INTO THE SHADOW

Waikato Times, Volume 96, Issue 15033, 2 September 1922, Page 9

INTO THE SHADOW

WITHIN THE PASSING OF THE HOUR. BRADY GOES HOME. (By “D.M." in Tiinaru Herald.”) Just the everyday jaunt to toil. Over the downs from his home in the suburban area Brady strolled. Indeed was it a bright blue morning. Happy, and care-free, he trudged along” lunch-kit lucked under his arm. Full of the joy of living, the worker turned into a street running to town, from a rise in which his eyes were’ furl her gladdened by the glint and sparkle of the sea., • Sure, and he was early this morning;' ’twas but whistling the quarterhour to eight; he would fill his pipe while having a bit peep at the postcards in the shop over the way. Whittling at his plug of shag tobacco, he made to cross the roadway. It was just such a day when he had landed in the colony from the Quid Sod a many years gone by. Would he ever return to the old home again? In the pleasant oblivion of such a reverie, a mind was busy, but eyes were unseeing. From the crest of a distant rise in the road a boy w;’» “coasting” down on his bicycle —the sauntering Brady caught his eye. How close could he go to him and give him a start? Down the incline he silently swooped, all the joys of “coasting” possessing him. Brady’s coat-tails-he would just brush. But the unwary Brady had not been consulted in the’ scheme. When for the success of the coaster’s little play he should have strolled steadily forward, he slightly- hesitated —a knotty piece of tobacco, mayhap—and in that fraction of time the premeditated slight brush became a direful collision. The handle-bars caught Brady in the side; he spun round, and was thrown violently to the ground. The cycle, deflected from its straight flight, zig-zagged towards the kerbing, the lad, dislodged from the seat, struggling to regain command again, and with all the activity of youth he nimbly escaped an imminent peril and righted himself. Brady ho did not want to meet just then, so he gathered up speed again and whirled round the nearest corner and out of sight.. And where had all the peop'le come from, Brady wondered, as clutching his head, he sat in the middle of the roadway, trying to mentally fathom what all the pother was about. Sure, and his head was buzzing most peculiarly. “Come on, old fellow, can you walk across to the doctor’s?”

A large policeman was speaking to him. Brady dimly remembered another occasion when a policeman’s voice had not sounded so kindly. The toil-worn hands, sorely skinned, face bumped and bruised, and a trickle of blood from one ear, the doctor, expertly bandaging, with practised eye, quickly summed the trouble up. “Take him to the hospital,” he quietly told, the protector, and servant, of the public.

Brady heard. “But” —and perhaps the thought of that other home which was in his mind when he was struck down, was picked up again at the broken thread —“I would rather go home,” he almost pleaded. “They won't keep you long there,” the doctor soothed him; “they’ll soon fix’ you up.” Exceedingly hazy . to Brady was the incident of his journey to the hospital, and delivered over by the policeman to the charge-nurse of the accident ward, he sat dazed and disconsolate on a form, twirling his

old soft brown hat, and listening with but very little heed to the questions of the nurse in pink. “Are you a colonial?” she was asking. "No, I’m an Irishman. That spalpeen of a boy ’’ The nurse stemmed the harmful outburst with another question. “And where were you born?” “In Tralee, thanks he to Hivin, and sfther this I’m going back to Ould Kerry. Uncivilised ■ urchins murdherin’ dacint. ” Again the nurse, seeking necessary information, tactfully changed the angry mooch “The doctor,” said she, “says you're to go to bed lor a few days.” Brady glanced along the <rows of hods in the ward, many of the occupants of which had for him a feeling of comradeship in their bandaged heads. He turned towards the nurse, now keenly sensitive to his plight. "I’d much rather go home,” he pleaded. “They'll attind to me there.” And he made t.o go to the door. Gently restrained, lie sat on the seat again. Could he just go home and let them know? He’d come back again, honour bright, he would, and lie clasped bis little iunch-kit which bore Hie telltale dust of disaster. “Jist let me for wance,” and his face bore a pitycompelling look. Kindly bill firmly, no; the rules were inexorable; he must remain till the medical officer’s discharge. What a change one hour bad trought him. Blithe and strong, with toil almost at hand; a quarter of an hour to idle away; and ere an hour had passed lying helpless in the hospital emergency bed. With his .forehead swathed in bandages, which braced each side of his face, he looked as lie peeped out of his visor of lint like a Crusader oi olden time. Sadly he bore the trial, and as the numbness of the shock passed, and the pain became more acute, he lay quiet, hearing it bravely.

His invariable answer to any question by doctor or nurse was—when would they give him his discharge, so that he could go home? Sure he would be just as well at home as lying there. He would report himself every day if they let him go. An improvement, and he was allowed up for a while one day, hut at. nightfall a lurking complication had set in. He would soon be able to go home now, he told the nurse, who plainly showed her concern as to poor Brady’s welfare. . . Ancl where was there such another land of lakes and fells, green mountains and vales? . . . And then an occasional murmuring snatch of a favourite song—

Oh, no; ’twas the truth in her eyes ever dawning, That made me love Mary, the Rose of Tralee. .—Drawing towards the small hours, the night sister and doctor joined the ward nurse in the ministrations at Brady’s screcn-ensconsed bedside. In the morning the bed was empty. Brady had received his discharge, and gone Home.