The Baffled Schemer

Waipukurau Press, Volume XXII, Issue 45, 22 April 1927, Page 7

The Baffled Schemer

A Pleasing Romance of English Life.

B ( Y

REGINALD HOPE.

CHAPTER ll.—Continued. Nestlcy bowed somewhat stiffly, as he thought Beaumont was taking an unwarrantable liberty in acting as he was doing, but Pemberton, with the ingenuousness of youth, caught the doctor’s hand and shook it heartily. “Glad to see you,” he said looking all Nestley, “you will be a perfect God-send in this dull place.” His manner was so cordial that without being positively rude Nestlcy could not refuse to be gracious so seeing that he had attained his object of introducing Nestlcy as his friend, Mr Beaumont sauntered out of the room with a cynical smile on his thin lips.

“You’ll measure swords with me, will you?”..ho said to himself with a short laugh. “I wouldn’t advise you to try that game, my friend.” Meanwhile Pemberton caught hold of Muffins, who was making frantic attempts to seize his feline enemy, the room, but the wary Muffins, wrigwhereupon the cat, seeing the coast jo jno poqsnp pun uxiop San.rds ‘ruop gling himself free, raced after her, nose on ground, with an occasional sharp yelp. “There,” said Pemberton gaily, “Muffins is provided with an amusing evening, for he’ll never leave the cat till he runs her down.”

“I’m sorry for the cat.” “You’ll be sorry for Muffins when you see hint return scratched all over,” retorted the lad, whereupon they both laughed.

“Staying her long?” asked Pemberton eyeing the doctor in a friendly manner.

“'Only to-night—l’m on a walking tour,” replied Nestley carelessly. “Lucky devil,” said the other, thrusting his hands into his pockets. ’l’ve got to stay here.” mightily “Is it your home.” In a sort of way, yes —pupil, at the vicarage and all that shoot, don’t you know —it’s a five-act funeral of a place, but we manage to get some tra-la-Ia- out of it.” ‘Who are we?” asked the doctor, mightily amused at-Air Pemberton’s eolloquailisms. ‘O‘h! I forgot you’re a stranger here —why, Reggy Blake, myself, and Priggs.” “Priggs?”

“One of the pupils,” explained the communicative Richard, “a jolly ass —writes poetry—lines to Chloe, and all that sort of thing —hasn’t got an idea beyond the Muses as he calls ’em — beastly old frumps—Reggy’s a good sort of chappie—he’s in the tap-room now —come and see the fun —-we often stand beer to the rustics and they sing us songs—twenty verses long and no

stops. ’ ’ -“Do you know Beaumont well?” asked Nestley, folowing his youthful guide to the tap-room.

‘Not very, he’s only been here a fortnight but the vicar knows him,-he’s a native of these parts, not a bad sort of chap but awfully stand off the grass —gets up on his hind legs pretty freely. Do you know him?” “To my cost,” replied the doctor bitterly.

Pemberton stared and was about to ask the meaning of this strange remark, when a burst of laughter sounded from the tap-room, so postponing his inquiry until a more favourable period, he opened the door and entered, followed by Duncan Ncstley. The doctor’s eyes smarted somewhat with the pungent tobacco-smoke, hut when he became more accustomed to the cloudy atmosphere, he found himself in a long low ceiling room round which about fifteen men were seated on benches, smoking vigorously. On a long, deal table in the centre stood a number of pewter. tankards containing beer and a large jug filled with the same generous beverage stood at the end. A kerosine lamp hung from the ceiling, diffusing a dull yellow light, and the floor was covered with sawdust, with spittoons placed about. On the end of the table sat Reginald Blake, who was as dark as Pemberton was fair. A' somewhat mournful countenance when in repose, but now sparkling with life and animation. Decidedly handsome, with .an alive complexion, closely-cropped black hair and a small moustache of the same colour. As he sat there there swinging his legs and showing his white teeth with every laugh, Ncstley thought he was a very striking figure, although somewhat out- of place in that homely

room. "Looks like an Italian,” he thought,

looking at the tall, lithe figure as Reginald Blake slipped off the tabic to greet him. “Must have been born in the South, or perhaps he’s a Greek born in England, like Keats.” Dick Pemberton lost no time, but then and there introduced Nestlcy to his friend.

“This is Dr. Nestlcy, Reggy—stran-ger.-hcrc—got the blues, so I brought him here to see the fun.’

‘Rather homely fun I’m afraid,” said Blake holding out his hand with a frank smile. ‘l’m very pleased to see you, Dr. Nestlcy. You’ll find this noisy but it’s amusing.” “What would the vicar say if he knew two of his pupils were here?” asked Nestlcy mischievously. Both the young men laughed heart.

Hy. “Oh, the dear old boy wouldn’t mind,” said Pemberton producing a cigar case. “He trusts.us, besides, we work hard all the week and only get off the chain on Saturday nights.” “Then,’ ’observed Reggy, helping himself to a cigar from his friend’s case, “we study mankind ” “As seen in the public-house,” finished the doctor smiling. “As seen in the public-house,” assented Mr Blake gravely, lighting his cigar. “Dick and myself are students of human nature.”

“It’s great fun,’ observed Dick confidentially. “If we were in Town I’ve no doubt we’d go to a music hall, but here we amuse ourselves with rustic simplicity. ’ ’ “Said simplicity being mythical,” said Blake satirically, “but the singing is amusing—I say Jarx,” he added, raising his voice, “sing us that ditty of yours.” Jarx, a huge, good-tempered giant, excused himself bashfully, but on being pressed, took a long drink of beer, wiped his large mouth with his sleeve and fixing his eyes on the ceiling began to sing. First he started too low so that his voice sounded as if it came from his boots, then, apologising in a sheepish manner to the company, he began again in a high key. This being the other extreme was found equally unsatisfactory, but on making a third attempt he struck the happy medium and started off into a rustic ditty the chorus of which slowly to and fro: “There’s the hog tub and the pig tub And the tub behind the do-o-r She’s gone away with t’other chap And she’ll never come back no more. ’ ’ Full chorus after long pause. “She won’t— ’ ’

This song avcratcd about ten verses which the singer conscientiously delivered with the chorus to each verse, first as a solo, afterwards with the full' strength of the company, who sang impartially in different keys, so that the result was anything but harmonious. By this simple means the song lasted about a quarter-of-an-hour, much to Nestley’s amusement and that of the young men, who joined in the chorus with great gusto, Dick gravely conducting with the cigar. Mr Jarx having finished his melody, resumed his scat, his pipe and his beer, amid great applause, and in response to a general demand, a local favourite with a shrill voice sang a ditty about “Four Irish girls who came from the Isle of Wight,” which also had the additional attraction of a dance, the music of which was provided by the performers whistling, he being his own orchestra. This double display of genius was received with great rapture and, at its conclusion JTestlcy, turning to the young men, asked if either of them sang. “Reggy docs,-’ said Dick promptly; “he’s got a voice like a nightingale.” “Bosh!” retorted Peggy, reddening under his dark skin. ‘Why* I never had a leson in piy life.” corrigible Dick. “Comb, old man, out cprr’igible Dick. ‘Come, old man, out with it. ” Thus adjured by his friend and being pressed by the . doctor, Blake consented and sang “You’ll Remember me,” that old-fashioned song which contains such, a world of pathos.

(To be Continued.)