glared at each other; and they’ve tried to bribe John, your valet, to show them up here; and one of them, a girl with tousled hair, was awfully rude, and offered me But, good gracious! what’s the matter?” He looked as if he had just seen a ghost. “Great Scott!” he gasped. “The letters.” “The letters! What letters ?” “The letters I wrote. Ring for John.” “Calm yourself,” she said, as she rang, “Calm yourself.”

“There has been some fearful mistake. I dread a terrible complication.” In a few moments John entered, a look of alarm on his features.

“Hero, John! The six letters I wrote just before ’ the operation, and told you not to post unless I—unless it went wrong. Where are they?” “Oh,” said the nurse, “i saw some letters on the desk. I thought they’d been forgotten, and I posted them.” “Merciful Heaven!” groaned the patient, “you’ve ruined mo!” and he fell back fainting.

To understand the cause of the invalid’s present alarm, the reader must have a few words in retrospective. On the day before that set for the operation, Herbert sent for his lawyer, and asked him to add a codicil in his will, already made, as he wished to leave one thousand pounds to an old school mate.

When the lawyer asked if there were any other legacies, ho became thoughtful. He' knew that Mrs Bower would be grieved if he died, and also that she was not rich. He felt, too, that perhaps she might think he had trifled with her, so he said: “Put Mrs Bower down for ,£2000.” “Any other?” said the solicitor. The thought of Miss Hemming came into his mind, then that of Miss Campbell, and the three other ladies with whom he had become gallantly intimate. As he reflected upon his gay gallantries, a pang of remorse smote him, and to each lady he left a bequest of one thousand pounds, just half the sura he had willed to the vivacious young widow. When he was‘left alone, Mr Ovey began to consider seriously what he had done. To his nicely sensitive feelings there seemed something of impertinence in the matter ; moreover, he suddenly remembered that each would read of the other legacies, and perhaps guess the rather comical truth He would get contempt—possibly hate—instead of gratitude. Then a happy thought came to him; a letter would set matters straight.

He began by writing to Mrs Bower. He mentioned the legacy; told her that twice he had meant to make a proposal, but accident had stayed him; spoke pitifully of himself and the idea of dying without having tasted the joys of married life, and wound up with tender hopes that she would cherish his memory.

Then came the turn of Miss Campbell; but he was already tired of his task—he hated letter writing—so, to save him'self trouble, he simply made a copy of Mrs Bower's letter, and addressed it to Miss Campbell. In the end he adopted the same course with all the others

His conscience, quickened by fear of the operation, suggested to him that the letters were . untrue, but he satisfied himself by the thought that ho really was quite fond of the six ladies, so he addressed the envelopes, sealed the letters, gave them to John, and told him not to post them unless he died of the joperation.

When Mr Ovey came round he was in a frantic state. He had heard of the letters which for weeks had been awaiting his perusal; so he had them brought up, and read them aloud grimly. All the six treated his letter as an offer of marriage, subject to his recovery; and all accepted him. He burst into hysterical laughter at the idea of being engaged six deep, declared he would take the lot to Utah and marry them, and he suggested sarcastically that the nurse should join the party, as one more or less would make no difference. He made the poor girl cry with his reproaches. He determined to die, and said it was his duty to his six fiancees to get himself buried so as not to give undue preference to anyone. The upshot was that he became delirious, and for weeks there was hardly more than an interval between him and death. Nature, aided by the wondrefui nursing of Hetty Greenwood, pulled him through. When he came to his senses—a more wreck of a man—he found. Hetty by his bed. She had grown hollow cheeked, and her eyes, by reason of the dark linos below, seemed larger and more brilliant than before. For a week he said nothing of his troubles; the delirium seemed to have wiped them from his memory; he lay still, gaining strength rapidly, and apparently did nothing but gaze languidly at the pretty nurse, to whom, however, he rarely spoke. One day, as he glanced musingly around the room, ho suddenly made the remark. “Whore arc the flowers?” “What flowers? Oh,” she said, reddening, “the ladies have left off sending them —or fruit.” Again he looked around the room. “Oh. but there are some pretty roses, and I’ve just had some splendid grapes. Were they from Mrs Bower?” “No, not from any of them.” Noticing her blush, he said, sharply: “Did you procure them?” “Yes,” she answered, nervously. “Have you hired a packing case for the letters?" “ll's hardly necessary.” “Surely," be said, “my half-dozen betrothed wives have called and written each day?”

“They haven’t called, and have only written once since—since that day. To tell ’ you the truth, I think you’re free. The ladies have hoard of your failure in business, and have deSertcd you.” From her pocket Miss Greenwood took a newspaper clipping, from which she read;

‘“We regret to announce that the business affairs of H. Ovcy are in a complicated state, and Iris creditors are in a condition of wild alarm. Several of them have made application that a receiver be appointed, and it has been discovered that his debts 'exceeded his assets by at least fifty-seven thousand pounds.’ Oh, I can’t go on, I’s so sorry,” Miss Hetty added, sobbing painfully. The sick man gravely said; “Bring me the letters.”

He opened them and read them one after the other. Miss Hemming expressed regret that reasons, which she explained unintelligibly and at great length, caused her to withdraw. Miss Smythc had mistaken mere sympathy for the love without which matrimony is intolerable, and felt that it would wrong him, her, and another if she carried out an engagement entered into through vexation with the “another,” who had since been pardoned. Miss’Johnson had changed her views since reading a certain novel, which she found excellent in principle if execrable in writing, and must decline the offer of Mr Ovey. Miss Goring was sure she could not give up extravagant habits to which she had become accustomed, and would be a useless burden as a poor man’s bride. Miss Campbell’s parents objected on the ground that it was absurd folly to become a poor man’s bride. Mrs P>ower alone came out well with a bold letter,, saying that she. merely accepted him to give him pleasure and comfort when in danger, and of course withdrew as sooii as he was out of it.

“Oh, dear,” said Mr Ovcy, “to think that women arc so ” “Not all women—some women !”'interrupted the nurse, timidly. “Humph!” lie replied. "A little while ago they were all after me, and now ” “I don’t think we arc all so bad,” she answered, with sonic stress on the “we.” “You don’t? Do you fancy you could name a girl who would be true to a ruined man?”

“Not one,” she responded, “unless he told her first that he loved her. Yon need not feel my pulse; I'm' not your patient.” He carefully adjusted his first linger on her wrist, and answered:

“I’m curious to see how it is working. I understand pulses. Now, if I told the girl I loved her?” “Well, but you haven’t.” “If I say that I lain awake* during a week gazing at a beautiful girl who has nursed me from death to life, who is sweetness, goodness, and purity ” “But yon have not.” “But I do, Hetty. Can you—do you care for me?” She turned her head away. “The pulse is at fever pace,” he said. “Isn’t that an answer?” she asked. “It will satisfy me,” he replied, as he threw his arms round her neck, and rapturously kissed her willing lips. “We will be married at once, and start immediately for the Continent.” “For the Continent,” exclaimed Hetty. “Oh, the extravagance of poor people!” “Poor people?—oh, the newspaper report !” he laughed. “That failure refers to my Cousin Henry, you goose !” “I’m so glad that I didn’t know—that I was mistaken.” “So am I,” answered Mr Ovcy.